Sicilamente

The thing with Italy is that when I arrived I spoke zero Italian, really, the entirety of my vocabulary consisted of thank you and what do you want (which I only knew because it's what Al would yell when he was angry). After two weeks my vocabulary has increased dramatically but due to having spent these two weeks with a four year old girl this is made up mostly of words relating to princeses and simple comands.

Words I now know in Italian:
Princess
Fairy
Barbie
Cow
Puppy
Crown
Sit down
Stop
Pretty
Ugly


As it apears, I am no closer to interacting sociall with anyone above the age of four. The only sentance I can make out that would be of any use might be, °Sit down, you ugly cow° and although I can think of a few instances when this might come in handy it is certainly not going to help me get a bus ticket to Polermo.

This is me, addicted

Italy has taught me one thing: I don't want children.

okay, maybe two things, I have also learned that granita is man's greatest invention, it is a type of sorbet ice cream thing which cannot be put into words. it is better then sex, and probably more addictive then crack but I've never actually done crack so I can't say for sure.

This is me, parenting?

It is fantastic to be in Italy, although getting here was quite an adventure. It involved me in an airport in northern Sicily with no money, no phone, and no working debit card attempting to find my way to the south of Sicily. I have learned two important lessons since being here, 1. I am no where near ready to have children, 2. Children destroy everything. Luca, who is almost 2 decided that the tassels on my Aldo shoes would make very good toys and so he pulled them off, and when that got boring he threw up on my new dress. While attempting to wash out the stains right away he started chewing my purst so now it is accented with a perfect representation of his gum line, which I am pretending was part of the design. I can't wear anything he can grab onto, so no earings or necklaces and if I don't keep my hair pulled back he chews on it. Babies may make a great fasion accessory, but they only seem to go with puke colored cotton tops and old jeans.

Adv entures

Here begins my epic journey of adventure and self discovery (aka me stumbling through Europe attempting to not be hit by cars or lose my passport). Packing up my room in London has been harder then I expected; This really became a lovely little prison cell, which is what it is once I have taken down all of my art and tapestries to pack away.

Clothes over Carbs

Thanks to a certain very tall blond who I am told resembles a sexy game of ker-plunk, I have been introduced to the world of fashion blogs. They are allot like food blogs except less likely to end with me eating peanut butter and jam sandwiches at 3 in the morning in my nighty. Instead, I am going to put on everything i own at ONE TIME, and take pictures. ok, no. I am going to attempt a fashion post centered around, well, erm... my closet? prepare yourselves now. I am aware that if you are reading my blog you are a. my mum, b. really wishing you still lived in London (Allison) or c. confused because this is not the website you were looking for. Most likely, you already know that my fashion sense is mostly delusional. I am inspired by colors, trousers outfits that have not been acceptable since I was 7, soft things and a desire to work at LF.