It’s not often I don’t finish watching a movie, but tonight I couldn’t bear another minute of Under the Tuscan sun. Simplified, it’s about an American divorcee who flees to Italy, buys a run-down house in Tuscany and eventually, meets the Italian man of her dreams.
Puh-lease. The movie had a lot of potential, but listening to cliches after cliche about making limencello from scratch an other pick-up line nonsense, made me and Miss E firmly press the stop button.
Instead, I’m spending the rest of my Friday night digesting a fajitas dinner on the sofa. I’m trying to stay awake at least until 11pm, just because it’s the weekend.
Last weekend I was everywhere. West, East, Central, you name it, I probably was there. On Saturday I had lunch at Shoreditch House while watching the cool bikini-clad kids bask themselves in the sun. I had a blueberry and vanilla ice cream coupe (well covered up) and enjoyed one of the best (and hottest) days of the year. Miss M, who moved to Milan a month ago, organised the whole thing and we all lamented that she’s gone back to Italy. Lunches like those don’t grow on trees.
In the evening I went for dinner with the Italian and his out of town friends at Nobu, Park Lane. You know those nights when everything is going to plan and you don’t think at all about what’s going to happen in the morning? It was definitely one of those evenings. You chat, laugh, drink and joke and don’t spill any soy sauce on your dress.
This weekend however, will be a lot quieter. Miss M has returned to Milan, Rosie has moved to New York and the Italian is in Italy. In the freezer sits vanilla ice cream and frozen blueberries… That might well be the plan for tomorrow.