I’m off to Bologna this weekend. I’m supposed to be looking forward to a weekend of drunken excess since I will be “celebrating” my bachelor’s party. The thing is I’ve never been an enthusiastic participant at this kind of event – I’m more like the wet blanket at such occasions. Most times I end up man marking the more excessive and crazy members of the crowd trying to ensure that no physical harm is done.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m the first in line for practical jokes and love a good laugh when the prank is well thought out. It’s just that the wankellectual snob doesn’t relate to the primitive idea of stripping, strapping and throwing up that seems to be the sum total of a bachelor party activity on the island. Give me a “Zingarata” any day… but hell, how do you explain the Monicelli concept in this day and age?
So yep, I am off, packing my bags for the city of three T’s (that’s apparently Tits, Towers and Tortellini). Given that my level of alcohol resistance is that of a three year old thanks to my having switched to tea or diet coke as beverages of choice you may very well hear of a Maltese national having been arrested in Bologna after being discovered trawling the streets naked covered in whatever inventive substance passes as fun at a bachelors these days.
Still. The good thing is that the intercettati will be passing through Bologna on Saturday night. With a bit of luck (make that a lot in my case) I might witness the face of the disappointed intercettato fan first hand. Forza Bologna! Forza Di Vaio!
Back on Monday! (fingers crossed)