Thursday, 15 September 2016



This morning the short girl from Naples who works at the café I go to came back from some vacation or something.  I don't know where she was.  I might have a crush on her, its hard to tell. 

When I saw her I said, with a smile:
'O Sole Mia'

The song that ice cream truck driven by the old Cypriot Greek plays day in and day out when its warm in London.  As the globe warms I hear it more and more. And she smiled, really smiled like she was about to laugh a good laugh.

And then I was a bit taken with myself having flirted in the Naples dialect with an Italian, and then I felt like a silly old man having been taken with myself for having flirted in the Naples dialect with an Italian, and then I felt kind of touched by myself feeling like a silly old man who I flirted with a pretty short young Italian girl. It goes on and on.

But my question for UKIP, for the BNP and for everyone who voted BREXIT really, precisely what evil did I do flirting in Italian in London to a young short Italian who is too young and too short for me?  What crimes did she carry in those tight black pants, darting around the crowded café cleaning up after lazy people trying to hide from the terrible sun of global warming?

Why is it that people who share the same sun can't share London, when the sun is brutal and angry with us?

No comments:

Post a Comment