Who Am I

pizza
No pasta? Allora, basta!

So way back in 2014, I ventured for the first time to Italy. A colleague had been sent before, possibly against his wishes but not wanting to make too much of a fuss, and was out there for 2 years. When my boss asked me if I wanted to go out for a short job, 2 weeks, I replied quite shirtily that I would go for 2 weeks and no more.

WHAT.AN.IDIOT.

Now I’m practically begging them to let me go back and never return.

There are only 2 countries I’ve visited that I’ve fallen in love with so badly that I’ve cried my eyes out because I missed them so much when I returned. Iran, 2009, and Italy, those 2 weeks in 2014. That’s when I knew I’d left another piece of my heart somewhere. (Probably explains why I’m so cold and heartless these days, half a heart left behind in Iran, the other heart in Italy = total cowbag in England!)

It’s not all fun and games though, there’s the downright irritating side of Italy. Because as we all know, #itsnotaholidaycamp