Regardless of the scale of calamity around you the tragic is truly only to be found in personal circumstances.
And it was on the 1600 from Roma Termini to Ventimiglia that I came across my first tragedy of the journey home.
Italian trains still arrange parts of themselves as compartments and I found myself sharing a compartment with an employee of Tren Italia (“E possiblé per me?” Sitting here motion. A shrug which I took to mean assent) and a couple who when asked turned out to be Flemish.
They had been on holiday in Naples and were getting the train back to Antwerp. They didn’t seem very engaged with the inherent drama of the volcano at all and weren’t at all interested to know I’d made it back from Sydney. We soon lapsed into silence as I read my book and they chattered on in Flemish.
However as the journey went on it became clear that they were more interesting than my book. Using the international languages of ‘body’ and 'tone of voice', I worked out that he had been caught shagging around and she was dumping him and he was begging her forgiveness.
Perhaps the scene can be better set if I say that in the role of stoic, red eyed, ramrod straight postured, hankie twisting girlfriend I would cast Tilda Swinton and in the role of grovelling head on her knees lothario I would cast Jude Law. I would be played by Rupert Everett of course.
After several hours of her tearless crying and his head to knee pleading, something changed and they set themselves on course for rapprochement. This involved an hour with their noses touching whispering Flemish sweet nothings to one another and toying with one another’s hair. Then they disappeared out of the compartment altogether, only to reappear on arrival in Ventimiglia over an hour later.
He has the volcano to thank for his saved relationship… There is no way he’d have had the time to talk her round on a flight!
And it was on the 1600 from Roma Termini to Ventimiglia that I came across my first tragedy of the journey home.
Italian trains still arrange parts of themselves as compartments and I found myself sharing a compartment with an employee of Tren Italia (“E possiblé per me?” Sitting here motion. A shrug which I took to mean assent) and a couple who when asked turned out to be Flemish.
They had been on holiday in Naples and were getting the train back to Antwerp. They didn’t seem very engaged with the inherent drama of the volcano at all and weren’t at all interested to know I’d made it back from Sydney. We soon lapsed into silence as I read my book and they chattered on in Flemish.
However as the journey went on it became clear that they were more interesting than my book. Using the international languages of ‘body’ and 'tone of voice', I worked out that he had been caught shagging around and she was dumping him and he was begging her forgiveness.
Perhaps the scene can be better set if I say that in the role of stoic, red eyed, ramrod straight postured, hankie twisting girlfriend I would cast Tilda Swinton and in the role of grovelling head on her knees lothario I would cast Jude Law. I would be played by Rupert Everett of course.
After several hours of her tearless crying and his head to knee pleading, something changed and they set themselves on course for rapprochement. This involved an hour with their noses touching whispering Flemish sweet nothings to one another and toying with one another’s hair. Then they disappeared out of the compartment altogether, only to reappear on arrival in Ventimiglia over an hour later.
He has the volcano to thank for his saved relationship… There is no way he’d have had the time to talk her round on a flight!
Of COURSE you would be Rupert Everett!
ReplyDeleteIf I'd been there I could've translated for you. They say Flemish is a lot like Afrikaans.
Did she say "Fokoff" at any point. Oh no. Wait. You'd have probably got that one.