Vaffanapoli

To put it bluntly, and you may notice Giorgio has his blunt streak, it’s time to close, he says. And since I have also drunk far too many cups of coffee, and eaten far too many of G’s club sandwiches; they are not club sandwiches. Be that as it may, I call them that to tease him, to which he rejoinders. Vaffanapoli. Having never heard this expression, I wanted to know what it meant. The Count tells me (in a text) it’s a polite way of saying: Go to hell.  – Not, at any rate, I think in a handcart. In Swedish, according to Sven, his grandad used to say: Go to where the peppers grow, which I think is rather charming, especially if like me you like peppers, and certainly a lot less vulgar than the Italian option. We all know what the French say. They just shrug their shoulders and say zut alors, though not according to Ariel who declares everyone is at some time or other a putain. Only in France can everyone be a bitch when some are, no doubt, sons and daughters of bitches. In Dutch, Astrid declares there is no choice, except to pass the duchy, or is it Gouda? Anastasia (Miss Bliss to you) who has Ukrainian roots swears if you want to insult a Russian it’s better not to say sabu khuilo which Giorgio says is maybe a way of saying: Come on, you are being a pain in the ass, George. I have to close. By the way, I almost forgot about the old convict. Good day.