SIZE MATTERS

I FEEL THE NEED, THE NEED FOR SPEED

All things being equal, (and nothing ever is) I have reached in life where being non-judgmental is an everyday exercise.  I pinch myself every time I stumble over a moment requiring an evaluation of my principles or morals.   Dare I – dare I not?  Should I - shouldn’t I?  Could I, couldn’t I?   Will I – will I not?  

Oh but its so tempting.

This is all about acquiring a suitable ride – in this case – a car .  

The purchasing logic dictated by advertising gurus now come into play.  Performance versus style, style versus price.   My poor man’s gut tells me “its only a vehicle that takes me from A to B”.  My illogical stylish head tells me “200 mph in 6 seconds, it’s got my name on it”. 

Whatever the logic, I judge these four-wheeled motors as if they were my legs.  They belong to me, the equivalent to the shoes that I wear.  Nobody should fit into them, anyone can try to put them on, dare to change mirrors, seat levers and they’re banned for life.   I know when someone else has driven my car – the engine speaks differently and I have to cajole it back to my way of driving. 

I like to look at a car as if I was judging the potential of a date.  It has to  be “eye-candy’.   It has to perform.  It has to start every time, in whatever weather.   It needs zero looking after except the occasional engine service.   Neat and tidy it has to have the ability to “house” my shoes and paraphernalia.   Self cleaning is problematical so it’s my pleasure to get down and dirty, splash sudsy soap, hose down and wax it, , all the while appropriately wearing a color coordinated bikini on a hot scorching day.

So, should I splash out on something sexy, outrageously expensive, stylish and workable, cheap and cheerful or something that out performs every one  that nobody’s ever heard of?  

JAGUAR - Just A Guess U Are Rich

A quaint Englishman of a certain age would never drive anything else.  Speaks volumes of class, style, old money, and yet not flashy.  My Bank Balance doesn’t quite match the price tag and the roads I plan to drive on, tend to have holes, and floods.  But it does have that vintage feel – like an Englishman in a double-breasted blazer, smelling of Old Spice, perhaps an Etonian alumnai.  Ageing with it would be quite charming. 

Mercedes 

Most Expensive Road Car Everyone 

Drives Except Some

Everyone who has made it, seem to want it in their garage.  German precision performs meticulously.  Crisp and effective, it does achieve reliability matching no other.   German engineers occupy a high pedestal in a country that prizes technology and craftsmanship.   Like their men, they are strict, exacting, exhausting and disciplined – romanticism not reflected in their persona. 

Ferrari  

Fabulously Egocentric, Ridiculously Rich, 

Awfully Redundant Italians.

All males who drive this beautifully sculptured vehicle  display their sexuality in the only way they know how – physically roaring the engine mirrors the pelvis thrust.  The showing of their prowess, it is merely an extension of their penis.   The redder the color, the hotter they are; the longer the frontage, the more promise of heaven, the noisy roar of the engine; the deafening the bang.   Deliciously worth a ride,  but impractical to own.

 And now we have to give way to the Land of the Rising Sun:

TOYOTA   

The One You Only Trust Always

My affair with Toyota cars has been long and faithful.  It started out with the white Celica, then the red Tercel,  the gold Vios Soluna, the Black Vios Soluna, and the red Solara ending with the dark black menacing Fortuner.   They have all performed splendidly, never failing in their duty.  Flashy they are not.  Sexy they are not.  Not to forget Honda, Nissan, and the beautiful Lexus, Nippon’s are known to value civility, harmony, conformity integrity, persistence and industriousness.   All very reliable virtues that one should find in a man, is transported to a car.  Japan has much to offer, Sushi, Mikimoto pearls, Tempura, Sake, Sumo wrestling,  Judo, with an infinite and impressive list.  A male driven society, they think not to pander to their women. Unfortunately the art of flirtatious dance is all but forgotten in the march to economically succeed.

 Volvo    

Very Old Looking Vehicle Objects

Once owned a Volvo, built to last a century.   With 200,000 miles on the clock it still performs, even after many crashes, the chassis is still intact.  Like Vikings, brute strength, cave man like behavior, sums it up. 

Range Rover       

Royal and Noble Gentleman’s Engine  Rides Over Virtually Every Road

The British Royals love it. Seen at country house events, or even deer hunting or grouse shoots.   Top of the line, it smacks of English country squires, product placement in most James Bond movies.  Rugged but shaven, shaken not stirred, the Daniel Craig performance yields permanence in my garage.

Oldsmobile   

Overpriced, Leisurely Driven Sedan Made Of Buick's

                Irregular Leftover Equipment

Everything in America is big.  Size on that continent in everything matters.  The bigger the man, the bulkier his car.  The larger his house, the vastness of his bed.   I could go on but perhaps painting the imagination is always more exciting than reality. This acronym for the Oldsmobile does say it all.   Driving on the I90, a huge clunky sedan  can be a great  buffer against other cars whizzing down the eight lane freeway that stretches beyond infinity.  

Lets just try to fix my garage the way I like it.   Monday to Thursday the ever efficient Toyota.  Friday, date night with the mean Ferrari that roars and promises to deliver.  Saturday Mr. Jaquar comes out for a picnic in Hyde Park and my Range Rover is reserved for Ascot.  

And I leave the Oldsmobile as a rental when the I90 stretches beyond the horizon.  Indulging in size when Europe and Asia leaves me unsatisfied.

SATURDAY NIGHT – LONELY NO MORE

 One woman’s journey into a man’s weekly ritual only  to discover 

Leicester’s Foxes shows the way to her patriotism.

On a Saturday evening, the men in my house disappear.   After many years of this happening, curiosity got the better of me and I decided to persuade them to let me join in their enthusiasm.

Picture the scene, a group of men, all eyes centered on the big screen. A live coverage of a football game is on.   The location could be in a friend’s living room, a pub, or a bar but they are all enraptured and huddled around the screen, the table strewn with half empty bottles of beer, crisps, nuts.   All of a sudden, the group get up in unison from the couch, or the bar stool and at the top of their lungs, yell, scream shout for joy.  Someone has scored a goal. 

Admonished and reprimanded for my intrusion and shouted down, “Its not just “someone”, its Man U v Man City, and Man U just scored in the last 2 minutes of the game….shhhh” Indulging in the excitement and enjoyment of a soccer enthusiast is to understand the true essence of their code of ethics, and at the top of the list is Club Loyalty.  These group of men were Man U supporters.    The excitement is electrifying even for a non football fan. 

This is where men do their bonding.  They share their beer and football stories.  They talk about charismatic players like Wayne Rooney, who gets sent off a lot for fouling and hard tackling.  Movie star looks like Beckham whose amazing talent seems to go on endlessly.  They talk of the betrayal of Tevez who switched from United to City.  How City mocked United by erecting a billboard with Tevez’s picture that said “Welcome to Manchester”.  Or how both United and City  fought hard to get Robin van Persie from Arsenal.  And in the end Van Persie chose United.

Amazingly, these rivalries or spirited nature, spill into Thailand, as soccer is a sport most Thai men are very passionate about.   These men range from Taxi drivers to college students to office managers who wear their Red Shirts with pride, boo City fans in their Blue shirts, put team stickers on their cars, can describe on just about every goal within the season.

This is not a recent phenomena.  The original Thai soccer fans were back in the eighties.   At this time Liverpool were supreme.   Ask any taxi driver from that era and he can tell you the names of that great Liverpool side.  Although there are other leagues in Europe such as La Liga (Spain) and Serie A (Italy) it is the English Premier League teams which are supported by Thais.  It is simply the best and on any given Saturday, True TV show around six games live.   This allows the supporters of Clubs other than the top four to enjoy their Saturday night at the pubs and clubs.  Teams like Newcastle United and Spurs all have lots of supporters.

The girlfriends and wives  really have no choice but to join in and enjoy the spectacle.  But please don’t expect us to shout abuse at the referees or gloat over their friends who may be on the losing side.  Ladies, after all, must show decorum and dignity. I now realize football teams are cunning and crafty and the fun is not necessary on the pitch but reveling in big Sponsor challenging stunts.  For example, last year Arsenal played City at City’s Ethihad stadium. To show their rivalry and superiority City planned to do a fly over the Ethihad stadium but due to bad Manchester weather, this was not possible.  Arsenal’s sponsors, Emirates heaved a sigh of relief.

In recent times Manchester United have always been the biggest and most successful club. Manchester City’s big money takeover by the Arabs in the 2008/2009 season, ploughed an absolute fortune into the club to bring the best players in the World into the club and to improve the facilities.   But season 2011/2012 has seen Dutch striker, Van Persie leading the list of the Premier League’s top goal scorers and has spearheaded United’s bid to reclaim their domestic league title.

The men disdainfully asked what team I supported knowing full well of my two hour initiation into the game. With a little help from few patient souls, my strong Thai patriotism took hold and although not in the Premier league, Leicester City at King Power Stadium in the Championship League is where I put my heart.   Nigel Person, having managed Hull City before, now heads the team and they have my full support to scream and shout for them to get into the Premier League wearing my blue and whites.

MILANESE MEN

Milano and all its glories.....

There was Alberto, Alfonso, Maurizio, Hugo, Nino,  allora……

and then there was Davide pronounced 
Da-veed.


Michaelangelo could easily have sculptured Davide.  He was spotted at Roberto Cavalli's night club  -  
Just Cavalli in Parco Sempione,

an exclusive club styled by the fashion Guru.   Davide, the perfect Adonis, with ripped muscle, tall, handsome, curly dark brown hair, misty blue eyes with a Mediterranean tan that every now and again uttered  beautiful Italian.  But as with all Godly things bestowed, Davide was missing an element or two, and here comes the Italian myth that explains it all.

The Italian Goddess Pertunda, the God of  Sexual desires was seen arguing with Goddess Carmen, the Goddess of casting spells.  Pertunda and Carmen after much deliberation decided that Davide had in the end too much of  physical beauty, his brain should be left unaided, therefore after a day or two, I needed Hugo.

Hugo, voracious in the arts, history and architecture was bequeathed with vast brain power that could light up the Lombardi skies.   Unfortunately a little older than Davide, less hair but still exquisite with playful Italian eyes had me ingesting volumes of information on the Duomo.

Magnificent in structure, brilliant in design, it took almost six centuries for the Duomo  to be complete.   As we sipped chianti in the Cathedral Square, he continued to lecture on 15^th Century Italian history.  

In the afternoon, Hugo  would move to Peck’s, the bistro, tea place in Via Spadari.   Walls lined with hundreds of varieties of tea, honey, jams offers even more wonderful selections of roast veal, risottos, prochetta, salads, basically like Harrods Food Hall, the cornucopia of delicacies.   

As an art professor, Hugo was not flushed with Euros, so I bypassed Cracco-Peck Via Victor Hugò, which had traditional and creative cuisine but at ridiculous prices.

Thursday afternoon, it was definitely a walk along Via Montenapoleone, turning towards Via Manzoni, where Nino accompanied me.  

A Peacock in full spread best describes Nino.  

In his sixties with not an ounce of fat on him, erect body, crisp white linen shirt with sleeves slightly rolled up revealing a gold Patek Philippe watch.   Black leather pants with matching leather jacket slung over his shoulder.  A very discreet Armani scarf casually tied around his neck, exposing tufts of chest hair.   He, on the other hand, had plenty of Euros and was enjoying the splash he was about to engage  with me and my other Italian friend.  

Dropping in to the oldest (opened in 1817)  patiserrie in Milano is Caffee Cova on Via Montenapoleone .  Nino ordered a feast of cakes and pastries before our expedition to Via della Spiga

Lets just say Via della Spiga is retail therapy volume turned to the max.  Everything was stylish, beautifully crafted and classy.  

Nino only possessed one card, The Black Amex – ridiculous how that glossy black plastic can command such respect.  

Whilst we burned his card, he sat patiently at Dolce & Gabbana’s café simply nursing an aperitif.

Weekend released the illusive Alfonso, who decided it was in Lake Como that we would have our pasta and some delicious gelati.  

Picture postcard with cobbled streets, artists painting, lovers dining alfresco, it was all so twee until a fight broke out between two boys.  A lot of vaffanculo and figlio di puttana  abuse being hurled at one another.  A little Latin at school would enable anyone to deduce its meaning.     One can only speculate that the good looking boy got the girl.

Such passion......

By the time you swear you're his,

 Shivering and sighing.

                                                                                 And he vows his passion is,

Infinite, undying.

Lady make note of this --One of you is lying. 

                                                                                                                                               ― Dorothy Parker

ITALIAN AWAKENING - FOOD, ARTS, AND GIGOLOS

Everything and anything Italian gets my heart racing…….

From their names, way of pronouncing certain words, their food, their fashion, their art, their architecture, their opera, their wine, their parmesan and their men…..

Contemplating anthropologically – how is it that certain countries produce beautiful men – leaving the female of that population out of luck.     Take France, Italy, or Greece, be it their waters, wine or food that they eat,  they seem to generate these incredible and delectable men simply meant for procreation.

With the women of Turkey, Egypt and Persia, under the Purdah, these ladies have beautiful skin, blue-green eyes with striking beauty.   The men did not have such good fortune on their side, (Allah gave them oil - so what do they need good looks for?)  with their rough bearded skin cloaked in white robes, hiding what could be a six-pack or more likely a bloated belly.   In South East Asia, the Thai women are well known for their charm, beauty and femininity but their men fail miserably trying to look like plastic Korean dolls bordering on hermaphroditism. 

So gets lets back to the Italian charms – of  Pedro, Pasta and Proseco.    For after all I am a woman, that likes her chianti, men and linguini not necessarily in that order.

Campo De’Fiori in Roma is where my pillow is for the next few weeks or months conditional on many issues. The field of flowers, Campo De’Fiori is south of the Piazza Navona.  Abandoned field of flowers in the 14^th century, the square became a daily market.  

In the 1600 it was the scene of many an execution, notably Giordano Bruno burned at the stake for his philosophical ideals.   

Today as I walk along the cafes and shops, the ‘ambiente’  begs of  fresh Mediterranean produce, an extraordinary butcher shop called Il Florentino.  The meat is displayed as if it were jewels from Harry Winston’s.   From the back of vans, rows of  pretty white cotton dresses complimenting the summer sky selling like hot cakes.   Tents selling produce of Italy, from sun dried tomatoes to limonchello, meandering round these shops, I am late for my Italian cookery class.

Chef Andrea Consoli, operates this cooking school in the center of Rome on Via Fienaroli and today he is teaching me Artichokes Roman style, homemade fettucine with Norma Sauce, stuffed meatballs and for dessert chocolate souffle.

The day passed by so deliciously, experiencing shopping in the market, and then later cooking in Chef Andrea’s kitchen.    I am slowly devouring the taste and texture of the chocolate souffle as taught  by Pedro to use  my tongue simply tasting and awakening the taste buds to  the velvety smoothness of every ingredient that has gone into this special souffle.   Re-creating this for my special man, Pedro says  that this kind of seduction will work every time.  Is he hinting?  

My time in Campo d'fiori is  a mixture of  learning a language, becoming more eloquent and knowledgable on art, loving more passionately, and consuming excellent Chianti.   

Two days of cooking interwoven by two days worth of art lessons from Pedro began to rejuvenate  my soul, my stomach and my heart.