After ‘The Trader’ poked me, we spent most of January exchanging emails and a few calls. Finally he mentioned that he was popping over to Italy for a party and would I like to come? Sadly I had to decline as I was “between jobs�, so my finances really wouldn’t allow.

For the next day or two I heard nothing and was starting to get a little peeved when a forwarded flight confirmation popped into my mailbox, followed by an offer of accommodation at “The Bvlgariâ€?. ‘The Trader’ rarely lets money get between him and a good time. After long consideration ( 2 minutes ) I accepted the flights, but decided to get my own accommodation - I have a reputation to maintain, not a very good one, but a reputation none the less! If you have stayed in Italy you will know that the hotel star ranking system is a little basic.

1 Star – Roof

2 Star – Bed

3 Star – Indoor toilet

4 Star – Towel and mini soap

5 Star – Free prostitute

As I needed to manage my budget I went for the 3 star option – big mistake

Bill Bryson once wrote about a hotel room in New York that was so small he had to go into the corridor to turn around and when inside the room he could touch all four walls at once. I had the same experience and I’m only 5ft 4! The real gem of the room was the bathroom, it was painted entirely in shiny blue paint, and I do mean entirely; walls, ceiling, floor and toilet roll holder. (If I was a Smurf I would have been very happy).

To make matters worse I then popped over to “The Traders� hotel and saw his room. The bathroom was larger than my entire room and more importantly, not blue. However the interior decorator had obviously recently finished reading “101 uses for gold leaf�. I spent most of my visit scrapping off gold dust with a nail file.

Saturday was spent strolling around the wonderful architecture of Milan, which is not as easy as it may sound. Although the Italians may have given us roads and plumbing they still have not worked out that streets in a hot country should NOT be paved with tarmac. Around mid-day the paths have the texture of gently chewed bubblicious.

If you are unfortunately enough to be wearing heels, you don’t walk, but instead go through a regular process of sink-age and extraction. (Perhaps this is why the Italians invented Roman Sandals). I now understand why all the local women have such long, lean limbs - generations of strolling on bubble gum pavements. (Damn Irish concrete paths!)

That night we were due to attend a party hosted by an old classmate of ‘The Trader’, who set up an IT company in the 90’s, sold it for a fortune and then headed off around the world to spend his millions. He made it as far as Italy where he met ‘The Contessa’, married and is spending the additional money doing up the family villa.

I was quietly optimistic about the party and my prospects with ‘The Trader’. We were older, more mature and crucially drinking a lot less. What could possibly go wrong*………….?
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*Sorry this is so drawn out but to paraphrase the cliche, I don’t have the time or talent to write a short post so am doing 3 long ones instead !