Pavia on a Sunday

Woke to sounds more akin to a cave full of wild animals than a youth hostel, such was the din coming from my dorm mates. I really don't know how it was possible.

Day trip to Pavia today and when I asked the railway man if it was the right train for Pavia he pointed out in no uncertain terms that it was pronounced Pavia. That was me told good and proper.

Pavia was a very quiet and peaceful town, accentuated by the shops being shut and hence not many people around. Sunday, Bloody Sunday. The shops are shit, there's nothing to do...

However, after strolling through the many narrow medieval streets, lined with cobbled together buildings and leading into squares without warning, I had a lie down in the sun by the river and collected my thoughts. I soon lost them but for a fleeting moment I felt like I had it all together.

Back in Milan for aperitivo time and Napoli v Milan on the big screen. The match wasn't great but food and beer for €7 saved the day.

In the hostel I met a bloke from Cashmerrrre (as he pronounced it). Still can't be sure of his name but I have his email.

He was saying all European cities were the same, despite admitting to having stayed in the hostels for most of his trip. He really wants to come to England. And get a job as a golfer or something.

He talked about cricket and how England haven't had any good players since 'Iron'. What? Turned out to be I-an Botham. OF course. I pointed out that he was talking complete tosh in the nicest of ways, he suggested exchanging emails and coming to visit me in England, and then I made my excuses citing good night's sleep requirements and headed for bed/away.