Being approached for a date: something we hadn’t considered when drawing up the guidelines.
He is an Italian, and pretty much the expressive stereotype. A philosopher. A cellist, a pianist, a guitarist and a didjeridu-ist. Has an earring. Lives in a village. Has a field where he grows his own peaches, tomatoes and other things.
He wears fair trade. And I met him in the vegetarian line for dinner.
The conversation was a little splattered with ‘I didn’t understand’ followed by a pause, but this was completely compensated for by the depth of the bloke. He has a conviction, a creativity and insight which can only be appreciated.
Much story telling of our respective ‘back homes’. Intriging differences, yet many cross-cultural similarities. We both work on children’s camps so there was an exchange of each of our classic memories. We both enjoyed the deliberate irony of the camp he was going to run the following week, were they were using the characters from the Golden Compass, an anti-Catholic book as the theme for a Catholic children’s camp.
He made a single statement which upset me. Basically according to him, snow doesn’t count if it’s less than a metre, which means I haven’t yet seen the stuff. Shattered. It took me more than two decades to finally touch snow, and suddenly it doesn’t count. Well, that’s now back on the bucketlist. Aside from that…
Summer, full moon and just delightful. The evening was in many ways annoyingly ideal.
My date tip: find yourself an Italian