So having met one of the founding members of The English Club of Magenta I was fortunate enough to be invited out to an English Ladies night out, which involved pizza, wine and more importantly talking in my own language for a whole night. This proves an exciting a proposition for me and whilst getting ready I realise I haven’t worn make-up since arriving in Magenta: eyeliner and lip gloss do not count. The reason I realise this is because I cannot find my make-up. It takes me ages searching in the bathroom to finally find it in with the candles? Not sure where my thought process was going with that decision. I decide to wear my (not very) high heels, which with my grey jeans and LK Bennett top represent my smartest casual outfit. However I am still running round dishing out kisses and good nights when the bell rings and I am off down the stairs going out. For a meal. With girlfriends. In English. I rush so much that I practically fall down the last flight of stairs as my bootcut jeans and heels catch together. It is also the first time I have worn heels since arriving in Magenta.
I am driven the short distance to the restaurant and am introduced to the English Ladies, and one Dad who is over from England for a brief holiday. I am, as usual, on my best behaviour and am soon deep in polite conversation with my new found friends. I meet one woman who lived in Alresford as a child, at least 20 miles from Fleet and another who is the current organiser of events for the English Club. On hearing I am a Police Officer in my previous life in England she quickly signs me up for a talk to the Club about life as a Police Officer on the grounds it will be interesting. Knowing a) my career path and b) my speaking abilities I doubt it, but am far too British to refuse. We swap email addresses and within a week I am booked into the November slot for ‘My life as a Police Officer’. On the positive it is another night out and is in English. However, I have to prepare a talk. Power point is the answer and with a complete disregard for the title I gen up on the history of the police, the time line of police woman being allowed to join and our family history of policing which stretches back to 1912. Lots of photos of police officers, a few of me and some beautiful shots of Hampshire, a map of the area I work in and I am done. All bar the talking.
Not knowing my audience I am fairly nervous, but as they arrive I relax slightly. I know a few of them from the English Ladies night, there are a few Italians and I am speaking to no more than 30. It’s not unlike a neighbourhood watch meeting without the crime statistics. I start talking and am within 30 seconds completely in my element telling stories of my family, the history of policing, British police dramas and some stories of my career that I have not prepared and goodness knows how I have remembered them. The only famous person I have ever met in my career is Will Carling. When his photo appears on my power point and I begin to explain he was once captain of the England Rugby Team I hear the word Diana, and realise his fame abroad is due to him being marked as one of Lady Di’s men.
The poor people who are listening don’t see me draw breath. It’s been over 8 months since I stood and spoke in my mother tongue and the English Club of Magenta are on the receiving end of all those months of stilted conversation, mute coffee with my Mums and general quietness on my part, which is not a role I am suited to.
Forty-five minutes later, I click on the final slide and finally stop. Forty-five minutes. Mamma mia, that is a lot of pent up conversation on my part.
Four days later I am out again. This is very close to a real social life. I have been invited to a concert at the local theatre. Thanks to my poor Italian I’m not really sure what for, but I know it’s part of the Arte & Vita group that both T&T have joined for guitar and dance lessons. I decline the invitation on behalf of the rest of the family as the start time is 9pm, and once again kiss goodnight to pyjamaed children before heading out with 2 of my school Mums. The theatre is packed and we are ushered to the third row from the front for what I am informed is to be a local choir concert. We will have the San Martino choir, a Gospel Choir, the Alpini group also sing, a total of 8 choirs each singing 2 or 3 songs. This is no short evening. The event is being held for a local hospital voluntary organisation and the head of the group is introduced and is given the microphone to explain where the money is going or what the organisation is about. I have no idea what being said and 10 minutes in whisper ‘Io non capito’(I don’t understand) to my friend. She giggles ‘Anche io’ (Me neither) back, and 20 minutes later the speech with very heartfelt applause is over.
The first choir come on and are introduced. They are very stern, serious looking and stiff; about 20 choristers, 2 guitarists and a pianist. The pianist begins and then the guitarists join in. One remains ramrod straight as he strums away, the younger of the 2 however seems to think this is an audition for X factor and is feeling and expressing every chord. He bends his knees, clutches and moves his guitar in tune to something clearly in his head as opposed to what’s being played and his face contorts in harmony with his knee bending. My friend and I start giggling and being so close to the front and in view of the stage end up shaking with laughter. Two songs from this choir and we are enjoying ourselves.
Each choir is preceded with a 10 minute introduction and much tooing and froing of piano’s and conductors. One choir is stopped by the conductor as a note seems to have been sung wrong, and they have to start again. The Alpini choir all stand with their hats complete with feathers and bob happily in time to the music. The one woman in the choir for the soprano notes is not allowed to wear a hat as she is a woman. This is the only explanation I am given, it seems enough to an Italian, but my linguistic skills fail me beyond Perché and doesn’t seem quite good enough to me.
The highlight of the evening is a local Gospel choir who are quite frankly brilliant. They sing a beautiful version of Go tell it on the mountain and for their final song a new arrangement of Freddie Mercury’s ‘Somebody to love’. All well and good; until one of the choristers sits astride a bongo during a ‘Find me somebody to love’ refrain. My eyebrows shoot up and I cannot for of the life of me think of the Italian for ‘I’m not entirely comfortable with that’. He however is looking entirely comfortable with his situation, even with a couple of hundred people looking on.
So it’s all over bar the thanks and flowers, which means we leave the theatre at gone midnight and the only other people out on the streets are slightly inebriated teenagers who are zigzagging their way home. Whereas I a respectable married woman has spent a diverting night at the local theatre without a drop of wine to assist my enjoyment and had a genuinely enjoyable night out. I must be getting old.
No comments:
Post a Comment