Countries 39 and 40
Published May 31, 2023
In Stansted Airport, past security, sitting on the snaking wooden benches with their broken USB ports, I contemplated not getting on the flight.
My misanthropy reaches such a level sometimes that it is genuinely painful to be anywhere near human beings. To have thousands of them around me can be torture.
I spent most of the dreary night in the coach station waiting area, unlike the packed arrivals hall, the coach station has far less people and some padded chairs. These are the moves of a genius.
Security opened at three something or maybe four, I placed the boarding pass QR code on the scanner and the little glass doors slid open ... 'this again then'
I was back to travelling without any luggage, all I had was my old Canadian ski jacket, stuffed with the essentials: phone charger, a couple of changes of underwear and socks and a more comfortable blue t-shirt, some medicine, tooth brush tooth paste and my passport, the burgandy book, the burgandy book that still has European Union emblazoned in gold across the top.
The only reason I got on the plane was COUNTRY 39
and COUNTRY 40
as well as the photos and videos I planned to take at the colloseum (many of the photos and videos of my first visit to Italy are lost for now)
This trip was full of Really Fucking Annoying Things or RFATs.
This trip had a lot of RFATs.
The first bonafide RFAT happened soon after landing in Bologna.
Tired, I wanted to get on the massively overpriced monorail from the airport to the train station and then take the regional train on to Rimini and my hotel bed. As me and a group of Asian-faced people walked towards it a couple of construction workers approached with the Italian language and hand gestures, clearly the stupid thing was closed for one dumb reason or another.
I found the replacement bus and skipped the line to the front, fuck it, I was that guy.
The ride wasn't so bad, it was nice to see some of Bologna. The ticket increasing ten times a few days later (the same cost as the monorail) was so bad. SHITSTAINS. RFAT CUNT-FACED SHITSTAINS.
The train to Rimini was a pleasure though. A surprisingly advanced vehicle and FAST. I was in that state of travel pain, a no sleep brain and a no sleep body. I started hulicinating at one of the station stops, the concrete on the platform outside my window DANCED AND SWIRLED.
In Rimini I walked to my hotel in the warm Adriatic sun. The streets of Rimini were beautiful, lined with stone pine afront secreted away gated villas. I wouldn't mind a hidden place here.
The hotel receptionist was a casual beauty. Red-brown hair and the face of an innocent porno hopeful from the early noughties. As she passed me my room keys, she wrapped her fingers around my hand.
Up in the room I took off my shirt and shoes, smelt the sweat inside my armpits and relaxed into the bed.
Of course the WiFi password written in the room wasn't correct, why would it be, why miss a chance for an RFAT.
I went back downstairs and got the password and more material for the upcoming wank. I didn't feel like fucking. My image of her - faux innocence with a raging desire to be railed remained. Sometimes sometimes
retaining the fantasy is better.
I slept until sometime after 11pm and then woke up and recorded some footage and got to work editing it. I've decided that this year, each trip of the Special Mission will be recorded and edited on my phone as I go.
I bought my ticket to San Marino and walked to an enemy, a false king and fraudulant prophet. I went to Burger King and ate a Whopper meal.
After chewing through the last of the retched cheap dead cow. I walked to the bus stop, jumped aboard and relaxed into a window seat. I was looking forward to bagging another new country just up the road.
Thirty minutes later could have been twenty, could have been forty
we crossed the imaginary line seperating the Republic of Italy and the Republic of San Marino. It did feel different. This wasn't a joke country, small yes, real teeny tiny but not a joke country.
On the top of Mount Titan I walked around took my photos and recorded my footage, got some snacks and headed to check-in to my hotel.
In the morning, the world was soup. Grey and haunted. I was living in a deep grey cloud. The first tower of San Marino, yesterday visible from my window, was gone, replaced by a floating wall of grey.
I headed out early to get breakfast, but nothing was open. RFAT.
I decided to just go get the towers done first instead.
The ticket was more expensive than it said online (RFAT) and the second tower was closed ? RFAT!
I had to jump over the turnstile too - even though I had just bought a ticket - squashing up my organs and injuring my intestines. You know what it is.
The views from the top of the first tower were beautiful, but not awe-inspiring. I wasn't cumming.
The second tower was indeed dead, caked in construction. GAY!
The last tower was different. Located much further along a more wild path. It was isolated and otherwordly and I liked it.
San Marino was beautiful, but I kept comparing it to Andorra and Andorra had the edge. The history of San Marino though is fucking incredible; over 1700 years, the world's oldest republic.
From San Marino I took the bus back to Rimini and then on to Ancona. I spent the night in a hotel without any of the same plugs as my adapter. Yeah. I'd have to keep my phone off until I reached Rome, where I charged her up in another fast food enemy MacDanelds , pff.
In Rome I took the metro to Vatican City, steeled myself against the sadness of the crosses on display; reminders of my son's violent death ! walked around got the footage, got the pictures, fucked a t-shirt and then went to eat Jolibee, unlike the Burger "King" and MacDanelds , pff Jolibee is a friend.
As my Jolibee chicken was digesting, I went to the Colloseum and got that evidence that I've actually been to Rome, been to Italy and then headed to the airport. Several RFATs happened along the way.
A COUNTRY! Beautiful, warm and peaceful. Italians were gentle. They had a softness to them. A loving way. They aren't the worst people in the world, they could be among the best.
...and If that hot hotel recptionist ever wanna fuck fuck fuck, we can fuck fuck fuck somewhere sometime, just not thatwhere thattime - get in touch 🙂
WELL DONE FOR SURVIVING. Small, beautiful, a bit boring. Not a lot of decent food options. Nice mountain, nice third tower.
I LOVE THE CONCEPT. A deep sadness. I LOVE MY SON!
Two more countries DONE! Italy done AGAIN! I got on the plane satisfied.
RFAT incoming, RUGLY too. As soon as she sat down she started elbowing me in my elbow. And then started whining about me (in the middle seat) having my arm on the armrest. NO BITCH NO. Speaking in a deep, serious, serial killer voice, and looking deep into her pathetic soul, I told her what she was doing was rude. The next moment she was signalling another RFAT, crying out to the flight attendant to change seats.
A shit stain of a woman, a pathetic cunt of a woman. Cunts like this often choke and die alone. The inclusion in this Blog post shall be the height of her experience here on this Earth.
When the plane landed I still had another long night and morning AND afternoon ahead of me.
I somehow got enough sleep, face down on one of the uncomfortable tables in the arrivals hall to not be hallucinating by the time the coach should have arrived.
Of course this would be another RFAT.
42 minutes late wasn't enough. The DUMB BITCH ORANGE JACKET WALKING RFAT had to add another RFAT. She opened the gate for the girl who had arrived a mere five minutes before, BEFORE opening the gate for the 30 people who had been waiting 20, 30, 40, 50, 60 minutes - a cherry RFAT atop a cake of shit.
Fuck these stupid fucking people.
I really do hope I finish this Special Mission in my own aircraft, with my own security and my own moving walls blocking out the walking shit that is the vast majority of humanity.
Travel - I love the places, I HATE the people.
As I returned to England, the Emilia-Romagna region where I had been was hit with the worst flooding in Italy in a hundred years, killing dozens and making more than 50,000 homeless. I missed the madness by only a couple of days. So, well done to me.