Some Christmas tales: ode to the people I know and I like.
And, by the way, I realized I might have a slightly alcohol problem.

My dad says hello son and my dog talks to me.

Ninth airplane trip of the year. This means I've already flown around 20 times this year, counting the connections in US.
Very impressive. I got ready probably in 45 minutes and got bored in my room for 2 hours.

I have a condition, you know: it seems that I can never make it just in time at the airport. It's always too early, or too late.
When is too early, I'm 6 hours early. When it's too late, usually I have to book another plane.

This time I even made my own calculations to get in Stansted just in time to
1) buy magazines with naked women
2) have a poo
3) eat something disgusting
4) look at the pictures in the magazine with the naked women.

Sometimes the order changes but this is my routine. I don't usually buy filthy magazines (my great Irish flatmate does it for me) but I make an exception every time I fly.

Once in Little Poland (Victoria Green Line) I jumped on the bus (late) to get in the airport (late). The flight was late so all my calculations were worthless.
I had 4 spare hours. Damn it.

In 4 hours I spent time thinking how stupid I am every time that I book my plane online. I should always avoid Ryanair. I'm not a Ryanair man. I'm a BA World Class Traveler Man (free drinks and films on board).
Then I remember that I have the Ryanair Man's money and I book a cheap ticket. But really, I hate Ryanair.

The baggage limit is 15kg. Usually I travel with 10-13 but in the last months some guests (girls) left me some stuff to bring it over in December. 22 pounds gone. Add this to the price for the bus and for the same price I could have landed in Milan instead of Bergamo (80km from my place) and fly from the nice and mighty Heathrow instead of the cheap and too damn far Stansted.

I landed in the middle of the night and thank God my sister and my cousin (who likes to drink just like me) Davide were there to collect me. Instead of going home we went straight to the best bar of Legnano (a 50k town known for the incredible amount of bars per head), the Texas Town.
Without no food and no sleep and no strength in my body I almost struggled to drink the two Americanos (or Negronis), the Chupito (rum + pear juice - I drank it straight, no juices for the real man) and the Absinthe.

Happy and (almost) drunk I went home only to wake up the next morning around 8am because my dad wanted to say hello.

Now, my dad is a beautiful man. He's strong, he's probably one of the strongest men I've ever known and fought with, and he's got forgotten "all around" skills.

He's like a MacGyver only with a better son and less hair.

He's like one day the producers of the A-Team decided to cut the budget and fit everything in one man: 15% Hannibal Smith, 5% Face, 5% Murdock and 75% B.A. Baracus, shook it and made it whiter, with a strong belly and the biggest hands ever found on a human in a 5'8 frame.

He traveled the whole life for work, building, fixing, painting, connecting stands for various firms in the fair trades.

In the 90's he finally stopped traveling to live the rest of his life surrounded by the family. But it worked quite differently: after the military service I left to go to London, my sister lived in Brazil for a while and my mum left. The dog stayed.

Shit happens.
Dogs and cats stay. 

This is the lesson. And this is my dad.

But he's got heart. And a moral code from 4 or 5 centuries ago. So when he saw me, after the usual line "hello son" he soon followed it with "well, you're here know, get your ass out and cut some wood for the fireplace"

And I moaned, half drunk and half dead. But I did it. You know, keeping my dad happy in my short stays is always one of my goals.

After I cut the wood I walked my massive (40kg...) dog known as Bart outside, and I swear I almost connected with him.
He's just playing Forrest Gump with those eyes and his love for everyone.

Instead he was looking at me and saying

"Hey you, young man, let me take you out for a ride. You look crap man. And the wood you cut? That was shit man. Come, come here, I'll show you the crap of some other dog. See? Now look, I can do better" - he shat - "See? If I want something, if I'm focused on something, I can do it. Now walk me there and there and then give me some food. And some water. And give as much food and fresh water like your old man. No shitty leftovers and I will play the happy dog for you later. Say, deal?" - Deal - "Cool. Oooof".

Later I met my mum for the pre Christmas dinner with my sister. And later I went to my pub to drink with my friends. To dogs. And to Richard Pryor. And to Eddie Guerrero.

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