(This post was due yesterday but inexplicably it wasn’t published)
A souvenir that I leave behind me each time I go through Barcelona is feeling hangover wandering around its airport. Behind me, memories of a remarkably funny night. Today I am coming back from England after having participated the 17th of March to one of the most proper British custom, the horse race in Cheltenham-Gold Cup! English people are totally nut for horse races, they take it very seriously, it’s an upper class obligation to attend and get the most expensive tickets as possible; it’s a true status. Indeed there are also common people getting 60£ tickets and eating fish&chips… but even then, 60£ for entering a horse race seems a lot to Italians like me, attending (before it closed) in Livorno some basic horse races with a 10€ tickets and betting hard instead. Then in England there is, as all should know reading gossip and watching films such 4 weddings and a funeral, the dress code is particularly strict, whichever tickets you get. In Cheltenham tweed and trousers can be okay, but in Ascot God forbid wearing dresses shorter than 4 inches up the knee-and no black! The Queen shall inspire all with her pastel dresses, so when I saw something of the kind I bought it immediately after having submitted my choice to my mum in law. They are bringing me in the Royal enclosure, 4 inches to the Queen literally, so I shall be more perfect than usual… In Cheltenham I was dressing a leopard dress which despite being aggressive as it should, is particularly chaste with its details. Hat and high-eels completed the outfit. So we had lunch in the 3 michelin star restaurant go Albert Roux overlooking the race field.
The day before my birthday was more filled with celebrations then the day of my birthday i.e. yesterday March 18th. After trying to organise something in Monaco, London and Amsterdam, we took it easy with custom fight and making up in Mellor Knowl- Charles’s reign. But when you forget to book the flight back in the turmoil of disorganisation-Charles is probably right attributing this to me I ought to say-Barcelona is the obvious place to stop 3 hours before getting to the right airport. I remember getting to El Prat at 5am after having partied all night with my friend Camilla, who graduated in podology at the Universitat de Barcelona. I was mad at her or week not bringing me to party because she was too stressed to have a nice discussion of her dissertation-opposite to me, that need to party in order to forget it. She took me to study (!) and sunbathe in spartan towels in the beach of Badalona-Spanish are so socialist that there is no private beach there, so imagine my joy…plus she kept far from someone I knew with whom I could have had some fun, mischievous Camilla who thinks I am that naughty. No more than Camilla’s mother, a fantastic woman to whom I have a lot in common, starting from Louis Vuitton to crazy romanticism and a flair for art-the visit of Gaudi’s Battlo house together was unforgivable. Ultimately after graduation we had some hangover night, one in a Hawaiian bar where I got so wasted I picked up a huge sombrero from the bin holding a rose in my mouth and slept covered by it on the sofa the night before the hyper serious ceremony. The same day we went on celebrating in a crowded with hipsters and teenagers club (I would rather have gone to the way-classier Carpe diem but ultimately I had no panic attacks) and I went straight to the airport afterwords.
Studying and playing with condoms from the distributors in the university
Teaching Camilla the holy rule on how to behead a bottle
A girls night out
The next day
So 1 hour after the last photo was taken I roamed around there 2 hours before the flight and landed in Nice with a killer mentality. My driver (name has been changed) got it wrong wanting to bring me for breakfast. Nevertheless, in the afternoon I was partying again in Nikki beach at the “Peace and love” party. And I got some peace and love even when Italy lost to Germany in the world cup, as Ronaldo scored and Portugal won; seeing Germany losing in the final was even more priceless! Parallels is that I am going to celebrate more tomorrow and be fresh and I expect my week will be made by the online deposit of my thesis! Today we are going to have a nice time in El Prat, smoking cigarettes in the open smoking area and remembering the beauty of the most fantasious city in a most odd trip, this time with a King all along. I post photos of that day at the airport (that sombrero became my travel buddy!) and in Nikki beach immediately after with photos of me yesterday, so you can see my unscathed youth and resistance to champagne turning one year older! The difference between then and now is that whilst before I would have roamed between shops and get crazy to find the smoking area-which in this amazing airport is an open air space with Haagen Datz and a gazebo-,now I sit calm at the lounge drinking martini in this 3 hours wait. But I am still wearing no make up, I come back from partying and I will be partying even more, and after posting this reflection of my status I will go shopping-careless if I look like a ghost and conscious of my weight loss.
Turning 1/4 century
In Manchester airport I brought turmoil to the luxury lounge while collecting food and explaining how sorry and confused I am after the lovely party for my birthday I was told that “celebrating 21 is always massive.” This is the age most people give me, and I want to stick to it-hungry and foolish. So are my business plans of making of Charles a pop star and myself acting in the videos as his muse. Oldish Alessandra’s wife plan is to support him enjoying myself and being happy and not difficult indeed… I will fit this role,I like being Brit way more than being french!