6th August 2016
Getting home from a night out in London can be an ordeal. My commute is an hour each way. It was a rare treat to go out only two stops away.
My amore MDB sings in a choir and a friend of hers from there invited us over for some drinks. The living room was full of books (in various languages) and we talked about music, literature and all that inapplicable nonsense you’d expect of liveral milennials.
Our hosts were a Finnish girl and her English boyfriend. The invitees included two Norwegians and their respective partners (a Brit and Hong Konger). The British boyfriend in particular was unaffected and warm but they were without exception an interesting group of good people.
Conversation turned to languages and our successes (and failures) in our partners’mother tongues. My love speaks Spanish better than I and her English is beyond a level I could ever hope for in any language.
The Scandanavians (true to form) couldn’t be faulted in my own language. And the partners present were making headway in Finnish, Norwegian and Mandarin. I felt more than a little inadequate.
A bottle of mint-flavoured spirit was passed around; soon sending home the only person foolish enough to take more than one taste. And when we left we were able to get home in 5 minutes.
It was a good night and I hope to see them again. And amore, I will speak better Italian soon. I promise. Again.