When Anna Came to Visit.

I've visited Anna where she lives in Paris more times than I can count. This weekend I played hostess in Rome for a change. I'm shit at it. It was still all the fun, though, to periodically exclaim to one another, TEN YEARS AGO WE WERE IN A DRAMA CLASS IN YORKSHIRE TOGETHER. NOW LOOK AT US!

Look at us indeed. Drunk and snap-happy.

"Right. You've been here ten minutes. Prosecco?" I said. "FINALLY!" she replied. "That was the longest ten minutes of my life. Let's go."

Because it was my birthday weekend I did smoking. SORRY I'M NOT SORRY.

"This is where you live?" she asked me. "I'll call myself a smug bitch so you don't have to," I said.

That's the Marilyn moment over with, then.

I made her eat the best gelato outside of the bestest building...

... made all the better because THE HORSE STUCK IT'S TONGUE OUT AT US. That's almost better than a banana in hat.

The bestest building gave the bestest light. That's a hole in the ceiling, in case you were wondering.

Pause for lunch. Right next to us were Spain's most beautiful twentysomethings. It was disgusting.

I got drunk to deal with my feelings.

ALL THE BEST SIGNS!

So, I got a tattoo, and Anna let me hold her hand really, really hard while the nice man did it.

Right after he drew this as the outline I wanted to do throwing up. I just kept saying. I'M TATTOOING A BANANA IN A HAT ON MYSELF. Then the needle went in. 

Anna's solution for post-tattoo euphoria was to drink vodka-based cocktails to deal with my emotions. HEY! SPOT THE PATTERN! I DRINK TO DEAL WITH THE INSIDES OF MY HEAD. That's healthy. p.s. hi, ex-roomie!

On the way home we stood on the bridge on the way to my house and Anna said, 'You're a very fortunate lady.' Internet? SHE WAS RIGHT.