We’re just about hanging on by the skin of our teeth. Trying hard not to ignore the must see sights. It’s why we came here. Will Florence give us a boost?
Another early arrival gives us an afternoon to explore. We Scoot straight up to Piazzale Michelangelo (his name gets everywhere for some strange reason). It’s an iconic scene. Familiar worldwide. Another one can be ticked off. But well worth it.
Camping Firenza, a ten minute drive away from the centre is one of the most organised sites we’ve ever stayed on. It’s big. Got it’s own restaurant and supermarket. A fabulous pool – closed for the season. No life guard working now. “I’ll be your life guard” I say jokingly. Quick words are exchanged and I get the thumbs up. We return from the view above. The pool is as blue and still as the stillest blue lagoon. A few sunbathers around the edge catching the late afternoon’s fading rays. The pool’s empty. I can’t wait to get in. It feels a little cool on entry. I’m half way up my first length. Hmm, this is COLD. Correction. This is FREEZING! I’m finding it difficult to catch my breath. Heading for the deep end. I’m caught unawares. It wouldn’t look “cool” for the would be life guard to drown now, would it? Last time I swam in anything this cold was in a small Scottish mountain tarn – in the 70’s. I’m a little older now. No wiser though. Start taking in water faster than the Titanic. Just about hang on and reach safety. Peruse the sensible dry ones. Has anyone noticed the idiot spluttering for dear life? Apparently not. Seems I could have drowned and none would have been the wiser. Undeterred, I venture forth again. “Come on” I tell myself “be a man”.
This site is very popular, so the showers are generally pretty busy. This makes for interesting listening. When invisibly cubicled men reveal an unknown side of their character. They just don’t care who’s listening.
They can generally be classified as such:-
- The Groaner – He sounds as if he’s been left to rot. Imprisoned with chained wrists and ankles to a dark, damp and dingy dungeon floor. All hope gone.
- The Moaner – He’s turned on the shower to discover he’s lost his soap and his shampoo bottle is empty.
- The Huffer & Puffer – Sounds like he’s just reached the top of the highest staircase in the world and misplaced his oxygen tank.
- The Heavy Breather – Warming his vocal chords and getting in some early morning practise for heavier things to come.
- The Tut-Tutter – He just can’t get the shower temperature right.
- The Tuneless Whistler – Only know the first six notes of a few popular 70s hits. Repeats them over, while trying to think of what comes next. Then moves on to the next derangement.
- The Whistling Warbler – Repeats the opening four bars of The Good The Bad and The Ugly. Over and over and over again.
- The Frank Sinatras – With every conceivable arrangement of My Way.
- The Gutterels – Last night’s inner fermentations are spewed out no matter what. Coughing up eruptions that haven’t been heard in these parts since AD79.
- The Throat Clearers – Sounding as if they’re constantly trying to attract your attention.
- The Hummers & DumDeeDummers – Probably doing a bit of cubicle dusting too.
Of course this is all pure fiction. Isn’t it?