A while ago I wrote about the feisty vecchio (old man) who lives upstairs. He's been a bit quieter of late after a hospital scare and enforced bed rest but he's often there on his balcony during the day keeping a menacing vigil over the parking spaces which lie alongside his garden. I'm not ashamed to admit I'm a little afraid of him, and in fact often when we leave in the morning I involuntarily twist my head upwards in search of the lurking flat cap above. E's started revving the car when we get in it just to see my reaction ("shhhh, just go for goodness' sake, he'll hear us" "But the car's not warmed up yet" replies E with a wicked glint in his eye).
Anyway, yesterday I was at home for my lunch break when there was a fierce knocking at the door. I opened the door and lo and behold, there was il vecchio.
"Erm, buongiorno" I began nervously
"Oh, your Dad's not in then?" he asked
"Mi scusi?"
"Your Dad's not here?" he began to glower suspiciously
"Ummmm. No my boyfriend's not here" I replied confusedly
"Whose is that car?" he gestures, jabbing with his walking stick at a car parked just outside
"I don't know, sorry"
(Grunts) "Right. Well don't forget to tell your dad that he's not allowed to park there. Good day."
Poor old E. Maybe it's time he shaved off that burgeoning beard. At least now I can be safe in the knowledge that any problems il vecchio has with me he'll take up with my dad rather than shouting at me!
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