The Elephant Man
This time last year I was still incarcerated in the delightful Tuscan city of Pervland, surrounded on all sides by lovely rolling hills and those tall trees that look like cigars and walking past huge medieval buildings every day. I am disappointed I left before the Bond crew turned up to film though.

This all sounds lovely and fluffy on the surface, but if I tell you that incest was legal in Siena till about 150 years ago, and that it shows, you may sympathise a little more. I've never lived anywhere where the people are so distrustful of outsiders, and so rude to anyone with a less than perfect grasp of the language, like me. The only place I never got any grief was the internet café I spent a ridiculous amount of time in, and that's probably only because I was their best customer, clinging frantically to the only thing that would stop me from going insane.

As well as the rudeness, I've never met so many nutters in my life. I've taken the last tube to Northwood with less trouble than I ever got in Siena. The most notable culprit was a man who used to get the same bus as me from the city centre to my halls, way out of the city, and who most people would shuffle out of the way when they saw him?

Well, he was the local nutter; would strike up a conversation in thickly accented Tuscan with just about anyone who spoke the language (I am a short, dark-haired girly with skin goths envy so I never had to suffer this personally), but the guy gave me the creeps nonetheless, shamefully because in addition to the same anorak and baseball cap he wore in all winds and weathers, and the fact he clearly wasn't all there, he had one of those huge, painful-looking mulberry birthmarks, that covered his entire face, and if you weren't expecting to see him it really took you by surprise.

My roommate wasn't as lucky as I was; Xenia, being short as me but half the width, infuriatingly stylish and Greek, could easily pass for an Italian girl, snapped me out of a book one evening as she came home banging on the door and as I let her in ran in in her Italian boots like Old Nick himself was after her and practically crawled under her bed.

"What's up hun?" (her parents both spoke fluent English, and so she did too)
"The man... on the bus... you've seen him?"
"Which one?"
"He has... on his face..."
"Oh, I think I know who you mean... yep, he's creepy as fuck. What happened?"
"He grabbed me and then he was in my face like this *she makes a gesture like Eddie Izzard talking about Mars*"

Having calmed her down and given her water, I managed to work out that he'd spent the entire time they were waiting for the bus (it was Italy - the timetable is a suggestion) chatting to Xenia and completely oblivious to her terror, and did the same for the whole twenty-minute bus ride. Even worse, as the bus was totally packed as it usually was at a certain time of night, she had no way of getting away till she jumped off the bus and legged it.

We spent the next four months playing Avoid The Elephant Man, as well as dodging fares.
( Maladicta, Sat 31 May 2008, 20:10, Reply)