We shook off the hefty remains of a cocktail-induced hangover to head to the shockingly beautiful but disgustingly touristy CinnqueTerre. A couple of minutes into the trek, the missus began to regret her high-heeled boots and jeans, especially since the sun was belting down a sweaty thrity degrees on our pale, sun-deprived skin.
So in we popped to a well-placed clothes shop in the second village, staffed by two elderly Italians who probably couldn't believe their luck that there were so many idiotic tourists around, willing to buy just about anything that had CinqueTerre written on it. As I waited for her to try on the shockingly overpriced but totally necessary shorts, there was a constant stream of people coming in, shouting at the poor old people in English, of which they didn't have a word. I got a pretty big kick out of translating for all of them, and one thicko in particular gave me an interesting idea. She jokingly asked me if I could come on the rest of her holiday with her (lucky for my girl she wasn't hot, so the 'no' came out immediately).
But what about it? What about Rent-a-Holiday-Friend? I'm sure there are plently of people who wouldn't mind paying a nice, friendly, witty, charming, intelligent, handsome Italian-speaking Irishman to accompany them on their holiday, on the condition that they don't have to deal with any language barriers. Everybody wins - they don't have to shout loudly at people, I get to speak lots of Italian, the Italians don't get bothered (as much) by loud, ignorant tourists; and I get a paycheck at the end.
So, who wants me? I'm pretty cheap. And I'm good. I'll make your holiday special. Provided you have the Euro notes at the ready.
