My brother has invited an Italian to move into the flat. I was standing on Waterloo East train station on the phone to him when he broke the news.
“Oh yeah,” he said, “I forgot to tell you that we’re going to have an Italian student living with us for a bit.”
“Right,” I suggested.
“I’m going on a foreign exchange so he’s got to come here. It’ll only be for a couple of days. And don’t worry I go to their house after they come to ours so if they mess anything up then when I get there I’ll trash the place.”
“Okay,” I add, “that sounds good.”
“Yeah and they might even be fit, or a bloke.”
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