My hand is the orangey yellow hand on the right, compared with my boyfriend's more normal pinky hand on the left.
One day, I noticed that the tops of my fingers and fingernails had turned orange. I dismissed it, imagining it to be some kind of dye from something I'd touched.
Within 3 days it had spread to my wrist. It looked like a wax corpse. It was terrifying and presented me with a difficult dilemma: I didn't want to die, or become severely ill, but on the other hand (lol), I didn't want to miss out on any island fun!
Luckily, my body made the decision for me. I was violently sick and weak for 48 hours although I think that may have been a coincidental bout of food poisoning as firstly, I have no idea how that may of helped get rid of the yellowness and secondly my boyfriend was also sick and he wasn't so yellow.
But alas, as slyly as it had crept up, it crept back down again and my nightmares of looking like a Simpson became less realistic.
I have no idea what induced it, nor how it went away, and I would be thrilled to hear some suggestions and diagnosis of what anyone else thinks about the situation! My GP had no idea so please don't hesitate to drop me a line in the contact me tab!
(Here's a picture of my eyeball next to my yellow fingers and extremely pink face in case that helps your diagnosis! - A doctor friend asked for it in his whatsapp examination at the time!)
I was living with a family in the South of Italy, a small coastal town called Bari. My job role was: ‘Big Sister’. This essentially meant watching my 2 lovely ‘little sisters’ occasionally, mainly just being an extra in the family and getting fat.
Italian life really is sweet. The pace is slow, and there is a lot of emphasis on enjoying every moment, whether that's what you're eating, how you look, the weather, admiring a building and so on.
Every moment is saturated in Italian life, they are in no rush to stop their simple pleasures. Italian food, fashion and architecture are world renowned and I think it stems from this attitude of: "I love this! - lets enjoy it some more!". Rome probably wasn't built in a day though as this makes everything incredibly slow.
I learned, for example, that before you sail your boat you will enjoy looking at it in the dock. Then you will enjoy sitting on it in the dock. You will then enjoy preparing to take it out. Then you often run out of time to then take it out, and you will then enjoy thinking about when you will. But one day, in the end, you will take it out!
During my 3 months in Italy, I got told I was beautiful more times than I have in my entire life... waaaay more times! Italian's are amazing at spotting beauty - an egg like child? Beautiful!! Their legs are the longest you've ever seen - instantly transforming them into a supermodel! Me with my huge nose? Beautiful!! My gorgeous blond hair makes me look like a princess - I am transformed in a Cinderella look alike! A boy who looks like a foot? Beautiful!! His rich brown eyes are so beautiful you could drown in them - all the girls must fancy him!
Unlike in England, these people genuinely believe this small aspect of beauty makes the entire person radiant. Every child genuinely grows up believing they are beautiful.
(Btw I have heard it's not so much like this as you go further North in the country unfortunately).
I 100% think this should be more of a thing in the UK. I don't think Vanity is a word in Italy and I'm not sure if that's a bad thing. I think, for me, the line is crossed when out shopping with friends, a lift is called instead of going up the escalators with the sole purpose of using its mirror to pout at yourself - even once the lift has arrived at its destination and doors have closed again to go back down. This only crossed the line for me however, as this is a very inefficient use of time, and as a Brit, you see, I'd rather Rome was built to schedule!
I had one attempt to spice up La Dolce Vita, and despite disapproval from my friends, I said yes to a date with a guy from the Camorra (Mafia from Naples).
We got a couple of drinks from a dungeon type bar in town but aside from being scary looking, we didn’t really have anything in common: he’d spent the last 6 months in prison, and I, well, had not.
Back to La Dolce Vita and dates at midnight in ice cream parlours! This is Italy: there is ice-cream 24/7. And you eat, a lot.
