Now, I should point out that before we went I was ill. We were flying at something stupid like half 7 which meant a 4.30am start. My mate stayed at mine the night before, and, as I was ill I was asleep at the sensible time of 9pm. When I woke up, my temperature was through the roof, I was shivering and my head was pounding. Not to worry though, a quick bottle of Carlsberg should sort that. It didn't. The Sambuca at 5.30am at the airport did though.
The rest of the day is quite boring, just a lot of drinking in Milan and no specific dramas. Maybe the only noteworthy tale that day was a friend ordering a bottle of Budweiser in the Dolce and Gabbana bar and forking out €16 for the privilege. Or another friend pulling the massive mint leaf out of his Mojito and munching it whole. But fairly standard lad stuff.
The Sunday, we were to head to the San Siro for the game but spent the morning in a bar a few train stops away. When we alighted the train at Lotto station for the ground, we took a route through what can only be described as an Italian council estate. I still don't know why we did it there was a perfectly good route elsewhere. Anyway, while in this estate we encountered some 'vocal opposition' to our presence by some chaps on mopeds and scarpered.
When we finally headed to the ground, around 2 hours before kick off we were disappointed to be told that once we entered the ground there was no booze on sale. However, first thing we saw in the ground was a bar so managed a couple more beers. But, we were promised this was definitely the last opportunity to buy alcohol. In the ground, some chap is then selling little bottles of Sambuca, probably had a shot each in them. After around 8 of these, my best mate and I decided to leave after around 70 minutes...
Anyway, we're lost, strolling about trying to find our way to the station and happen to come across this moped parking place. Long story short, I recognise these as belonging to the chaps who didn't like our presence earlier... Next thing I know, we're toppling this heavy BMW moped and chucking it at the rest, kind of like dominos. Not sure why, none of them were damaged but it made us feel better.
The big lesson here is, plan you escape before you do anything. We scarpered from the scene, straight towards a load of Italian riot police...
Later in the night, we're in the hotel, it's only about half 11 and we're having a few tins and plan to go find a club. You'd think that'd be easy in Milan but it's half 11 on a Sunday night and we weren't exactly central. We figure the hotel reception will know what's going on so we go down to ask him, only it's unmanned. So instead of waiting we go on his PC, put him on some porn site, answer his phone and speak French, generally amusing harmless stuff. My mate even nicked his stapler.
This didn't seem to be an issue, we disposed of the stapler later on in a pizza place. On the way back there's a bit of a laugh, swapping the magnetic signs on two identical vans over etc. However, next morning, my pal and I are stopped by a rather angry receptionist with CCTV footage. Turns out he's trying to track down his beloved stapler. The threat of the police seems ridiculous to us until we remember the San Siro... So we offer to pay up. Thirty fucking Euros the guy wants for it. After much arguing we decide to pay up, then on the way back to the airport, we spot the stapler lying in the street. We decided to run it back to the hotel and get our money back. Bad idea. The guy launches into a rant in Italian which ends with a chorus of "WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU CAN COME TO MY COUNTRY AND BREAK MY STAPLER".
In summary, Italy is alright, just try not to upset anyone. It always goes too far...
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