Sunday Part Four-So we're not going to a piazza, then?

Once Mr. Overall had finally WD40'd the crap out of my door and allowed me into the promised land (perfectly fine, if you're interested, but freezing cold), natually my first impulse was to smoke a much needed cigarette and to call the Beloved with details of the insanity to which I had unwittingly exposed myself, and so I did (Him: "She brought her GRANDMOTHER? And WHAT about Muslims?" Me: "By God, I wish I were joking"). This must have taken about fifteen minutes, after which I emerged in search of my anti-freeze. GPN was in her jimjams, and Granny in rather a splendid voluminous leopard-print bathrobe.

Me: "Oh...I was going to offer you a glass of wine, but seeing as you've already brushed your teeth..."
GPN: "Oooh, wine!"

To my horror, they accepted. And so, in a kitchen the size of a postage stamp, we sat in silence, but for Granny shuddering dramatically occasionally as she swigged (in my defence, I believe I have made it PERFECTLY clear that I did not expect to be sharing). By way of breaking the ice, knowing that they were here for the sightseeing, I decided to impart some thoughts about what they should head for.

Me: "...But for CHRIST'S sake DO NOT go to the Vatican Museums. They are vile. Full of bloody tourists with their bloody cameras, you can't get bloody anywhere! Now tell me, what are you most interested in visiting?"
GPN: "...Well, we really want to go to the Vatican."

Fuck. You're Catholics. I said so many offensive things in that sentence that the situation is now essentially unrectifiable. And so, of course, I panicked again.

Me: "Hehehe...Yeah. Well I just meant the, er, museums, obviously...The Basilica is, y'know, er...Lovely."

By this time Granny was attempting to chip an imagined stain from a pan, long since having tired of smiling, I imagine. I very much hope that this exchange was not repeated to her.

GPN: "Well, we're off to bed now."
Me: "Gosh, at 8.30? How... Sensible."

And so, off they went. And once they had closed the door to their shared room (they sleep in the same bed too, incidentally, which doesn't actually seem so stupid after one night spent in my Arctic pit), I heard a burst of uprorious laughter. Christ. What if they think I'm the weirdo?