I dropped in on an old friend, Mr. Cake, in his place of work recently.
He owns and runs a cafe bar with his brother, which is always mouth-wateringly stocked with seasonal Sicilian pastries and delicacies, mainly baked by their elderly dad. As you can imagine, I enjoy dropping in on them very much.
Since my last visit to Sicily, the brothers have opened a gelateria next door with about 100 flavours of ice-cream made from fresh organic fruit, so now I like visiting them twice as much.
Mr. Cake booked a course of English lessons with me some years ago. He booked via a mutual friend who owns a language school which mainly teaches Italian to tourists, and had not realised he was going to get me as his teacher.
“Dagnammit. I would have could saved half my money if I comed to you without paying to Maria half the price like a agent,” he observed in his first lesson. “I didn’t know you was teaching this year.” I taught him the second conditional right away and his English came on a treat during the following weeks. Especially in the lessons to which he turned up bearing cake.
Mr. Cake and Mr. Gelato have very stylish taste and their new gelateria is beautiful. They also splashed out on exciting accessories for the place.
Yes that’s right. Let me show you that haiku poem again.
I think it began as a lovely thought describing sun-kissed fruits, yet somehow it turned into a drug trip evocative of painfully skinned knees.
I immediately offered Mr. Cake a few extra English lessons and he said, “Don’t to worry, is too late for save me now,” and offered me ice-cream instead. By the time I had finished my vanilla brioche filled with pistachio and mango ice-cream, I had watched the sun setting over the ocean as the fishermen dragged their nets in for dinner time.
Their rugged brown faces were grazed by sunrays while I enjoyed the sweetness of the mango, and I realised I had come to appreciate the beauty of the poem fully.
So it all turned out fine in the end.