The film started and me and Tom commented on how this could never happen in Wales, or Britain, not just because of the unpredictable weather, but because of the content of the film and general mentality of the British on a Friday night. About twenty minutes in, as Willem Defoe was graphically getting it on for the second time in the opening scenes, the audience realised this was not meant to be a silent movie and started to shout and proclaim their dissatisfaction loudly, in the way that Italians are so good at, to the men in the control tower. The house lights came up and a tannoy announced that if we went to the ticket booths we would be refunded. The film was being shown using the original reels and therefore there was nothing they could do to turn the volume up.
We waited patiently for our money, only to be short changed, and left feeling hard done by but knowing we had witnessed the beginning of a great film. As we walked to meet friends we began discussing the end of the world, would it really happen in 2012 as Nostradamus and many others have conveniently predicted? We talked about fate, chance encounters and serendipity. Then, as we turned a corner I spotted a familiar face, it was the man I had sat opposite on the train to Venice. Earlier today, on my walk home from work I had been stuck behind two German tourists on a bridge near the Arsenale. As I managed to pass them I realised they got on the train at Munich, as I did, and had sat next to me all the way to Venice. What are the chances of that? That our four paths would cross on the same day in our destination city? It freaked us out a bit...Was this a sign that the end of the world was really coming...that all the small details were neatly tyeing themselves up so that the world could be left in a tidy ball of flames? Just as we had this premonition a glass smashed nearby.
We realised we were completely lost (again) trying to take a shortcut. Tom asked if I had a map handy but I'm not that prepared. We wandered the back streets, which were eerily quiet and I recounted the tale of getting lost yesterday and how I had never managed to find the Ponte del Tette as it was not on my map. We walked through alleyways and deserted Campos and just as we were not sure of the way to turn we looked up at the sign over a junction - one way a bridge, the other a stroll down the canal side "Ponte de le Tette" it read, "Sestier de S. Polo". I'm really not lying here, I promise that all of this happened. So to prove it here is a picture of the Bridge of Tits to reassure those of you none believers.
We took the above pictures (in which I now see that Tom, dressed in red, is missing a head!), necked the rest of the wine we were carrying, and wished we had some more if this really was the end of the world. All that needed to happen now was a little girl to run in front of our path wearing a red coat and both of us would have happily jumped into the canal.
We gave up trying to find our friends and instead sent them a message saying we would be drinking at a bar near the Rialto (Bancogiro to be precise). If this was the end of the world we planned on getting completely sozzled. As we walked down the last alleyway a light came on as we passed. Then another. The couple in front of us had managed to pass in darkness. This was maybe the final straw, maybe the thing that made us think F**k it, let's have a few spritz.
I'm sure this seems implausible, but I swear on whatever god you believe in that this sequence of events happened tonight. I don't want to freak anyone out, so just as you always watch ten minutes of the news after a particularily scary horror film, or read a bit of your book before bed, here is a little something to take your mind of the sinister side of Venice. Outside Bancogiro, after our ordeal and once reunited with our friends, a small ball of fur decided to come and say Hello.
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