The Bullet Biter

At some point at the beginning of this month, after another dramatic press conference by the government, we were told to pick someone to form a ‘“social bubble” with, a person we would be allowed to visit at home and even spend the night with. After a careful and detailed period of deliberation that lasted a total of 120 seconds, I decided that social bubble was just Borisese for “you can shag again” - but only with one special person.  First of all, I am not taking advice on sex and monogamy from Boris Johnson. No m’am. Secondly, I spent the whole of lockdown having nervous breakdowns, repotting aromatic herbs and traumatising every living soul who showed any interest in me. It was no surprise that,  when the time came, I had no one to bubble up with.   After getting over the initial disappointment, I also realised that… that’s not such a bad thing after all. You know, after 14 weeks of resisting and persisting, winning and conquering, I am finally beginning to reap the fruits of fou

Being Italian has been the single most beneficial asset in my dating life. Growing up in Naples, I was just a guy. In London, I became a “charming” Italian guy. In Milan, my Neapolitan accent is a liability. In the UK, apparently, it’s the sexiest sound known to man (and woman), the immigrant version of the siren song.   After taking residence in the Big Smoke, I quickly realised that Brits have a very precise idea of the Italian man, made up of mainly preconceived notions. They’re harmless for the most part, certainly romanticised, often flattering, but prejudiced nevertheless.   You know what they say: if you can’t beat them, join them. And join them I did. I first came to terms with the extent of my super-power that one time in 2015 when I held the door for a middle-aged woman at a Pret in North London. I said something like “after you” or “good morning” and as soon as she heard the effortless way with which the Rs rolled off my tongue she almost dropped her butternut squash salad o