Milano e Monza:Vacanza bonzer.

So, I ended the Bergamo/Como blog telling you how Dan and I were smugly taking the train from Como to Milan. Well, those self-satisfied smiles were wiped off our faces when a guard came down the train and I realised, immediately, we'd not authenticated/validated our tickets before boarding it. I'd made this mistake back in 2014 and the guard had been reasonable and decided a five Euro fine was fairer than a fifty Euro one. Not so this guard - and we were fined for two of us - and thanks to Brexit insanity that cost us a lot more than it would've done in 2014. The pound ain't what it was.

I tried to reason with the guard but he insisted that if he was in the UK I'd treat him the same. I said that British train guards might do but I certainly wouldn't. I'd encourage everyone to bunk the UK's horrendously over priced privatised train services every single time they can. I estimate that trains in Italy cost about 10% that of those in the UK and are generally cleaner, faster, and more efficient. In fact, the fine we paid was about the equivalent of what we'd have paid just to take a similar length journey in Britain. So, in the end, I was phlegmatic about the whole incident.

Which could not be said for my moment of panic on reaching the Airbnb on Via Riva di Trento. My phone was on 3% and the screen had gone too dark for me to read. The room was in a block of flats and I had no way of telling which room it was, or even which floor. I must admit I turned the air blue with a volley of expletives that caused Dan to collapse in a fit of giggles. Regaining our (ok, my)composure his better eyesight identified the correct information on my dying phone and we walked up five flights of stairs to be met by a woman who couldn't speak English.

Luckily she could speak Spanish so we went through a few basics in a language that was neither of our first choice but we got there. The flats didn't look that great (a poor area, rather than a rough one) but the room was lovely. There are numerous ethical issues with Airbnb owners buying up properties in these areas and pricing out locals that will undoubtedly become more apparent as the phenomenon becomes ever more popular but, despite some unease, I was pleased to be able to check in. One bed. One sofa. Guess who got the sofa?

We were staying near Porta Romana and we walked past the pants hanging on the washing line up Corso Lodi failing to get a cab. Eventually we saw Mahoney's Irish bar and popped in for a drink. Dan had a steak and I looked on the map and realised we were near the Ticinese district, an area I'd enjoyed a lot during my 2014 vacation.

So we walked there. In Rookie's sports bar we watched France thump Holland 4-0 and I drank a litre of Ichnusa beer (Sardinian apparently) like an idiot (though at least it wasn't that popular 'craft beer', Carlsberg Special Brew. The area was as busy, and as beautiful, as I remembered it. Diners sat canalside in the balmy late summer evening. I think Dan was quite impressed.

As the F1 weekend loomed nearer Dan got more and more excited. I used to love watching Grand Prix as a kid. The Fleetwood Mac theme tune, Murray Walker's commentary, Gilles Villenueve, Niki Lauda, Jacques Laffite, Didier Pironi, Nelson Piquet, it all seemed so impossibly glamorous. I stuck with it through the 80s and 90s (Senna, Prost, Mansell etc;) but my interest has waned in the last decade and a half. The rule changes, Schumacher's dominance, the lack of overtaking, and the desire to spend my Sunday afternoons in the sunshine rather than watching telly meant it'd been put very much on the backburner. I didn't even know who all the drivers were when we arrived in Monza.

Dan loves it though, and his enthusiasm is quite infectious. He wasn't even distracted, like his uncle, by all the beautiful long dark haired Italian girls wandering about. There were no ticket machines in Porta Romana on our way to Monza so we had to change at Greco Pirelli, buy tickets, take another train, board a bus to Parco Monza, and walk to the circuit from there. You could hear the cars from some distance away. Gosh, they're loud.

Dan had got us fantastic seats. In the grandstand on the start and finish straight. We watched the practise sessions (Lewis Hamilton seemed on top) and we enjoyed the antics of a Nico Hulkenberg fan. There were people from all over the world there. They were selling beers (though only Heineken, the sponsors), burgers, and chips. Finnish Kimi Raikkonen fans dressed as Santas were getting merry. You could look at vintage race cars and Ayrton Senna's Lotus was a popular attraction. It was a fun day and, with no serious competition on, we'd used it to orient ourselves and do a kind of recce. The only major downer was a Heineken advert on repeat that featured Jackie Stewart and some woman absolutely murdering David Bowie's Heroes.

Back in Milan we came out of the tube by the enormous Duomo and, for the first time in the holiday, the skies opened up. Walking down Via Torino it became torrential so we dipped in to a wine bar that looked way too fancy for scruffy types like us. They blinked not an eye and brought us out a huge selection of snacks to go with my one glass of wine and Dan's standard water (he had a few Cokes but water was his drink of choice for the bulk of the holiday). That'll (probably not) teach me to be so judgemental.

Back in Rookie's we watched another 4-0 hammering as Denmark destroyed Poland. The group of Polish GP fans over from Oslo (!) didn't seem too bothered as they tucked into beer and grub. England were beating Malta, also 4-0, but the owners had deemed that match unworthy of showing. Correctly so.



The next day was qualifying and it was almost a complete wash out. Shame. We'd got there much easier by taking the metro from Brenta to Milan's glorious central station and then joining the crowds of men (and some women) in Ferrari caps on the train/bus/walk to Monza.

We were drenched by the time we got to our seats. So wrinkled was I that I felt like I'd spent six hours in a cold bath. Romain Grosjean spun out at the start of qualifying so the session was red carded and put back. Fifteen minutes became half an hour, became an hour, and became two hours. We considered knocking it on the head when, two hours and forty minutes later than scheduled, qualifying resumed. Hamilton took poll with some surprising results elsewhere. Esteban Ocon (aged 20) would start in second and Lance Stroll (just 18) in third. These guys appear to be the future of the sport.

In a reflection of Friday when we arrived back in Milan the sun came out. I had a massive, yet light and tasty, pizza and we had a few drinks in a joint called Burgerama. Spain beat Italy 3-0 which hardly put the locals in party mood although the nearby Martini promotion (an F1 tie in, they sponsor Williams these days) was still pretty busy. The sun went down over the canals and we turned in for an early start. Tomorrow was race day and Dan was so excited he might've exploded. He'd already remarked on how good our view was and I don't think he meant the scantily clad pit girls.

Back on track we said hi to the Spanish girls sat next to us (I 'showed off' my language skills - or tried to) and were treated to the sight of some vintage cars (Sebastian Vettel was in one of them) and Martin Brundle, David Coulthard, and Niki Lauda were spotted in the pit lane or on the grid. Lewis Hamilton was booed on the parade lap and the biggest cheers went to his championship rival, Vettel. This is Ferrari territory after all. I found myself wanting Hamilton to win.

Which he did - at a canter. Team mate Valtteri Bottas was a reliable second with Vettel losing the best part of a second a lap in third. The race was a bit of a procession to be fair but Daniel Ricciardo, who'd incurred a grid penalty, did some decent overtaking moves as he worked his way up from 17th to 4th.

During the podium the tifosi, and a few Hamilton fans, took to the track. Confetti was released, people climbed the wire fences, it was nearly as noisy as the race itself and was a great atmosphere that was definitely worth staying for.

To let the crowds die down on the trip back to Milan we decided to have a look around the city of Monza itself. It's a lively, pretty place full of people walking dogs and eating ice creams. We had our customary gelati and I took an overpriced beer (reading about the death of Walter Becker, who as half of Steely Dan has given me a lot of pleasure in the last decade or so) before we headed back to Monza station which was still busy but probably not as chaotic as earlier.

A man was trying to buy a pack of Durex from a vending machine and the pack had got snagged on the way down. He was getting quite frustrated banging the machine (probably all he'd be banging that night by the looks of it) and a group of well wishers had joined in to help. Sometimes you just have to be there for a brother in need.

Daniel's mum, Amanda, had updated Facebook to congratulate him on some great exam results and I'd joked I'd be taking him to a brothel in Milan to celebrate. In truth he bought himself a pizza, near Crocetta metro, and ordered a side of chips that, rather surprisingly, they decided to serve as a topping! I posted a photo of this on Facebook and he got more of a reaction than any of the other photos here. A heated meal and a heated debate.

In Pogue Mahone bar a pissed Irish guy told us, in an amusingly sweary fashion, why Formula One (and rally driving to boot) was fucking shit now. Something to do with Damon Hill and not overtaking on corners apparently. He was good company though and the music (CCR, Beatles) wasn't bad either.

Certainly preferable to our noisy bastard neighbours when we got back to Via Rivo di Trento. Lynyrd Skynyrd's Freebird sung out of tune and drunkenly at 4.30am on a Monday morning is no fun at all. Luckily they got bored during A Fairytale of New York and The Joker by The Steve Miller Band and toned things down by about 5.30am!

Dan started the next morning off by breaking the soap and shampoo dispenser (which, fortunately, our host Raimond didn't charge us for). We took the metro from Brenta to Duomo where Dan ran into some chancers who put a bracelet on his arm and tried to charge him for it. Luckily for him they spotted the police and legged it before we got into an altercation. I don't think he'll fall for that scam again.

We had a panzerotti in Luini's (like a mini calzone) and walked up to Castello Sforzesco. Its crenelated towers and fortified red brick walls make it an imposing, and impressive, Milanese landmark and a short walk through it lead us to the relaxing green space of Parco Sempione. Dan had a warm chocolate dessert that he nearly enjoyed as much as his ice cream in Bergamo.

We took an hour long walk up to San Siro (home of both AC and Inter Milan) that involved a stop for a Paolo sandwich in an Esso garage (really experiencing the very best of Italy's cuisine there). The stadium looked a bit like a giant multi-storey car park but it dwarfed Dan. As I stood back to take his photo in front of it I got dinged by a tram. I'm glad the tram dinged me. I didn't want to go the same way as Antoni Gaudi or Coronation Street's Alan Bradley.

It was hot and I was feeling gouty so we took the metro back to central Milan to see out our holiday. Lemon ice cream in Grom hit the spot, England beat Slovakia 2-1 on the screens in Rookies, and an AC Milan fan cab driver told us of the team's legends as we turned in for the last time under Italian skies.

The next morning saw a 4am start, a cab to Malpensa (nearly an hour away!), a flight to Stansted, two trains and two tubes back to Basingstoke, and then a lift from my dad, Dan's granddad, back to Tadley where my mum made me a cup of tea. One of the few things I'd missed in Italy.

It'd been a great holiday and all that remains is to thank Dan for his company, his enthusiasm, and his generosity - and maybe to crack open one of those Peronis in the fridge.