(«At last, he rewrote the intro!»)

You might be here by chance, but you probably know me and I gave you the link in some cunning way («Please visit my website, please!»).
I’ll make this short: sometimes I write stuff and put it here, the older that is, the more ashamed I am someone might actually read it. I don’t remove anything because one cannot simply delete things, it isn’t nice.
If you want to know who I am (in form of myth and hagiography) there’s a page for that too, just like there’s a page to write me.

What are you still doing here? Go!

«Subjugation of State to Church»

Maybe it’s the British weather, or spending so much time with non-Catholics, but I personally think the independence of State and Church (Article 7 of the Italian Constitution) to be somehow reciprocal: the Republic does not pass laws on mitre height and the Church does not declare anathema on our public transportation system. More »

As I have written in the past, everybody here is always annoying you about having a good CV, which means you’re supposed to work when you’re not in the lab or something…

To work in the UK you need something called National Insurance Number (its friends call it NIN), that is Her Majesty equivalent of our Italian codice fiscale.
This is my personal experience as an Italian student who asked for one just in case he’ll one day find that special someone who pays you in exchange for something. More »

«Have you ever been in love? But, I mean, how do you get that you’re in love, the first time? More »

We might say I am now a veteran of lab work and practicals, or so I like to think after a whole term of lab-coats and gloves.

The lab is made of two rooms in the School of Biological Sciences, top floor. Microscopes have their own room.
The first thing to do when you have a practical is arrive on time (duh!) and patiently wait until they open the door get changed in one of two rooms and wear the famous lab-coat and the protective spectacles (the ones you got when you arrived). More »

I suppose I should have written this a long time ago…
Anyway lectures were not a all what I expected them to be. More »

And so my new life in my new home has begun (cheesy music from an American TV show anyone?).
Now, since we the people in Britain are meticulous, the whole first week is not about desperatly trying to get your University ID (quote any of my friends in Italy), but to make you feel welcome, at ease, beloved, cared for (maybe that’s a little bit too much, after all you don’t even get toilet paper…). More »

She (Amanda) loved sports, he (Antonio) loved sitting down.
She ran and jogged in Villa Borghese, he hobbled and gasped to get bus 360.
She drank Gatorade and ate energy bars, he ate paninis and drank Coke.
(«Chiasmus!», cried the writer, interrupting his own story)
She was beautiful, but maybe she didn’t know, he never cared about his looks.
(«Enough antithesis for now», he said, interrupting the narration again)
(«No more interruptions, ohshit I did it again!»)
Anyway, you get it, they had nothing in common.
Good, let’s continue. More »

Here we go, in the end I did what all high school (liceo) students do: I chose a degree so crazy I can’t go to the university right behind my house.
In fact, it’s so incredibly crazy that I can’t even stay in Italy, or in the “Continent”: I’m moving to England (note for geography geeks: yes, I mean that specific part of the United Kingdom).
But let’s start from the very beginning: to whom did I give puppy eyes to get where I’m about to get? More »