Just a perfect day, the kind that makes life worth living.

A lovely, sunny Friday afternoon, without as much as a spot of cloud in the sky. Your Italian odyssey is going ever so well, that you really ought to be somewhat fretful of your good fortune, for what goes up must, sooner or later, come down; the wheel of fortune s got to go round. !othing stays the same forever; every party has its after"party; every drunk in a midnight choir, his inharmonious hangover the morning after. #owever, all that matters at the moment is that you ve got a bed at a local hostel booked for the night, a stomach pleasantly full of delicious $uscan cuisine and a perfect view of the world s most praised fuck up. #ow anything could gain so much fame simply for being so crooked is truly beyond comprehension. $hen again, if it works for %eorge &., then why the hell should it not work for the 'eaning $ower of (isa) Interestingly enough, you find yourself taking fewer and fewer pictures as the years go by. $he reason for that may lie in the natural tendency, inherent in e*perience, to be repeating itself over time, or ABC for short +Another ,loody -hurch, Another ,loody -astle.. /n the other hand, it may simply be 0cause present impressions have been getting the better of future 1ourneys down memory lane. !evertheless, you haven t neglected to bring your cheap camera along with you this time around, for if such a thing as a perfect memorabilia moment does e*ist, a 2amsung moment as the case may be, then this must definitely be it. And so, you position yourself for the perfect shot of the tower, with a bit of the cathedral beside it for prospective, snap the photo, yet subse3uently find that an Italian fellow has managed to materiali4e in mid"lens. You try a couple of more shots, carefully making sure there s absolutely no one in the line of fire, yet end up staring, with growing obfuscation, at yet more passersby looming

right in the middle of every single photo and completely obscuring that wonder of the medieval world. ,eing pretty convinced of the fact that this kind of skill could not be taught in schools, the only possible conclusion is that Italians are simply born with this astonishing ability to materiali4e right in the middle of any taken photo. &ith the last few photos left on your film wasted on portraits of anonymous modellinos, leaving you without any clear cut proof of having actually visited the city of (isa, a new film must then be purchased. &ith all the shops overcharging for touristy banalities, it takes 3uite a while to encounter a decently priced mini"market, on the very edge of town. &ith your last few remaining mille lire spent on said film, now an A$5 machine must be located. Beyond the boundaries of our human perception, the great wheel of fortune beings to set in silent motion At a street corner stands an innocent looking A$5, minding its own business. As a matter of course and part of an adopted lifestyle, you step up, slip your card in, punch in your (I! number and select your desired withdrawal amount. ,ut then again, to be getting a refusal rather than a bunch of bills is by no means a foregone outcome; no matter how apologetic the A$5 might be about it. 6Godverdomme!!!1 &hat the fuck7)8 you retaliate. 2tare at the machine for as long as you want, get as red in the face as humanly possible and swear in as many languages as you possibly can, the fact of reality still remains that you shall have absolutely no money whatso fucking ever, for as long as it may take you to try and sort things out with your bank back in #olland. &hat with it being weekend and all, you re looking at a minimum of two shelter"less nights, you come to reali4e, as you finally walk away from the scene of the crime. &hat with not having enough money for even a phone call, you re left utterly dependent on this single evening of hostel Internet service, with which to establish communication with a friend back in 9trecht; a friend who s been getting your pointless bank mail ever since you left the country.
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%od damn it7 +;utch.

&hat with not having any food and all, you re forced to steal a loaf of bread from the commune kitchen, before heading out the ne*t morning, destined for an entire weekend of homelessness, by the mercy of the rapidly changing elements. As if, somewhere up there, old Job was taking the piss, the summer sun completely vanishes behind evil"looking clouds that 2aturday, unleashing a storm that threatens to deluge the entire city. $hree whole days, you nibble on that single loaf of bread, and three damp and miserable nights, you are stranded on top of your hammock, under a tractor shed outside of town. ;uring all this time, you relentlessly curse the people responsible for your misery; namely them comfortably sheltered clerks and e*ecutives of A,! Amro; all of whom well feed, I m sure, thoughtlessly cutting you off from your very own capital, safely tucked in their ivory tower. $he reason for blocking your account, so they claim, was that their correspondence has been returned to the branch. Apparently, all it takes for a financial establishment, with a somewhat radical keenness on proper bureaucracy, to hang you out to dry is a case of 0return to sender 7 9nfortunately, one of your friend s roommates, apparently 3uite freakishly keen on properness himself, has been sending their worthless mail back to them without her knowledge, ultimately and single handedly bringing you to the brink of starvation. 'uckily enough, you finally manage to sort the whole mess up by 5onday, regaining access to your very own funds by the following working day. &ith your stomach growling entire operettas, you storm the first restaurant in sight, and after a divine meal, are even willing to forgive and forget. You ll find forgiveness much more trying, after the very same thing will repeat itself again, this time in ,udapest. ,y the third time, though, you ll settle for nothing short of a complete and utter closure of your account, letting them know where e*actly to shove all their mail from now on. ,anks can be awfully silly that way sometimes. <<<

;uring the long summer nights, this gay cricket has been too busy chirping all along the $ran"2iberian line to care much about gathering funds for the upcoming winter. 5uch too busy with living in the present, it neglected to pay much thought to the days to come, and shall hence be made an ill"disciplined e*ample for future generations. &hen the polychromic autumn leaves began tumbling to the ground, the cricket was too preoccupied with roaming the Japanese lands to care much about refurnishing its funds. It did, however, make an attempt to preserve whatever little grains it had left. For, contrary to common belief, a cricket is not entirely deprived of commonsense. $hen snow started slowly creeping in, covering the lands in its white robe, and it was time for the beast of the earth to seek refuge from the harsh elements; high time for the drifting cricket to find itself shelter for the winter. Fortunately enough for the cricket, he came across a pretty little ant right about then. -ontrary to the popular fable, the ant did not, in fact, mock the gay cricket nor drive him away, but gladly welcomed it into her nest instead, for its companionship was to her a resource far better than all the grains of the earth. And so, the two of them ended up spending the cold winter in each other s arms, which could have very well been borderlining insectiality, if we were to continue down this fabulous slope rather than resurface back into reality. At long last, the day has also come for him to be getting rid of his eggless nest, because, much like all things that dry up and die, bank accounts demand a proper returning to their makers, or they shall end up dragging you down into a hell of bureaucratic torment. -uriously enough, while opening a bank account is as easy as 0sign here, here and here et voila, welcome to the family, closing the very same account can very well be anything, ranging from a simple pain in the neck to wanting to put a bullet in your brain. 62ince you ve managed to e*ceed your limit by a =mere> few 3uids,8 informed you the smug employee of ,arclays, on an e*tremely long distance call, 6you must first cover your overdraft, before being able to close your =obsolete> account, yeah.8

$ransfer a bunch of money internationally from your secondary account you then did, for the sake of covering that bloody overdraft; about ten times the original amount actually, for covering additional fees and various surcharges as well. Yet, by the time you attempt a second closure of the account, another management fee takes you a mere few pence under the red line once again. And so, you ask a friend, visiting 'ondon for a day, to deposit these said few pence in your damn account. !evertheless, by the time an une*pected public holiday comes to an end, you again find yourself a few pence overdrawn. o more costly and futile fa!es and phone calls to "ngland,# you then decide. All this petty hassle has been putting us off our desired state of $en for far too long as it is% &f they wanna play hard to get, let them play with themselves,# you conclude, and wash your hands of the whole thing. $hat account might very well still be open to this very day, but at least you got a valuable lesson out of the whole thing, namely never to allow even the slightest of overdrafts to accumulate half way across the globe. ,anks, apparently, can also become a ma1or source of annoyance that way. <<< $he world we live in was once made out of numerous tiny particles, each pulling its own individual way; playing its part into the invisible hand that kept us all in balance. $he world as we know it today has changed drastically, shifting from enterprisingness to cooperativeness; from a free market to marked freedom. %iant forces have grown over time, mostly by devouring other particles, smaller and less fit than themselves. $hese multi"headed monsters are now carving up all there is left between them, in their perpetual hunger for domination, wealth and power. %iven that this is simply the way things are, which is a substantial given to begin with, one should e*pect these branched monstrosities to function in a somewhat coordinated fashion at the very least.

In the very same way a millipede with dis1ointedly operating limbs would be about the most worthless creature on %od s green earth, one could also imagine a bank with uncoordinated branches to be an absurdity at best. ,y this stage of your life, you at least have a rather clear idea as to what kind of a bureaucratic nightmare trying to keep one s illusory capital safe in the hands of these double agents of the fictional world of finance can be. $herefore, soon after your arrival in Australia, you open an account and deposit whatever little capital you have left at the biggest and most widely spread banking establishment in sight. ,y doing so, you hope to at least be allowed to travel the world without finding yourself cut off from your very own funds in times of need. #owever, -ommonwealth ,ank, as it turns out, is anything but common, as each branch, city and state across the continent has its own rules, records and ideas as to the principals governing the universe. &ith every new destination along your 1ourney, you re also dragged through the weary process of reestablishing your home branch. 6Aren t you all but a part of the very same bank)8 you finally in3uire. 6Indeed, we are, yet autonomous 1ust as well, mate,8 is the enlightening insight at the end of an awfully long wait for your number to be called up. ;ependent, yet independent 1ust as well) 2omething like a married bachelor, right) At the beginning of a new era, and with Aussie 'and left far behind, you drift across the globe and find yourself back in %reat ,ritten, mother and patron to the -ommonwealth of !ations. As you find yourself facing yet another harassment from the part of your old nemesis, ,arclays ,ank, in the form of a claim to an A$5 withdraw which never actually took place, you decide to go to your bank, sort it out in person and then do what you should have done before having left Australia, namely close your damn account. $hough it stands to reason that you should be able to easily locate -ommonwealth ,ank somewhere in 'ondon, only a single branch is actually found, open at odd hours on even days and tucked away somewhere within the straggly financial district.

$he moment you enter the bank, your body involuntarily tenses, as if instinctively preparing itself for an inevitable conflict. Fighting an overwhelming inclination to simply flee the scene, you sit down and observe the other costumers. ,oth the an*ious looking ones, awaiting a loan re3uest, as well as the 1ubilant ones, whose mortgages have 1ust been 0generously approved, are all unknowingly following in the footsteps of the third group, namely the currently weeping ones, who happened to walk the same plank before. &hen your number is finally called up, you are bounced from one impatient load manager to another, until finally informed by an assistant manager, as patient and pleasant as a special needs teacher, of the fact that this branch of your bank deals only in loans, hence would not be able to assist you in closing your nickel"and"dime account. /n top of all that, a regular -ommonwealth branch simply does not e*ist in ?ngland. 'o hell with it then! 'here(s )ust gonna have to be yet another account that shall forever remain floating in between all the impalpable castles in the s*ies of high finance,# you decide, walk out the door and never look back. ,anks7 #ow I loathe banks; hate them with a vengeance. 9nfortunately, they do appear to be a re3uisite of our time. $herefore, all I can do is keep my dealings with them to an absolute minimum, in hope that these bloodsuckers won t catch up with me one of these days, 1ump right up and bite a pound off my fleshy buttocks.