Big Frog

When I was an Erasmus student in Pisa I shared a flat with four other girls. One was British and the others were Northern European. Looking back I think I existed in a kind of bubble just floating round the rooms and not really making contact. I was part of the group but I don't remember any kind of personal connection.

One of the Northern Europeans had two male French friends. In honour of Petite Anglaise let's call them Big Frog and Little Frog. They both came from wealthy families and Big Frog liked to present himself as a man of culture. One day he invited us for dinner at his house in the hills outside Pisa. He wanted to show us the way to dine. I don't recall much of the meal itself which is probably just as well because we ate wild boar so rare that it was bloody. I do remember standing in the garden and looking down at the lights in the valley below. I also remember the journey to the house. Big Frog had a landrover that was so shabby that it really was held together with string. As we bumped up the steep winding track through the olive trees I remember feeling like I was in a film. Afterwards two of my flatmates said Big Frog had been condescending; but I didn't notice because I was so easily impressed.