On Saturday, I went with Mr A to get him a haircut. Getting a haircut yourself in a foreign country is scary enough, but being the translator for your other half's barbering experience when you have a somewhat shaky command of the language (I know the Italian words for “hayfever” and “magnifying glass” but regularly confuse simple adjectives and prepositions) has the potential to be a real test of a relationship. The experience was made a lot worse by the fact that we had to wait for over an hour watching middle-aged ladies having their hair set in rollers and an older man having his style finished with hairspray.
The final result looked really good, which was a huge relief for both of us, and we relaxed by going to the Irish pub to watch the rugby. The pub is called Murphy's Law and it's in the Navigli district. It's a pretty authentic looking Irish pub but it sells very nice Italian wine as well as beer in actual pint glasses and they did a delicious and very filling aperitivo of things like sausages and mashed potato, accompanied by tomatoes and mozzarella. I found all of that much more exciting than the rugby!