It’s nice when, after a long period of estrangement, you find an ‘old friend’ has resurfaced.
And so it is in both the real world and the virtual world
An Old Friend is back.
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Author Archives: Andy
Italian or British? Who is which?
“Have you two had a fight?”
I explained that no, as yet, we’ve never really had a fight (apart from last summer, at the start of our holidays). I explain that he’s just stressed.
We had been there a little while, waiting for him. He had had to wait for his washing machine to finish. It leaks from a hose somewhere and so he has to stay to mop up from time to time. So, it was almost 9.30 before he arrived. And, when he arrived, he was on the phone and seemed angry and didn’t say anything to me and so they thought that we had fought.
But I know him well enough now and know he is not pissed with me. When he comes back to the table he tells me who was on the phone. They were talking about the funeral in the UK that will be held next Friday. He tells me he is not going to go. I have mixed feelings about this and none of them selfish. On the one hand, he should go as I think he may regret it later. This was, at least for 11 years, his father-in-law. On the other hand, he is so busy right now, that even a two-day trip to the UK will throw everything into disarray for him.
He tells me it is because S would feel like he would have to look after F and S will be busy himself, given that it’s his father’s funeral and so he will be unable to look after F as he would like. But it is more complicated than that.
Next week he has several places to go and one is Venice, so a night away. The following week is a full week in Germany. So a trip in the middle of this to the UK would just add to his feeling of stress.
In the lift, on the way back to my flat, he informs me that he is working both on Saturday and Sunday.
I say how sorry I am. Again, there is nothing selfish in this. I am sorry for him. He really needs the rest.
During the meal, last night, for some reason I now forget, it came up about the end of him and S. Apparently it was not a good ending. And it went on for some time. It’s part of the reason that he doesn’t want to ‘go there’ again. And I do ‘get it’ even if I don’t agree with it. And I don’t. But it explains some more things. It explains the way he is.
At one point he tells the colleague we are with that he keeps home and work seperate. He doesn’t talk to me about his work – good or bad. He doesn’t take his personal life into work, he says. Although, of course, he does, he just doesn’t realise it.
But I thought about him and how stressed and uptight he gets about things.
I thought, “but this isn’t what I expected from an Italian.
An Italian should be more relaxed and easy-going. An Italian shouldn’t get this uptight”.
And I wondered if, in fact, this uptightedness was more of a universal thing and not just confined to the British. Or if, with me being more laid back than he is, we hadn’t, somehow, got trapped in the wrong country when we were born. Is he Italian or British? I mean to say, is he more British than Italian? Am I more Italian than British?
As one could say he was a little more anally retentive than your average Italian (unless they are all like this and I just didn’t realise). But, perhaps, the British shouldn’t be portrayed as they are?
He says that “the problem with English people is that they don’t tell you the truth”. I am included in this. It’s not that we lie, it’s just that we don’t say it like it is and nor do we give our true feelings.
I think we call them white lies. These aren’t true lies, of course. These are things said so that you don’t hurt people’s feelings. Like – “you look lovely in that dress”, etc.
Perhaps they don’t have them in Italy? White lies, that is.
Do they?
It just is.
It happens sometimes and it’s difficult to explain, really.
Last night, following a telephone call on Monday, I went to see the old man with the book. The book that has taken, apparently, nearly 40 years to write.
I did enjoy the time editing it but I don’t like having to visit him to do editing. I’m not sure why. It might be because I think that, if I live that long, that’s how I will be – living alone, in a faceless, tiny flat, in a huge block, rarely going out (because there’s nowhere close to go to), reclusive but not through desire, etc.
I looked at him last night and thought of Rufus. I wonder if he sits and stares at the walls like Rufus does?
Someone asked me about him the other day. I said I hadn’t heard from him for ages. “I guess the book is finally printed and finished”, I said, “Or, he’s dead!”
I had even moved his contact details out of the briefcase and put them ‘somewhere’. He phoned as I was driving. I said I would call back within the hour. After I had disconnected I realised that I might not have his number. Stupid me, I thought, for not adding his details into my phone.
Luckily, I know myself well enough. It was not filed anywhere, just sitting on top of the filing cabinet, under the laptop.
I left work and drove there. I had had such a headache during the day and it was still making my head feel like someone was kicking it soundly and, so, I was not looking forward to spending an hour or more with him, on an uncomfortable chair, in the lighting that he has (which is not good), hunched over a laptop and trying to interpret what he wants. Still, I thought, it’s extra and unexpected money and every little helps.
Plus I had my ‘late night’ English lesson at 9 p.m. following that. No, this was not going to be a great evening and if the bloody headache wasn’t going to go it would make it one of the worst evenings.
As I was driving, M, my late-night student texted to say his daughter was ill and he wasn’t coming. To be honest, I was grateful.
I got to the place where the bookman lived. For me, it has to be one of the most depressing areas of Milan although I am sure that there are far worse. No, I know that, really, it is not that bad. It’s just the thought of ever having to live somewhere like that. I couldn’t do it. I would rather go back to the UK.
He had a new ‘print’ of the book. To be honest, it was much better than the last one. This time the pages weren’t falling out. He seemed pleased to see me. I think he is. After all, I don’t charge him a fortune and he knows that he can trust me now – well, almost.
We start through the changes he wants. He wants to change a table. I do my best. It’s not as he wants, exactly but he knows that these tables are a real pain. He wants to check everything I do on the screen. Except he can’t read it so well, so it takes longer. I really want out of there but I am unable to leave. I cannot do less than my best for him. I am annoyed with myself for trying to make everything right. Why can’t I be like other people? People who really don’t care. Grrrr.
He asks me more often about whether he has used English correctly. Yes, he trusts me much more now. He uses “reception”. He is concerned that the reader will think he means a reception of a hotel or something similar. I explain that it’s fine. After all, the readers of his book will be highly educated people and will understand the correct meaning. Of course, what I would have liked to say was that the only (few) people who will ever read this book are, to be honest, geeky freaks. I didn’t say that. You ain’t going to be seeing this book in the airport, that’s for certain.
Weirdly, I kind of hope that he will tell me when it has been published. Even more weirdly, if he were to ‘give’ me I copy, I would be really pleased. I think of this and decide that I am quite strange myself. For certain, even if I had this book, I would never, never read it.
We finish, just short of two hours. I wish him good luck and hope that I don’t see him again – but in a nice way – in that the book is finally finished now. I don’t really think it is. I have a better understanding of him now. There will be some other ‘small things’ that need to be done. Still, I suppose if you have been writing this book for 40 years, you might as well make it perfect.
And then, on the drive home, it happened. This thing that happens rarely and at strange times and, seemingly, for no reason at all.
I come to a traffic lights and have to stop. I look the other side of the canal (which runs by the side of the road). There is a shop or, maybe a restaurant or a bar. It doesn’t really matter which. I suddenly become aware of the talk on the radio. I look at the sign on the shop.
“I live in a foreign country”, I think.
It’s the feeling that comes with that thought. The feeling of wonder at being here, of pride at having ‘made it’, of fear of knowing that I will never be ‘of this country’. It’s almost like a shock.
“How strange”, I think, “that, after all this time, this feeling can still come to me and at such unexpected times?”
It was the sign that did it. It wasn’t a special sign just a normal sign with an Italian name or word. I see these every day. Many of them. Why now? Why at this particular time? I don’t think there’s an answer to that. It just happens. It just is.
A brand new day!
I feel much better, thank you for asking.
OK, so you didn’t actually know I wasn’t feeling so good. It’s not that I’ve been ill. It’s just that, if F isn’t around, I get angry, frustrated, panicky, etc.
But last night he came round, even if it was very late. I slept well and feel so much better.
He makes me feel calm and the issues/problems or whatever just seem to disappear when I am physically with him.
It’s annoying, really, that he has this much effect.
But, now that I’ve spent time with him (even if nearly all of it was asleep), I feel like it’s a brand new day.
Which it is, of course 
There is no truth in any of this, whatsoever.
Warning: None of the following may be true, real or ever have happened. If you are incensed, angered or just slightly annoyed by it then STOP READING.
He had mentioned that he would like to go and see it. The problem, for me, was that I too wanted to see it but I didn’t want to spoil my enjoyment of it by watching it in Italian and understand little, to have to watch it again, in English.
So, someone gave me a copy ….. in English. I watched it over a few nights. Now, here, I should give you some background.
I don’t really like them. They are German, after all (with apologies to the Germans at least one of whom is a friend). I think it’s more that they are German and think they run the UK which they don’t, quite obviously. I mean, they even had to change their surname from Saxe-Coberg and Gotha so that people wouldn’t confuse them with Germans (which they were). This was the First World War.
By the second one, they were quite happy to court Hitler. ‘He seemed to have the right idea’!
When the old father died the succession passed to Edward. But Edward was having a not-so-secret affair with a married American woman. He loved her so much he gave up on ‘his duties’ and so his younger brother became George VI. His wife, so it is said, hated both Edward and ‘that woman’, Wallis. Not because they were horrible (although they might have been) but because they were the cause of her husband being put in an impossible position and, eventually, dying rather younger than he might have, ordinarily.
After George’s death, his eldest daughter was next. There was a small snag, however. His daughter would be Queen. His mother, still alive, was the Queen Mother (Mary, wife of George V). So what would the title of George VI’s wife be? You couldn’t really have two Queen Mothers, now could you? OK so officially she died of ‘gastric problems’, being an euphemism for lung cancer. Or, of course, given the scheming of Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, she could have had the old Queen Mary, the Queen Mother, done away with?
I plump for the last option.
So, I go to watch the film with a preconceived idea of QE, the Queen Mother (being played by Helena Bonham-Carter) as a rather wicked old witch who ruled her husband and, when he became King, the household, with quite an iron fist. Of her husband being a bit of a wimp. Of the politicians of the time being rather stupid, etc., etc.
But, this is a film. It is made ‘nice’. Actually, I found it quite heart-warming. HBC was wonderful as the Queen as was Colin Firth as Bertie. For me, Geoffrey Rush as Logue was the best of them all. Actually, it made me almost cry at the end (because I am such a softie and just love happy endings in films).
So now I have told F that I will be very happy to go and see the Italian-dubbed version of The King’s Speech (Il Discorso del Re) at the cinema. In fact, I said we just HAVE to go. The only thing that ‘worries’ me is that I like it so much because it is also a story of Britain (and a Britain we like to think of as ‘Great’) and a man overcoming all odds and a woman who loves him – and will an Italian think of it like this also or will missing the Great out of Britain mean that it is much less of a good story?
And, F replies that we should go this weekend. I am happy.
The Internet and democracy.
There’s been a lot of ‘talk’ about how the Internet (and, in particular Twitter and Facebook) have helped bring about the move to democracy in the middle east/North Africa.
I think we should hesitate for a moment before passing judgement on either the Internet role or whether there is a real move to democracy.
It’s all to do with perception and we should be careful that what we perceive turns out to be the reality.
Let us first take ‘democracy’. Democracy for us is one thing. But, much like beauty, it is in the eye of the beholder. If a foreign country’s democracy doesn’t fit our picture, then we consider it not to be democracy. But democracy is different, even between countries in Europe. The idea is sound, the reality something different. Many voters in the UK, for certain, often feel disenfranchised, feeling that ‘their vote’ is worth nothing.
More importantly is that these uprisings in Egypt and elsewhere leave a vacuum. Take Egypt specifically. The army has run the country for years. The army are running it now. Sure, the top man may have gone and some of his cronies but, much like in the UK, the Government isn’t actually run by the Government but by the people in the civil service (or, for Egypt, the army) and regardless of the top figures, they are the people who decide what actually happens and, more importantly, how it is implemented. In other countries, we are equally likely to see one dictator replaced by someone similar even if his/her views are slightly different. We should be careful what we wish for. Change may not bring about the change that we actually want.
I’m sure, when books were printed for the first time, there was a feeling by those in power, that this was ‘dangerous’. This meant that the people get to know too much. And people knowing things is always bad – at least for the people in power. Then there was the telephone. It was said the the loss of Vietnam by the Americans was down to television and how quickly things were beamed into people’s home, showing the reality of the war. And now there is the Internet.
Did you know, for example, that in spite of our headlines in the West about how China restricts access to sites they don’t like the US does it too! OK, so that was a ‘mistake’ but it does show how easily they can do it. More importantly, they DO do it. It may be for good reason but how do we really know? To whom are they accountable? And the Wikileaks thing, where they advised that no governmentaly employed person, nor their families should access Wikileaks?
As usual, it all comes down to fear. It’s not the Internet that’s really the problem but that the Internet allows things to be distributed to a larger audience faster, even, than television. It’s better than a phone call because it includes video. It is proof of a terrible thing (even if, in reality, it is not actual proof at all, since it can be faked).
And have you noticed what most of these uprisings seem to be based upon? It is the young people who say they have no work, no chance of bettering themselves.
And, in the West, we think we’re immune from this? Why? We don’t have young people? We don’t have huge amounts of unemployed young people? We don’t have these young people with little sign of things improving soon?
The student protests was one thing. The tax evasion protests another. I predict there will be more. I predict that, sooner or later someone getting beaten by the police when on a peaceful march, will die. Sorry, just in case there is doubt, I mean in the UK. It has already happened in Egypt and Bahrain. Fro the UK, remember the video footage of the guy in the wheelchair getting dragged across the street by the thugs? Ooops, sorry, the police. And the guy that was badly beaten and ended up in hospital? You may think it’s a far cry from Egypt or any of those other countries but it’s the same really.
If we continue to pound the young people with this unemployment or, when they are employed, we tax them so high as to make life too hard for them, you think they won’t, at some time, rise up against the ‘regime’?
Coming soon to a town centre near you – rioting and unrest!
Not here and not smoking
I’m not really ‘here’ today.
And I won’t be here tomorrow. Customers, you see.
Just one thing. They have tried to stop people smoking in the way that they used to. So, now, there are different rules.
This was ‘introduced’ because the Production Manager had problems keeping his staff ‘in line’ and they complained that they saw the office staff taking many breaks.
So, I now smoke in the MD’s office. Other people have other rules. Now, us smokers are ‘dispersed’, not that we were a ‘collective huddle’ in the first place. However, now, no one has any idea where people might be. Shop floor workers now appear to go and hide in various places outside.
It is laughable.
I should add that to smoke in the MD’s office I have the window open – which looks on the front (it’s just above reception) – which means that people see me.
I fail to see the difference between this place and the place just outside reception, where I used to go. Meh!
The title was misleading. I’m still smoking, obviously.
Inevitable but, still ………..
“I didn’t know you had a blog”
Well, that’s not entirely true.
“I wouldn’t read it anyway”. I know that.
But now I feel I must, at least, show him. But, I am a procrastinator and so I procrastinate. It was Thursday and we are now on Saturday. It was over a beer with An and him. I mentioned it in passing. After all, it’s not a secret, as such. Not really.
The problem is not that I don’t want him to see it. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I would prefer that he knows it is there, even if he doesn’t read it. I would prefer that he has seen it, even if he chooses not to read it but I wouldn’t mind him reading it. Well, not really. I think. Maybe.
No, the problem is that I must explain. After all, these things I write are not always, shall we say, exactly as other people see it. They are, in fact, what goes on in my head and what goes on in my head is more like a parallel universe – almost the same but with subtle (or even not so subtle) differences.
And, of course, he is there. In every post – even if not mentioned. He is there because, well, he is the most important person in my life and so ‘invades’ each post because he is always in my thinking, in my head. And, since this blog is about what’s in my head, he must be there.
I wouldn’t want him to read something and misinterpret or be upset by something. After all, very few of my readers actually know him. He is just ‘F’, some guy. He doesn’t have a face or a personality – except the personality I have given him. The personality I have given him is the one I see and the personality I write down is the one I have in my head. I’m sure he would disagree about some of it, would say ‘but I’m not like that’ and he would be right, I suppose. He isn’t like that – except, actually, in my head that’s exactly what he is like. And that’s quite difficult to explain. It becomes more difficult when we talk in a language that one of us doesn’t fully understand – even if his English is very, very good.
Most people who know me well have not reacted to the blog very positively. One person explained it as like ‘reading my personal diary’ – a little like snooping in my head. It’s OK for me but not for them. Like when someone dies – it’s those that are left behind (which is a strange statement in itself, I always think, as if they have raced ahead somewhere and not waited for all the others to catch up) that really suffer. The person who’s dead does not suffer at all. Then there are those who have searched and searched for mentions of themselves. Looking for how I really feel about them. But how I feel about them doesn’t really feature since the blog is about a moment and, worse, a moment that has a basis in real life but is still in my head. Which is a different thing.
Yes, it’s a different thing entirely.
But I should show him.
He has had plenty of chance to look. It is easy for him to find. I leave my computer on when I go to work. He uses it to play ‘the game’ (as we call it) on Facebook. But he only has to click on the tab to see it.
Still, I would be more ‘comfortable’ if he had seen it.
After I explain it – or try to explain it.
Just in case.
Yes, I should show him.
Maybe today?
Or tomorrow?
Soon.
Disastro!
OK, so maybe that’s a slight exaggeration.
Last night I saw that my phone was very low on charge. However, this was after we had been to Polpetta (F, An and I) and so I could not stay up long for it to charge. I charged it a bit and it ‘said’ there were two bars of charge. It’s enough.
Except, obviously, it lied. It was not on two bars. During the night it ran out of battery and switched itself off.
This morning, after a rather good night’s sleep, I opened my eyes to see the time was eight minutes past seven.
“Shit!”, I jumped out of bed. The dogs had a short walk. I still had a coffee (as without that I cannot survive), a shower but no shave and rushed out almost an hour late starting to work.
The traffic was terrible.
That’s because there had been a bad accident. Today! The day I am late! I suddenly start driving like an Italian, crossing a dual carriageway exactly as they do! Sometimes I scare myself. I mutter to myself (really I did this), “When in Italy …….”.
Then there were stupid drivers. Then there was a truck blocking the road. It took me an hour to get to work and so I arrived at 9. Grrrr.
Also, I have to admit to you, dear reader that I have, again, fallen off the wagon just a little bit. The night before last I ate two Mars bars. Last night I had two beers.
On the bright side, I have not had a bread roll since I went on the non-diet
Other bright sides: I had almost an hour and a half’s extra sleep; it is Friday; the weather is warmer (or, rather not so cold); tonight I go out with A to Polpetta (he may not talk to me because of the last time) and then we join F and An to go to the Taverna della Lamparo; on Sunday, we shall go for breakfast with An and then, later, for lunch at the Alle Colline Senesi with her. (All links are on the side)
And, Saturday night is the final of the Festival of San Remo, which is televised and which we MUST watch. Well, F MUST watch it and so, we will.
And you? What fun things will you be doing over the weekend?
Useful Tips for Italy/Milan part 1: When to use cash or credit/debit cards
I’m going to start a new tag theme. Useful tips for those of you visiting Italy/coming to live in Italy.
For this first one, I give you the places where it is OK to use cash and those places where you are better using a credit/debit card.
Cash: Garages (especially if you are using an Italian credit/debit card); Restaurants (especially if you get a discount); bars.
Credit/Debit cards: ALL supermarkets; most shops;
So, having given this information there must be a reason why. And there is. First though, I give you my experience from last night.
I needed to do some shopping. Spese, here. Things for the house. I needed milk, washing powder, coke and some other bits and pieces. I use Carrefour, just round the corner from my flat. It’s only a small supermarket but it has most things. Occasionally, for some other things, I must use a different supermarket.
I come, of course, from the UK. We may all be European but each country does have a slightly (or completely) different mindset. And there are many differences – most so subtle that you really don’t notice for a while.
I had to find a basket. They are always ‘short’ of them. People, queue up to wait for someone to empty their basket at the till so that they can have one. Last night, it was busy. I went in search of a basket. I started round the supermarket. Being an inner-city supermarket the aisles are narrow. And there are people who have their basket on one side of the aisle whilst they are on the other contemplating something …… for ages ….. effectively blocking the aisle. Grrrr.
I get my stuff. I start to queue. The queues are long – there are only three tills out of 6 open but, since this is a small store, they don’t have enough people to cover all six. I am patient.
I reach the conveyor belt. I have been waiting for about 20 minutes. It has been raining all day. It is still raining. The woman before me takes her umbrella from the bottom of the basket and places it on the conveyor belt. The umbrella is soaking wet. She picks up the umbrella. The conveyor belt is now soaking wet. I wait in my patient way, seething with anger at the thoughtlessness of Italians. She realises, as I am not putting my shopping on the conveyor belt, that there must be a reason and seems to suddenly realise that her actions and stupidity are the reason. She asks the cashier for some paper to dry the belt. She dries it. In the meantime, the woman two people in front of me is paying for her shopping. There seems to be a problem with her card. She asks if it is OK to leave her bagged shopping there for a moment. the cashier says ‘yes’.
I unload my shopping.
The person in front of me says she’s going to pay cash. The cashier starts putting her stuff through. The cashier then says to the queue that she can only accept cash. I explain that I am paying by card. I ask if I can’t pay for the shopping over at the control desk. The cashier explains that it won’t be possible because it’s not her till that’s the problem – it’s the bank card system that’s down.
I lose it at this point. I say, in my best English – ‘Oh great!’ and walk out, leaving my shopping on the conveyor belt.
In my wallet I have more than enough cash to pay the bill but I no longer use cash at the supermarkets. I refuse to use cash. I will use credit cards or debit cards but NEVER cash.
So why?
Supermarket scams:
1) Sometimes you will pay for the plastic carrier bags. Sometimes you will pay a couple of cents, sometimes 10 cents, sometimes (depending on the operator), nothing at all. This is in the same supermarket, for the same bag but with different operators. It is one of the reasons I rarely go to Unes now.
2) As I have mentioned in posts before, if you offer cash, they will invariably ask you for the small change part. If you don’t give it to them you are likely to find that the change they give you does NOT include the odd 1, 2 or 5 cents that you should have. Either they don’t have those small coins or they can’t be bothered to count them out, I’m never really sure which. And yes, these are major supermarket chains I’m talking about. To be honest, this, I believe, stems from the time when the Lira was the currency and the coins were about the same value as buttons. Italians think of the lower value coins in the same way. We in the UK would never think like this and nor would a shop offer us less than the exact amount of change.
Therefore, ALWAYS use debit cards (bancomat here) or credit cards (carta) to pay at the supermarket.
Shops: Can do the same as the supermarkets above in terms of small change. Pay by plastic, if you can.
Garages: Petrol/Diesel here is about the same price as the UK. I’m not sure this applies if you are using a UK (or foreign) debit/credit card but it certainly applies if you are using an Italian one. There is an extra charge made, by the bank, if you buy fuel by plastic. Always, therefore, use cash. Also, if you use cash, if you have, say, filled your tank with €50.03 worth of fuel (as I inadvertently did this morning), they will accept €50.
Bars: Except if you are going for a night out, use cash. Coffee costs less than €1. If we go for breakfast at our local bar, two cappuccinos plus two brioches (croissants to you) cost us about 5 Euro. And they will always give you the correct change down to the last cent.
Restaurants: If you know the restaurant or are getting a discount (or expect to get one) pay by cash. If you pay by card you will not get a discount or, if you have already been given one, they won’t be so happy with you. Depends, I suppose, if you want to go back there 
If I think of any other places where you should use one or the other, I will update this post.
I hope it helps.