Author Archives: Andy

It’s better to like handsome men than be a 74-year-old blithering idiot

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There.

My response to the only leader within Europe who features regularly in British newspapers – but not for much except his dalliances with under-age females; insults to other religions, people, countries, etc.; clowny behaviour at important international events and other such things.

He’s very rich; owns half the press and television here, in Italy and, what he doesn’t own, controls by being Prime Minister; wants to change the law to make it illegal to eavesdrop on conversations (because that’s how he was ‘found out’ over all the recent stuff); wants the Internet controlled (because people on the Internet don’t always agree with him) and is trying to curtail the powers of the Magistrates because they are, unfortunately, not ‘aligned’ with his wishes (they would like to put him in the clink, probably).

Buzz Lightyear (aka Silvio Berlusconi) has been at it again. Rescuing some illegal immigrant from prison (although she was very pretty ……. and young …….. ) because he thought the whole thing was ‘wrong’. Not because he had given her 7K for, apparently, no real reason.

Of course, his comment “It is better to like beautiful girls than be gay.” is the type of comment one could expect from him.

He is old enough to be a Grandfather (I’m not actually sure if he isn’t!) and should have been pensioned off before now. I can only be grateful that I’m not like him (although I would like some of his money, of course)!

Noble souls and function challenging

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I don’t really understand why it is that a lot of spam comments are posted against the post Ristorante Leon D’Oro but here is one that came this morning and made me smile:

Gratitude is the sign of noble souls.

And another one, for a different post. I’m not entirely sure what it’s supposed to mean but I like it anyway:

Formula for achievement: Rise early, function challenging, strike oil.

How old are you?; Inside a Lava Lamp; Cooking and DIY; Rufus; Oh, yes, and I win the lottery

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Miserable bloody weather that it was ….. and still is.

We get the day off on the 1st November. Some catholic thing about the day of the dead. To me, it’s a holiday. And, at a really stupid time of year! I mean, October/November? I ask you, why?

And so, from Saturday night, it rained. And rained. And rained. And rained. Well, you get the idea. It was grim with a capital ‘G’. After today it will be fine …….. until Saturday, when it’s forecast to …..piss down with rain!

Still, it meant, more or less, a weekend at home. We had been offered a trip to the Turin area and lunch at some restaurant. F didn’t really want to go. He doesn’t like the bad weather either, really. Anyway, the trip was to be Sunday when the forecast said it would rain all day (which it did, more or less), so F cancelled our ‘booking’. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Friday.

A (his Milanese friend who lives in London) called. We were going to go for for an aperitivo at Polpetta (see link at side). He was just waiting for her to call when she was on her way. He phones/texts me about 9 to say they are on their way and would pick me up (since I live 2 seconds from Polpetta). On our walk there it is decided that we shall skip the aperitivo and go straight for the Pizza at Liù, which is just across the road from Polpetta.

Whilst we are eating, I get a call from M. M is F’s colleague and the second one I ever met. She speaks English at about the same level as I did before I moved here – if not worse. She is sweet and loveable and we get on really well, in spite of the language which, after a few beers, is not a barrier. She drinks like a fish (or like a cow, as F would say). Before I answer, I say to F that it is strange, her calling me (they are almost best friends, after all). I answer.

“How old are you?”, she asks in a clearly drunken stupor. There is someone (I guess L, their other friend) in the background shouting stuff at her. I know what she means. “I’m very well, thanks”, I reply. She talks some more. I understand nothing. I pass the phone to F.

It seems they are at some bar and want us to join them. The husbands/partners are watching football. M rang me rather than F because she knows F too well and knew he might not answer the phone :-). C is there too as her husband, Ma, who is English, is with the men watching the football.

After our meal we walk up to the Atomic Bar. They are waiting outside. F had told me, on the way there, that when he and S got together, they used to go there a lot. There are a lot of English people that go there. I cannot beat the description on the link – ‘Like hanging out inside a lava lamp”! We have a couple of beers. Ma joins us after the football. The music is too loud and I cannot hear people well, who, in any event, are all talking in Italian. I stand no chance. Plus, I am tired. We leave sometime after midnight, just after it starts to liven up a bit. Rather than English, I would say it is frequented by a lot of students. I am old enough to be their grandfather – not that I care but the loud music and stuff, although good, doesn’t fit well with how tired I am. I am glad to go.

Saturday.

The man came to put the cupboards up in the bathroom. These were the cupboards I bought from IKEA a few weeks ago. I assembled the cupboards but wasn’t quite confident to put them up – although, before I had assembled them I was so confident in my head. I mean, how difficult could it possibly be?

Well, apparently, quite difficult. As I watched him heave them up and there being a lot of cazzoing, I thought that, actually, I had been somewhat crazy to even imagine that I could have done this myself …… on my own! And he even had all the right tools! He looked at my light but couldn’t fix it (so I called the electrician – who may be there on Friday) and looked at my shutters in the bedroom (one of them wouldn’t close) and did fix that, sort of. But the important thing is that it now closes and (almost) opens.

Then, as I had arranged with F, we went to buy my new cooker. I had gone two weeks previously and found the one that I quite liked. It’s all gas, which is my preference but wider and slightly deeper than the current one but, more importantly than anything else, does not just have High, Low and Off but rather gas marks! I can’t wait. I shall be able to cook things properly with much less guessing. Anyway, Saturday was the last day for the offer for free delivery and free fitting which, with gas, is a must. Not really a DIY thing at all, especially for me! Also, the nice thing was that they will deliver on Friday! So I can plan a meal.

Saturday night we went to A’s place. F2 was there too although they are still not really ‘together’. F talks so much. Afterwards I said that he didn’t have to do so much talking. He replied that if he didn’t there would be nobody talking. I think this is not true but I think it is also when he is a bit nervous. The food was great, as usual. It started to rain just after we got there. And almost hasn’t stopped since. We left quite early as I was still tired.

Sunday.

The clocks went back. It means an extra hour in bed. Well, it would mean an extra hour – unless you have small children or dogs. I have dogs. The dogs didn’t put their clocks back. Plus Rufus is ill. I know this will mean a diarrhea mess in the kitchen, even if we do get up quite early. He can’t help it, of course. It does mean exactly that. We take them for a walk after I clean up. It is only spitting but, even so, we bypass the dog walking area – it is too wet and muddy for that. F didn’t have a good night. I did – it just wasn’t long enough.

He wants me to do Crumble again. This time I will do apple and blackberry. He also wants Shepherd’s Pie (as he calls it for, really, it should be Cottage Pie). He also wants carrots the way that A did them last night. I also want to try the Roasted Tomato Soup that I made a few weeks ago.

He goes home and I go shopping. They don’t have fresh Thyme, so I get dried. I forget to get bread (which I realise when it is too late). I get everything else I need. The supermarket (Carrefour in Via Modena) closes just as I am getting the last couple of things – which explains why it is so quiet in there – but this makes it a million times better than going to Esselunga, where I would have had to fight to get round and then queue up for about half an hour at the tills. I even manage to get a bus as I get to Via Castel Morrone! I am very happy.

I start the cooking when I get back. I think the tomato soup will be too much, so one tomato is omitted. I put too much black pepper on them (as I find out later). The Apple And Blackberry Crumble is both easy and will be fine, even if I don’t know how to get cooking apples, so it may be a little too sweet. The Shepherd’s Pie will be huge. I have just the perfect glass dish for it.

I am doing the Blackberry and Apple Crumble, the soup has been done and the Shepherd’s Pie is in the oven when there is the sound of a small explosion and steam comes from the cooker! Shit, I think to myself. I open the door of the oven. There is a lot of steam and hissing and the flames of the gas fire are yellow and bigger than they should be. It takes me a moment or two to realise that the glass was obviously not oven-proof as I had thought and has split. Shepherd’s Pie filling is all over the bottom of the oven. I turn the oven off and carefully lift out the remains of the glass dish. I put it on the side and the gravy starts dribbling nicely down the ‘curtain’ and onto the floor. Hmmmph! I think about it for a moment. Luckily, the glass has cracked (and come off) only on two of the corners. I can rescue most of it. Of course, to be certain I don’t have any glass in the part I am going to rescue, I need to leave quite a lot behind. However, there will be enough for the two of us for a couple of days, even now. I try to clean a very hot oven. Not very well but enough (I hope) to allow me to continue. Ah, well, the cooker goes away on Friday so who cares?

I have moved my computer into the kitchen, on to the kitchen table, since I need the internet to see the recipes. It works much better than me having to traipse from the kitchen to the lounge and trying to remember the next couple of steps. Also, I can listen to music or watch a film or something whilst I am cooking.

The plan is to eat early. I feel like I have been on my feet all day by the time F arrives at about 7.30. We sit down at 8. The meal is great apart from, slightly too much black pepper in the soup. The Shepherd’s Pie is the best I have ever done. The Apple and Blackberry Crumble is fantastic with whipped cream. I am very pleased. So is F. I decide I’m going to try Swiss Steak (a winter favourite of mine) and hope that he will eat the meat. I think I may try it at the weekend with my new cooker.

We play cards a bit, watch some TV, I take the dogs out (in the rain – did I mention that it rained almost ALL weekend?) and we go to sleep.

Monday (we are on holiday).

I am woken by, what seems to be, Rufus’ last breath. He has, what can best be described as, a very bad cold. It seems he is struggling to breathe. It wakes me up. It is 2.30 a.m. The long drawing of breath so loud as to wake me in the first place. I get up to check he’s OK. He’s OK but this is the second time in the last few days that this has happened. I worry that it’s not just a cold. I think that, just now, there seems to be something wrong nearly every week. He is very, very thin at his back end. When you rub his back you can feel every bone as if they are speed humps in the road. I decide to get up and have a drink. I go to the kitchen where, now, the computer is. I clean up the mess from Rufus. I have a drink and look at the computer. I chat with someone who is online through Facebook. They tell me to go back to bed. I do. I awake again just before 9. It is still raining.

F gets up to take the dogs out on a short walk. Short because it is still raining. Meanwhile, I clean up the mess from Rufus. I wonder when this will end. F has suggested that we won’t go to Austria for Christmas and New Year whilst Rufus is like this. I mean, whilst Rufus is alive. F says that he hopes he isn’t here when Rufus dies. I don’t tell him that, in all probability, it will be my choice and that I will take him to the vet, so he won’t see it anyway. I know that he won’t come. That’s OK. I worry that, just a little, I feel that I almost ‘want’ Rufus to go or get so bad that he has to go – just so I can go to Austria for Christmas. It makes me feel very guilty. But then, last night (well at 2.30 a.m.), I think that, anyway, it won’t be long.

However, I remember feeling just as guilty before, with Ben, while we were waiting for him to go before we came to Italy. That made me feel guilty too. In the end, I did it at the right time and I know I will do the same again. I won’t do it just to be away for Christmas – it doesn’t stop me feeling guilty though.

F goes home after breakfast. I sit in the kitchen, in front of the computer for a bit. Then I decide to clean the oven. It makes me feel much better. At least, when they take it away on Friday, it won’t be so bad and they won’t think me such a scumbag for having a dirty cooker! Then I sit at the computer a bit as some washing is doing. Then I decide to put up the new coat hanger I bought at the same time as I bought the table and which has been sitting in the hallway …… waiting for me to put it up. I drill the holes to the right length, put in the rawl plugs and put it up. I am very pleased although I know that I will be unable to open the front door fully. I think that, maybe, this will be a problem for the delivery of the cooker but then, I think, I can always take the coat hanger off, if I really need to. I write some posts but don’t finish them. As usual.

F comes over and we have a second round of soup, Shepherd’s Pie and Apple and Blackberry Crumble. then we watch Cinema Paradisio. I have seen it for about 15 years. The last time was when V & I were doing Italian at night school and the teacher lent it to us. I knew I loved it but couldn’t remember it at all. It’s lovely but we have to have a break at 10.30 so I can take the dogs out. We get to bed just before midnight. I will be tired tomorrow, I think. F says that I need to sleep. It’s true. I have two English lessons after work as well tomorrow night. I sleep.

Tuesday.

The clocks going back have made no difference to the fact that is is pitch black when the alarm goes off at 6.40! Or maybe it’s because it’s still bloody raining! OK, so not raining so much, but, obviously, it’s also dark because of the black clouds. Rufus has not made a mess. Well, that’s one good thing. I end up being late for work. I forgot to tell you that I did win the Superenalotto….everntually. I got three numbers on Saturday night. That’s €16.24. This morning, I go to the tobacconist below my house and play again (even if I promised that I would stop when the jackpot was won, which it was on Saturday – exactly when I won €16.24 instead of €177,000,000). Mau is there as usual. He’s promising to ring me about English lessons too. He needs it for the TOEFL test.

I get to work. I must leave home earlier than I do at the moment. I do the lesson log for M-T, my student for tonight. I am annoyed at myself for not having done it last week but it doesn’t really matter.

As I write this, it is still raining. It is supposed to stop in a couple of hours. I will not finish teaching before 8.30 tonight. Maybe, I think, I will take the whole day off on Friday, when the cooker is delivered. Why not?

I am tired.

It seems I come first, after all!

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“It’s OK”
“Don’t worry about it”

Well, that’s what I wrote. Apparently it wasn’t her fault. Well, I thought, then let’s not beat about the bush. “When is the wedding?”, I write.

“What wedding?” and then, “He’s not getting married”.

OK, well that’s enough then.

I just write, “How strange”

Of course, I was asked why it was strange. I explained that several people, to whom I have mentioned ‘the wedding’, were just surprised I knew about it rather than not understanding what I was on about – which is what you just did (although I didn’t add the last bit – only thought it).

“There’s no date set”. So, and the “What wedding” and the “not getting married” bit, then? What was that?

Basta

And don’t be thinking of getting angry with me about the short shrift. I can’t stand lying and you, as one of the people who were there at the time, should know better. It seems not.

It’s not that it’s a massive surprise but, still ………….

________________________________________________

I’m doing stuff. I mean, sorting stuff out. Much to do. Very busy. Some physical (putting up cupboards, buying new cooker, etc.) and others just practical (paying some bills, sorting out companies, etc.) – but, the important thing is doing it. And it makes me much happier.

Last night he got home really, really late. He lost his way on the way back. Too busy talking to his colleague! Hah! And, so he was very late. He texted to say he would drop his stuff off at home and come to me. I was surprised. I thought that, as he was really tired, he would not come. I can’t go to his place as Rufus is quite ill at the moment and, although on medication, it seems to be taking a while to clear. Up until recently, he would be ill (diarrhea and stuff) about once a month for a couple of days. Now, it seems like once a week. I thought it was eating shit in the dogs areas at first but now I’m not so sure …..

And he is getting so thin. He is just a bag of bones now, especially at the back end. I know it’s how it is but, you know, it is sad to see. Still, he is still walking OK, not falling over (except every so often) and, generally still looking healthy (ish).

But, as he is currently a little ‘unpredictable’ with his toilet there was no way we could go round. Still, I was very happy that F had to decided to come round to mine.

I took the dogs out (it confirmed that Rufus was still ill) and then had a shower.

Then he phoned. Would I mind if he didn’t come round? He was really sorry but he was so tired. If he had known it would be like this, he would have come straight to mine. I do understand. It was a surprise when he said he would come over in the first place. I said not to worry and that I understood and he said:

“Yes, but I wanted to to be with you and the babies”.

It seems I come first, after all!

Tidying up a bit.

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This post is full of lines and paragraphs from old, draft posts. Posts that never ‘made it’. I like some of the bits below though and, now, I have got rid of all these draft posts.

Enjoy!

The feeling that ‘I’ve seen all this before’ prevails and I mistake that for being wise.

I read an interview today. Someone said that he didn’t want to be content. That content sounded like ‘maturity’ and that implied decay.

A single lie that I find out means that everything that is said might be false. Probably is false.

Funny, isn’t it. Some people spend their whole time trying to convince you they are someone that they’re not.

He sings songs to Dino. The latest one is:

pupi pupazzo ¨ un cane pazzo
pupi pupazzello ¨ un cane bello
pupi pupazzino ¨ un bel bambino
tu che sei dino
sei un cane carino

>The tour was surprising. Mostly because most of it remained the same or, nearly the same. England’s green and pleasant land remaining green and pleasant – with lots of sheep and cows and, so, lots of photo opportunities!

Yes, he was probably bored, the sheep being a welcome distraction.

We drank beer, he ate fish and chips and I ate lamb. We walked around the towns. We went to the church where my Grandfather was buried. I tried to explain but found that I couldn’t really.

My Grandfather was 83 when he died; my Grandmother, 85. They lived quite long, really.

His philosophy on life was that you had a good life if you were ‘content’. And he’s right and always was. My father never understood that, always striving onwards and upwards as he did and now probably having died before he was even 70.

We exchange few words, the woman who owns them and I. It’s too early in the morning for me to understand Italian and, anyway, we don’t need to talk. I’m not good in the mornings. Today neither she nor her dogs are there, of course.

Gotta be strong. Gotta say ‘no’.

This meant asking for the stuff. F said to get 1 etto (100 grams) of prosciutto and half an etto of coppa and salami. I asked about buying the pre-packed stuff, saying that I wasn’t sure the deli was open but the horrified look on his face said all that I needed to know.

However some friends (of theirs) turned up just as we had started and hadn’t been invited to dinner and just sat on the sofa, reading, whilst we spent the next couple of hours eating.

At that point I began to realise that certain ‘strong’ memories of his were, as most people’s are, just a figment of his imagination.

Well, you know, fuck that for a lark.

I hope he doesn’t let you down but fear he will. But, please don’t be asking me why V has not been in touch or not come round to see you. He’s not my responsibility any more and I don’t have to make the excuses like I used to – go figure it all out for yourself.

Let’s say that we’ve both given each other some shit over the years so we must be ‘even’ by now but, still, fuck you for believing in what V has said. It is, in the nicest possible way, utter bullshit and for you, an intelligent guy, I thought, to have fallen for V’s greatest trick, makes you a fool at the very least.

“It’s the same for me”, he writes. I misinterpret that a little

Of course, it will never be ‘over’. Undoubtedly, I shall be ‘paying’ for it, in one way or another for the rest of my life and there will always be some little thing that will come back and haunt me but ….. still ……..

I realise now that I never understood him (probably, in much the same way as he quite obviously never understood me).

He always went from ‘mad passion’ for some friend or other to another. I learnt to avoid getting too attached to them (unless I really liked them too), knowing that it wouldn’t last that long in any event. The last time I did this, I was worn down after years of being told that this person was wonderful; I didn’t think so. Within a year or so of my ‘giving in’ the glorious affair was over but with such suddenness and such hatred that I vowed never to put myself in that position again – and I never did.

…. but there will be that falseness behind it. The people that you don’t exactly ‘dislike’ but that, if they aren’t there, actually don’t mean that much to you.

I just wish that the closure of these paragraphs would reach the closure of the chapter. We have both moved on and these things do not help either of us.

The old man rang yesterday. I knew it was him, since my phone said ‘Unknown Number’. I was driving the first time, walking from the car to my house the second, and doing something else on the third. It was the fourth occasion that I answered. “It will only take 10 minutes”, he assured me. I was not assured. I am assured that it will mean I am at least an hour later back at home – of that I am 90% certain, even if the actual work does only take 10 minutes.

And then that made me think about his blog. Do I want anything? At first glance, that would be no. The reality is, I think, that I do want something.

F is still feeling ill. Last night he had a stomach ache. He blames it on the food and drink he has had over the last few days – but it’s not that. It’s the drugs that he’s been taking. I try to tell him but he’s not listening and he’s Italian so he has a different view as to what causes things. I know it’s that because he stopped taking any tablets and his stomach was fine and then, last night, he got more syrup and some tablets and took one of the tablets and then suffered stomach ache.

He’s not really good with suffering – as most men; as most Italian men.

Untold truths make for a lonely world

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I’m sort of glad that I didn’t write this post earlier. It would have been a bitter and angry post and, rather than that, this morning, driving to work, I suddenly reached a better understanding of it all.

Now, rather than feeling bitter or angry, I feel sorry for them. It doesn’t detract from the fact that I don’t like lies and feel that it isn’t right to lie, especially to me, but I cannot change people and I have to accept it for what it is.

Still, I learnt some things on the way.

The Final Question remains unresolved (but not from my side, you understand) and I now accept, as I said to a mutual friend the other day, that it will always be so. I must now learn not to think about it; to put it out of my mind.

And, anyway, it’s not so much lies. It’s more things left unsaid. Things that should, by rights, be said, aren’t said. They are avoided. My one last (but even as I write it I know there will be one more) act of defiance at these untold truths was a couple of days ago. It was cruel, since I now know the truth and I feel slightly ashamed. But only slightly. After all, even if I had not known the untold truth, it would have been done that way. It only remains ‘cruel’ because of what I now know.

And the untold truth leads to other untold truths and the whole thing becomes an untold truth. And it’s no longer that they are untold truths, in themselves, but rather that the untold truths mean that the whole thing is put into doubt and no truths can be told because to tell some truth may unravel the neat untold truths and it would then be seen for what it is – a life of lies.

“I can’t stand all the fabulousness”, I was told. It was meant that, it’s difficult to stomach all the fabulousness about everything when you know, because you’ve been told, because you know, that underneath all that fabulousness is ‘not-fabulousness’.

But, for me, it’s not even that. What these untold truths mean is that you can no longer talk to someone who, at one time, you were happy to call a friend, about your concerns and worries; you can no longer ask for help; and when something good really happens, you can no longer tell that either because to tell that would imply that, after all, it hasn’t been that fabulous after all; and that would mean to imply that, perhaps, you had not been previously telling all the truth.

And so, you say nothing. You cannot say anything. The communication can start but cannot continue. And so I send an email. And I get a reply. And then I send the reply with the cruel question – for now, I know the reality. And that’s where the communication stops. Or else, as some text messages in August prove, the question or query or statement that you send is completely ignored as if it was never written – because, of course, there is no answer that can be given that is either logical, fair or true – and if you know that much, how can you respond?

And I started out being angry and then became bitter and then I realised that, actually, it was not me that was suffering as a result of this but rather them. And, at that point I actually felt rather sorry for them and thought that, for me, even if I could lie (or not tell the truth) which, in any case, I don’t do well, I would not be able to stand the fact that I could not talk to my friends about the things that were hurting or the problems I was facing and nor could I celebrate when I was triumphant and, in any of those circumstances, I would be missing something and would feel more lonely as a result.

>And, so, in the end I felt so sorry for them for the untold truths make for a lonely world.

I wonder about the shoe

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It is dark and I am stopped in the traffic. I see something on the road. I’m sure it is a shoe. It looks quite small and yet not quite small enough to be a child’s shoe. I wonder how that happens, that a shoe comes off and flies across the road some way away.

The man comes and picks it up. It is a shoe. Still, it was nice of him to bother to pick it up. I wonder if it was worse than I had thought? I wonder if it was the van that was in the middle of the road? I wonder why the person who was (almost certainly) crossing the road, didn’t see it coming? Probably the rain and the dark – like it’s midnight. But that would make me, had I been the pedestrian, be more careful. And, anyway, I’ve always thought this was a particularly stupid place to put a pedestrian crossing. The blue lights from the ambulance that is parked next to the white van flash in my mirrors. I thank goodness that it’s not me.

It will make me late for work. Still, I have been and continue to drive more carefully. Both because of the torrential rain and the darkness. The dark, I think, is because of the low, black clouds. Although, obviously, this time of year (and very soon anyway), both morning and evening will be dark; will be night.

I still wonder how the shoe came off and why it went so far from the accident? I feel sorry for both the pedestrian and the van driver.

The Dead Parrot – or, rather, not at all.

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I squeeze into the back.  It’s not a problem but A (F’s friend) and F are already in.  We drive on to go to the restaurant.

As we’re driving up the road to go to the restaurant, I notice a movement.

Now, a lot of Taxi drivers like to fill the front of their car with stuff.  After all, it is their ‘office’ I suppose.  And so there are things that make them more comfortable.

However, I am shocked to see that, perched on the dashboard, just to the right of the wheel, is a parrot!  Yes, you read it correctly.  On his dashboard is a living, breathing parrot!

And here is the picture to prove it:

We took photos of it.  It got angry (so the man said) and started squawking so we stopped using our flashes.  Obviously it’s not a good picture but, nonetheless, it’s proof.

It was just so funny.  The parrot’s name is Gilda.  Unfortunately, after he gave it the name he found out it was a male parrot and not a female parrot, which makes it funnier still.

An unusual thing to see in the taxi.  Keep your eye out, should you be in Milan and taking a taxi.  Maybe, you too will share a journey with Gilda!

Eating babies

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“I can eat the baby”.

Their equivalent of “I could eat a horse”.

Except, of course, here, they do eat horse, so I suppose it’s not quite the same.

S was hungry so went to lunch a little earlier than usual.  It was her explanation why she went early. Still there are strange things here :-D

Re-living it all

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It’s been difficult – and I wasn’t expecting it.

As I explained previously, I found that, during the transfer of this blog, some rather strange characters had appeared and the photographs for certain posts no longer appeared.  So, I decided to fix them.  This meant going through all the posts from the beginning (and that’s nearly 800 posts now)!

I have learnt a number of things:
1.  I write a lot of crap.
2.  Most posts are not nearly as interesting as I must have thought they were at the time.
3.  I don’t always remember what I am talking about.  There again, some of them brought back some memories of events or situations.
4.  I know that V and I split at the end of November, almost two years ago and, yet, it took me almost a month to write anything about it.

And, I found, surprisingly, that reading through some of the posts from December onwards brought back the memories.  Rather than ‘brought them back’, it would be better to say ‘made me re-live’.  This was not so good.  They weren’t bitter memories just sad; sad memories for what should have been and wasn’t, for a future that I thought was, more or less, secure and, in fact, was like wet tissue paper – falling apart in my hands.  Even for the two years previously, there were some posts that hinted at what was to happen but the actual events, the actual posts, my fears, shock, despair – they are all tangible to me in the posts I wrote.

In a strange way, I am grateful to have them, to be able to read them.  I am also grateful that it didn’t seem to last too long as I am now up to the point where I have selected the-perfect-flat-on-the-perfect-street and I can see, through the writing, that I have come through the worst of it and I know it gets better after that (well apart from the crazy few weeks).

So, sorry not to be posting but I will be back soon, I promise!