Author Archives: Andy

Somewhere between three and four

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I said we are three but that’s not quite correct.

I get up five minutes earlier than ‘normal’ since the walk back is five minutes.  It is certainly easier than the 20 minutes or so that it was before.

In my bathroom I notice the things that have been ‘left’. Except I am sure they have not been left by accident nor forgetfulness but by design.  There is the cologne, the body lotion, the special stuff for his hair.  These are there for ‘next time’.  All I have is a toothbrush in his.

I have keys but only until Thursday as he needs to give them to the cleaner.  I wonder how long that will continue?  How long before that becomes a ‘pain’ and needs to be sorted?  But I shall hold my tongue.  It will be his decision and it’s not for me to ask.

We watched a DVD on his computer last night, in the lounge as the television will be going in the bedroom.  He’s there, lying on the sofa, in his pyjamas, his feet bare, his sexy ‘frodo-type’ feet.  As I take my cup to the kitchen, I touch them.  It’s difficult not to touch him – any part of him.

So we watch Mina on DVD.  Old stuff from the 70s.  Good stuff, for certain.  But then I had to go to bed and he came too.  He knows that it’s difficult for me and I can’t stay up as late as him, getting up a couple of hours earlier then him, as I have to.

And then when I got home is when I noticed the things in the bathroom and thought of the ‘Dino-licking’ clothes and the pyjama bottoms in the bedroom and remembered the conversation from last night when he asked what he had at mine.  I replied the clothes that I have just mentioned and he said that he would need to bring over a T-shirt next time.  And I didn’t really realise the significance of it but that, together with the other things which are not left by accident, means that we are not 3 but rather three and a half, I guess.

The ugly building

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There’s not really enough time to smoke a whole cigarette.  That’s nice, really.

As I walk back, I look at the buildings since this is a ‘new’ walk, even if I have done it several times before.  There is the house (small block of flats) which is amazingly ugly, right on the corner.  Someone on the second floor has put in new shutters.  They are bright green against the incredibly ugly grey/brown of the building itself.  These shutters are half closed or fully closed depending on the window.  Further on, beyond the traffic lights, Via Modena stretches on, beyond GS (which have now all been officially changed to Carrefour anyway, just this last week) with, from the corner of Via Dei Mille, some beautiful buildings.  And yet, this ugly, three-storey building stands there like it wants to prove a point.  What point though?  And what made someone decide that this concrete square blob could, in any way, ever look nice?

I turn the corner and continue to walk back.  I didn’t sleep well.  Maybe it was the deafening sound of the complete silence in the flat.  I had strained to hear the sound of anything.  Of the trams that are less than a cigarette-smoke away, of the buses, the cars, even birds (this morning).  There was nothing, except, maybe, occasionally, the sound of a car……..maybe.

And it was dark.  I mean pitch black.  No light.  And, whereas I used to like that a lot, I found that I couldn’t see him and I wanted to.

The new duvet was incredibly light and very warm.  But, when he got up this morning, to go to work, it all felt so cold.  It was so weird.  I found myself, all night having to have some part or all of my body outside the duvet but this morning, as soon as he got out, snuggling under it to keep warm.

And, although I should have gone back to sleep, I found I could not and so, about half an hour after he left, I got up anyway.

I stayed a little bit, playing on the computer and had three cigarettes.  Again, I noticed that the flat seemed to fill with smoke so easily and this is not a good sign.  Again, I opened all the windows and let the air flow through to disperse the smoke and I hope it’s OK for when he goes home tonight.

For tonight he will go home.  And put more things tidy, etc.  And go to bed very late, I think.  And so we shall sleep apart, I expect.

And, so, as I walked home this morning, being grateful that we were closer, at least, it was tinged with a little sadness.  For now we are three again and I quite liked being four.

I just CAN’T do this…..

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Please put this on your status if you or someone you know is gay. My wish for 2010 is that people will understand that being gay is not a disease or a choice – people who are gay are not looking for a cure but for ACCEPTANCE and EQUAL RIGHTS. Will you make this your status for at least one hour?

I absolutely HATE chain letters, chain emails, etc.  And, for me, this is the same thing.  It was a post appearing as one of my Facebook ‘Friends’ status.

Now, what to do?  The thing is that nearly everyone at least knows someone who is gay.  Therefore, they should put it on as their status.  If they don’t, then what does that say about the person?

But, really, what difference will it make?  And, really, this is not a perfect world and there are more things to worry about than whether I have exactly the same rights as everyone else.  Yes, I know I should have and yes, it would be nice to be in a perfect world where I am recognised as equal to everyone else – but this is not a perfect world and I really don’t want to put it on my status for all my FB ‘Friends’ to feel at all guilty about not having put it on their status – lest they should offend me.

And, maybe, that’s what I find annoying?  It wouldn’t offend me if they didn’t but perhaps I would look and be somewhat ‘upset’ that they didn’t?  But, why should they?  And why should I put them in that position in the first place?

And, although I want equal rights (because, well, why not?), I’m certainly not looking to force people to accepting me.  It’s a free world.  As long as they don’t do me any harm, if they don’t want to accept me then that’s their right.  And, anyway, forced acceptance is really no acceptance at all!  Education is the key (or bad education is the opposite – one or the other – or both).  I don’t accept bigoted people or racist people and the thought that I should be made to accept them fills me with horror.  And, even if they ‘made me’ accept them – I wouldn’t really….at least, not in my head.  And, if that’s the case, then where is the acceptance?

And so I won’t put it up.  Unfortunately it may turn into one of those viral things like the ‘looking up your name in the urban dictionary online’ – which, amusing though it may be, became a little annoying after seeing it for the fifth time within a few hours.

I worry though that my FB ‘Friend’ won’t understand why I haven’t put it up?  But there’s not a lot I can do about that unless I try to explain – but no explanation really explains it.

The honeymoon is over

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Well, nearly.

I think he was a bit pissed off that I went to A’s place last night.  But, then, if he won’t give me some sort of plan, what does he expect?  I mean, I wait at home and don’t know – is he going to the new flat tonight or not?  If he goes to the flat then he won’t be at my house until after 10.

And so, last night, when he arrived about 11.30 he said that he wasn’t going to go to the new flat originally but because I was on my way to A’s he decided he would go.  If he had told me, before, like the day before, that he probably wouldn’t go then I wouldn’t have accepted to go to A’s place.  And, even if he had called me a few hours before I could have got out of it, having been to the dentist yesterday.

But, maybe it’s good that I’m not always available.  But, maybe I should tell him the whole story so that he knows to be a bit more planned with me.

So, he arrived last night and came straight to bed.  He said that, on Saturday, he would go and buy a piumino (duvet to us).  They only buy thin ones here since there are only a few months of real cold.  He added that once he had that then next week he can spend a couple of nights at his place.  He probably means ‘we’ but I shall check in any event.  I try not to be too invasive.

However, it’s interesting that he suggests only a ‘couple of’.  Again, last night, he wanted Dino to be lying on the floor at his side of the bed and was really happy when he was.  And we cuddled for a bit and I thought – ‘OK so as from Saturday night he doesn’t live here any more’ – but it’s not like I didn’t know it was coming and, in some strange way, he never really ‘lived’ at my place – even if he stayed every night.

And, although it seems like we have been in this situation for ever, it’s only been a very short time.  Next week it will have been 4 months since we first met.

A asked me last night if we had really ‘talked’.  I said we had.  He asked if F had told me all my faults.  I laughed and said I didn’t have any.  Later as we were curled up and about to go to sleep, I told F.  He said ‘Do you want the list?’.  It was a joke.  I replied that I was surprised there was anything but, yes, give me the list.  He refused saying that this was what being together was about and that there were always things as there would be for me, about him, but that we just live with them.

He said we would definitely go out for a meal on Saturday.  The other night we looked at the flights to the UK to go to D’s wedding in July.

The honeymoon is over and now starts the long haul to a place that is, as yet, is undefined, uncertain – a place that is shrouded with the mist of the future – there but without form or substance.

I wonder if what we both want is the same.  Yet he said, before we met that, we all want the same thing.  I hope that’s true.

I have experience

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Of course, it’s just a feeling.  But, you know, given the experiences I have, I think it’s not irrational.

I feel I’m about to be well and truly screwed over.

And, if so, then that will be that – finito.

And, that’s not what I wanted.

Add to that the saga over something else and I’ve really had enough.  I mean, don’t say ‘You can have this’ and then, later, when the job’s almost completed say ‘But I may want it back and if I want it back then you can bring it back’.  I just lost interest at that point which is why I have half.  Unfortunately, it’s not going to go away and now I want what I do have (which is only part) out of my house.  But that means that I shall be doing it on Sunday, by myself again.

You may have wondered why I have the Tag and section – Friends and Inimies.  Because Friends can be as much Inimies at times, seeming to want to fuck you up.

But, then, these things are only to be expected.  I have experience.

Not a brilliant time but there are things I can do

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The day before I was angry.

Yesterday, I had a bit of a shock.  It meant that I was a bit ‘out of it’ whilst I sorted my head out.  Luckily, F came home early (well, earlier than I expected) and we watched Mamma Mia.  I haven’t told him about any of this.  Perhaps I should but, well, he’s got enough on his plate right now.

And, anyway, I needed the time to ‘sort it out in my head’.

And, this morning came the answer.  Well, I hope it’s the answer.

And, so, it’s time to get off my ass and do the things that I should have done before.  And get myself sorted and move forward and stop relying on others to do what they say they will do and just do the things that I can control and have influence over.

I should feel better now but I don’t.

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I’m a bit pissed off.

Well, actually, I’m really bloody angry.

I can’t put my finger on why.  Or with what or whom.  It just seems to be everything and everyone.

Last night, as I was leaving work I found out that I had cocked up and that what I thought was happening (according to my plan) was not happening because the plan was never transposed to the official plan and so we’re stuck with the official plan and can’t do my plan and so we will be late and the customer will go ape-shit.

Which made me late.  And I had promised Best Mate that we would speak at 6.30.  And I had only just arrived at 6.30 because the traffic was a pain and the lights were all against me and people were driving like Italians and also slowly.  And that continued into the supermarket where I had to go to get some stuff and the queue was horrendous and full of little old ladies and the little old lady in front of the woman in front of me couldn’t get the weird trolley through because the lady before her had just abandoned her trolley at the entrance to the till and the little old lady would have had to lift it up which, quite clearly, she couldn’t do but the woman in front of me was in the way and so I couldn’t help and then the woman in front of me turned slightly and I could see she was reading a book.  Reading a bloody book!  In the queue!  And that’s why she didn’t help.  And then it was her turn but she didn’t put her stuff on the belt for ages ‘cos she, too, was blocked by the trolley that the lady before the little old lady had abandoned and she ummed and ahhed about how to get her trolley through before abandoning it and I just thought how bleeding inconsiderate and stupid some people are.

And then I got home and realise I had forgotten camomile tea for F and that just annoyed me.  We have enough for now but that’s not the point.  And then I found that my useless bloody cleaner had not done all the ironing like I had said and had ignored my text about just doing the bathroom and the kitchen and doing the ironing and had not ironed sheets which meant I had to iron them but I couldn’t ‘cos I was Skyping Best Mate and Best Mate was more important than ironing sheets but by the time we had finished some 3 hours plus later it was too late to iron them and then change the bed.

And so now I do it tonight.  And then F arrived home (he had been to the new flat to paint the final coat on the bed) and it was late and I was tired but we didn’t go to bed straight away and so I am more tired than last night now, as I write this.

And so I’m pissed off but, actually, a little angry.  And if, today, one more person, whilst I’m talking to them answers the bloody phone and then spends ten minutes having an ‘important’ conversation which, in reality is not important and, certainly, no more important than the conversation that I’m having with them – I will, most definitely, KILL THEM!

There!  I should feel better now but I don’t.

The problem with Italian men……..

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“I hope I don’t get …………..”

or

“I think I’m getting………………”

Two of the staple sentences for Italian males.

As happened a number of times on Saturday/Sunday.

It’s not a big thing, nor that important but it does make me want to say ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake”.

So, a shaving rash (which is quite obviously what it was) together with a headache (which I always struggle to accept fully) means that it could, possibly, maybe, perhaps – be the start of a fever.

The problem is that their loved ones pander to this and so reinforce the idea that it’s OK to come out with this crap each time you see something or feel something.  It starts with the mother and continues with the partner.

And I am not better than any other partner but, you know……

It seemed a good idea at the time

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It was stupid of me, really.  But I did owe it to them (A & F2) and it seemed such a good idea about a week ago.

So, today, went horribly wrong.  Well, horribly is probably too strong a word.

First, instead of moving the rest (well, nearly) of his stuff from S’s flat to his new flat, last night, we did it this morning.  It was snowing last night and F was really tired. However, that wasn’t in my plan.

Then there was the shopping to do.  I required the meat, the vegetables, the stuff to make desert, some cold meat for starters, etc.  Then, I had to get tins.  I only brought one roasting tin with me and, for what I am doing, I need at least 3.  And then, finally, I had to get scales.  I just couldn’t go on any more without them.  Especially if I am to make a half-decent Treacle Tart.

I mentioned that to F last night or the night before.  He seemed a little jealous but I promised to keep some for him.  And I also bought some mince to make him Cottage Pie so that, this week, if he feels he wants something other than sandwiches, he can have that in the evening. It is his favourite English dish anyway.

But I explained that I was doing Roast Beef and it seemed a good idea to invite A & Fr – especially as Fr has returned from down South only today after some operation she had to have.  And I said that it was a good idea as F didn’t eat meat (well, not like roasted or grilled meat – meat that looks like meat) and, as he was going to be working it was the perfect time.  I did get the impression that he was a bit disgruntled by it but, as I said, I promised to keep him some Treacle Tart.

So, first we will have prosciutto crudo and coppa, then these peppers stuffed with tomatoes and anchovies (which is really nice), then Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding and then Treacle Tart – maybe with custard too.  And I got a really nice bottle of Barolo to go with it, which I know A will appreciate.  Oh, and I have cheese (Stilton and Cheddar) and some Port for after.  Mmmmm.

And now, as I write this, sometime after 6 p.m. I have not done the ironing nor cleaned the flat nor anything of the things that I simply had to do.  I have put the new pans in to be washed in a moment and I will do some ironing in a minute and then I might make the treacle tat or, more likely, I shall do it tomorrow.

I used to be quite good at preparing.  Now I just leave everything to the last possible minute.  It’s not that I don’t care but I do think, these days, that there is so much more to worry about than if everything is ‘perfect’.  Normally it all works out OK in the end.

And F is sorting out his flat.  He will still be staying here for a bit though and I am really happy about that.  I really like having him around; I like his presence, his ‘being here’.

And, as I write this, he arrives.  The hot water at the new flat not working.

And so I save this for later.

And he had a bad headache so I made him Camomile Tea, gave him an aspirin and he’s gone to bed.

Anyway, so now I have not done the things I should have and I will be rushing in the morning and so, what seemed like a good idea at the time (inviting A & Fr round for Sunday lunch) now seems so much more difficult.

And, remember, this is the oven that I hate.  No numbers on the dial just High, Low and Off.  Not my perfect kitchen.  Still, we hope it all turns out all right in the end.

Oh, yes, and one of the new pans that I bought is too large for the tiny oven. Hmmmph!

Yesterday, we became four.

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I am at the computer.  I’m standing but bent over.  It’s not the most comfortable position but, given the lack of anything I could use as a chair, it’s the best I can do.

The screen springs to life, suddenly showing the background at the same time as it makes the sound.  Great.  The usual Skype message comes up.  It should be upgraded but it’s not mine to do.  I tell it to continue anyway.  I select the Skype account I want to use.  Best Mate may be online.

I go type in the password but nothing happens when I type.  Then there is a new window that comes up.  I don’t really read the screen so don’t know what it says.  I am busy trying to get into Skype.  As I am closing this very annoying window, I notice something about Bluetooth.  As it closes, I realise that this keyboard has no connection lead to the computer and, therefore, must be Bluetooth.

I need to find this window again.  This utility.  I start searching.  the problem, other than I don’t really know Macs that well, is that it is an Italian machine and everything is in Italian, of course.  I go for Finder, since the icon I would use on my machine is not in the right place (or, rather, non-existent) on this computer. I look for the obvious thing.  Something called Bluetooth or Connections or something similar.

On the way to finding this I see some things that I have an urge to see.  Some photos; some other things.  I resist the urge.  It would be like spying; like looking into a private diary; like reading a blog that you’re not supposed to know about (whoops!).  I want to and don’t want to at the same time.  I don’t want to more than I want to and so I don’t.  I give myself a self-congratulatory pat on the back for being good.  It makes me feel good even if I am still intrigued.  But I have no reason to doubt and, therefore, this is something that should be left alone.  But, still……

I don’t find what I want.  I close down the computer.

I switch on the computer again.  The same window/utility appears…..eventually.  I am right!  The keyboard is not being ‘seen’.  I look at the keyboard.  I see that there is a screw thing at the side and open it to find batteries inside.  I know this was all working as he had used it a day or two before when he proved that the telephone line had been installed and everything (including ADSL) was functioning.  I decide that, maybe, one of the batteries is to blame.  But there are no more batteries that I know of.  And, so, I swap the two from the mouse (which IS working), taking two from the keyboard in exchange.

I try all again.  No difference, although the mouse still works.  It is unlikely to be one battery.  I look all over the keyboard, eventually pressing, by accident, the switch that turns the keyboard ‘on’.

Everything now works but a) I am standing and b) I have almost had enough and so, instead of writing a blog post, I play ‘the bloody game’.

The men arrive with the wardrobe and bed.  I don’t really like them.  I was hoping for the three that came to my place.  That would have been just fine.  I don’t really trust these guys.  I smoke and am aware that the smoke seems to fill the flat much more quickly than it does mine.  I think about the time, in the very near future, when we are here, at the computer together or watching a DVD or sitting on the brand-new, white, all-(simulated/something)-leather sofa – smoking and it being difficult.  This worries me.

The windows are slightly open, as they always are.  I notice that, the flat, seemingly so warm every time I have entered, seems quite cold after a couple of hours.  This may not be so good.

The men finish with the wardrobe.  Well, not quite.  I do not know what the man says but I think he says that he has another set of drawers and where should they go?  I don’t know.  I knew where the wardrobe was to go, I had asked F the night before but the second set of drawers?  I phone him and get no answer.  He is working, of course.  The men need an answer as they are now building the bed (which won’t take long).  I send a text explaining that I need an answer and hoping that he has the phone on him.

He calls me.  They should be shelves and not a set of drawers.  I realise I could have got it wrong.  I say yes they are shelves – hoping that I am right.  But where are they to go?  He tells me they are to go in the middle part, above the set of drawers, equally spaced.  I tell the guys.  They tell me what they can do.  I tell them that is OK.

They finish.  There is some discussion about the payment that is to be made.  I cannot pay him the exact money as I don’t have 33 cents.  He has no change.  I know that, in the UK, there would be no money given to the delivery/installer people and I wonder at how this can possibly work properly in Italy.

I change what I have given him.  Now all he has to do is give me 17 cents change.  He only has a 20 cent coin.  I explain that I don’t have the 3 cents to give him and that it’s my money we’re talking about (he already knows that it’s not my house, nor my furniture).

He huffs and puffs.  But, reluctantly gives me the 20 cents.  I don’t care.  I’ve noticed that the guy in the supermarket that I thought was a good guy regularly charges me for an extra plastic bag.  I don’t go to his till any more.  It’s only 4 cents but the Italians, with the old lira in mind, take less notice of the small coins.  I am English and I don’t.

When they have gone I decide that the room is really smokey.  I have only had about 5 cigarettes but I know that F won’t like it and so I open the window wide in the lounge and the bedroom to try and get rid of it.  There is no breeze and so no air through the flat and so it doesn’t disperse.

I get much colder though and, from a starting point that is quite cold, this is not pleasant.  I have texted F to say that everything is fine and that I would go and do some shopping and go home shortly.  I also added that I would come back to the flat whenever he wanted as, of course, I have the keys!

I close the windows and the shutters.  The smoke still seems to hang in the air.  I know my sense of smell is terrible.  I go out of the flat and come back in.  I can still smell it.  If I can smell it, I muse, then it will be a hundred times worse for him.

But I cannot stay.  Or, rather, I cannot stay and not smoke!

I leave.

Later he phones.  He is still at the office.  He has got the company car tonight.  He will go and collect his clothes and take them to the flat.  I offer my help.  He says that I have done enough already (having taken a day’s holiday to be at the flat for his wardrobe and bed).  I reply that it is really no problem and I really don’t mind.

All this is true.  All this is in my interest.  And, anyway, it means we are together and I am helping him and it makes me feel good.  And, also, I want to be there when he opens the flat door – to see the reaction to the smokey smell, for I feel as guilty as hell.  And I have weird thoughts that go through my mind like a) he won’t want me in the new flat or b) he will insist that I stop smoking or something along those lines.  If I were to be there I would know, immediately, if it were a problem.

I wait at home.  I am anxious.  I feel useless.

This is like those times when you were a kid.  You had done something wrong and you knew, as sure as night follows day, that your parents would know.  Perhaps they were out and would know when they came back.  Perhaps they were there and it was one of those things that they would find out about and you just didn’t know when.

And it’s the waiting that is the worst, of course.

And this is how I felt.  I also worried that, after a full day at work, he was going to be doing lots of moving stuff to the car and from the car and it would be so much better if I were there to help.  And it would be quicker.

And then I thought that, perhaps, he didn’t want me to be there because he wanted to spend the night at the old flat.  The previous night had been restless for him.  Apparently Dino had been restless and walking to and fro and playing and crying and other things.  And then I thought that perhaps he just wanted to have a night apart.  But why?

It got to 10 o’clock.  I had heard nothing.  I hadn’t taken a shower wanting to be ready, just in case he called for help.  But now it was time for the dogs to go out.  By now, after all my thinking, I had come to the conclusion that he was not going to be coming here for the night and didn’t want me to go to him and that was why he hadn’t phoned until now – leaving it too late for me to do anything – presented as a kind of fait accompli.

I decide to go out with the dogs; I won’t bother with a shower.

As I’m walking with the dogs I think about going to bed but staying fully dressed and lying on top of the bed so that, if he calls, I will be ready to go.  Maybe the flat stank of smoke?  Maybe he’s just had enough – with not having enough sleep the night before?  Maybe I’m just being too much for him?

I hear the phone ringing in my pocket.  My gloves mean that I can’t get the bloody thing out.  The phone stops ringing just as I get it out of my pocket.  I look at the missed call.  It was F, of course.  I phone him back.  It starts ringing.  Dino, just at this moment decides he must do the biggest poop ever.  This means I cannot hold the phone to my ear, put them on short leads, open up the bag AND pick it up and dispose of it all at the same time.  Something has to go.  It is the call.

Not because I want to but because the poop is more, shall we say, pressing.  Damn Dino!  I pick it up and, as we are only a few minutes from home decide to wait until I am in the lift before trying again.  We get in the lift and I take their leads off and try calling again.  He answers.

‘Can I call you back in 10 minutes?’, he asks.  Of course, I reply – I can tell he is carrying stuff.

He calls me back.  I explain I was out with the dogs and why I called but couldn’t wait for him to answer.  I ask him where he is.  He explains he is in the car and is trying to find somewhere to park and then he will be with me.

‘But I still need to take a shower’, he states.  I breathe a sigh of relief and tell him that I, too, must take a shower.

I finish my glass of wine.  I feel guilty about having a glass of wine (well, in honesty, two).  I don’t know why.  But it’s like when I eat a bar of chocolate.  It’s not that I’m lying about it and it’s not like it’s such a big deal that I feel I must tell him; it’s just like I don’t want his disapproval – like I am a child.  I wonder why this is.  It’s my house and my wine and I can drink it if I want.  Still, even that doesn’t stop the feeling.  It’s like I haven’t told him the whole truth – even if I have or had.  I rinse the glass and stop myself from washing it up.

I start to undress.  I notice that Dino and Rufus are making for the door.  They have heard something (or, rather, Dino has heard something and is very excited – Rufus is just going along with it in that confused kind of way that he has now – that old people have when they know something is going on but have no idea what it is).

Then I hear it too.  It is F, outside the door, making the slurping sounds that gets Dino so excited.  I laugh.

I go and open the door.  F is there, shirts on hangers in hand, a bag over one shoulder, with other bags and things. I keep Dino away from him so that the shirts will remain dry and not get wet from the Dino-slurp.  He explains that he thought he would bring a few shirts and stuff so that he doesn’t have to worry about it for the next few days.

In spite of all the crazy child-like thoughts that have been going through my head all night, at this point, the child inside of me is jumping up and down and clapping my hands and shouting in sheer happiness – whilst the Andy on the outside just smiles and says of course that’s fine and why don’t you hang those in the wardrobe – which is what he does.

I go over and hug him and give him a kiss.  He unpacks his bag.

‘This is for the bathroom’, he says as he hands me his washbag.  I cheerfully take it there, whilst feeling stupid.  Stupid for being so happy and stupid for having thought all those stupid thoughts all night.

Later I ask him about the smell in the flat and explain why.  He says there was no smell other than ‘new wardrobe and bed and paint’.  I am relieved, to say the least.

We have tea, showers and go to bed.  He is cold, he says, as he is in bed before me.

I cuddle him and take his hand and put it on my stomach.  He withdraws it and I ask why.  He explains that his hand is so cold (which it is) that he doesn’t like touching my stomach, knowing it is so cold.  I tell him it is fine and take it and hold it there, getting it warmer and making him feel better.

I resist the urge to tell him that I love him – even if it is true and even if I really want to tell him so that he knows.

And, he hasn’t moved in at all.  He’s just staying with me for a few days although, he said, it could be for all of next week too.  I think I curb my enthusiasm for this quite well.  Or, at least, to the outside world.  Or, rather, to him.