Category Archives: Rufus

Rufus, an 11-year-old blue Bearded Collie. The best dog in the world. Gets his own area, being the dog he is….

An eventful uneventful weekend; A supermarket open every day in Milan; Dog walking

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Well, it didn’t really last long. Three days, in fact. Still, it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?

Isn’t it? Tell me ‘yes’, please?

Well sort of.

It was an uneventful yet eventful weekend. I mean to say, for most people almost uneventful. For me, quite major things were done.

In particular, I am talking about sewing.

Yes, this post may not be the most exciting ever. Please look away now if you are afraid it might be boring. If you do read it, you can’t then say I didn’t warn you. And it is looooong!

I am, as you may know (or have guessed), a gay man. Actually, an old, gay man. But I’m not really your typical ‘gay’. I am, as N would say, quite a straight, gay man. An old, straight, gay man.

I don’t sew. Well, I do but only when I have to and we’re talking simple things here. Buttons and stuff. Buttons are hard. But not as hard as real sewing. But, like ironing and cleaning, they take me a long time. And, just like ironing and cleaning, if I can, I put it off.

So, all the shirts that I had that lost a button or ripped or needed some sort of repair had been, over the last (OMG! I just realised over the last 18 months or two years!!) ahem, period of time, had been hung in a special part of the wardrobe.

But, I was ‘running out’ of workshirts and having to use the ones that F had bought for me. So, on Saturday morning I said to him that I was going to have to go out and buy some. And then, I thought, of course, I’ve probably got a couple that just need buttons so I should do them first and then I would know how many I really needed.

So, Saturday morning, after F left to go to his place and ‘tidy up a bit’, I thought OK, I’ll do it or, at least, look to see how many I could ‘reclaim’.

I really didn’t realise how much stuff I had in that wardrobe. It was a shock. I started looking at the shirts. Putting the ones which had ripped (usually on the sleeve or under the arm) in one pile as these were, probably, irreclaimable (at least with my level of expertise at sewing) and the ones that missed just a button (or two or three), in another.

There were 7 shirts that were reclaimable. It was a big surprise but welcome, nonetheless.

I started. It was cold in my kitchen. I found that threading the needle, normally a process that takes about 15 minutes for me, seemed to be easier than usual. This was a good sign. I found buttons in my little ‘button store’. And, where I couldn’t find the right ones, I found them attached to the shirts, at the bottom. Or I found one that was very similar.

I progressed well, completing the first one in about half an hour. That’s how slow I am. One down and 6 more to go. After the second one, I was finding it difficult. My fingers, hardly as nimble as they were, seemed to be ‘not working’. It was far too cold. I put on some gas rings on the cooker. It would soon warm up the flat or, at least, the kitchen.

The washing machine was on. I think I was doing towels. Or jeans. Something which meant a full spin at top speed.

I did another shirt. (Exciting, isn’t it?)

I decided to have a break from sewing. I took the three shirts that I had done to hang them in the wardrobe (they were already ironed). On the way back (not that it’s a truly long distance but it’s still true since between the bedroom and the kitchen I go through every other room in the flat – apart, that is, from the bathroom – however, the bathroom is on the way back to the kitchen), I stopped off in the bathroom.

I’m standing there, having a pee (I know you may not want to know this but it is material evidence for the next bit) and I hear a sudden crash from the kitchen. The washing machine is in full spin.

There’s not a lot I can really do, standing there as I am. It’s just not possible to turn off the tap, so to speak. (See, I told you it was material to the story). I finish and walk into the kitchen.

The trays which are on top of the microwave, which is on top of the washing machine were the things that caused the ‘crash’. They have fallen onto the cooker. With them, obviously, are the things that are on the trays. Not much, normally, but F, in one of his ‘tidy up’ moods last week, had moved all the stuff that was with my computer on the kitchen table, onto the trays.

This included some paperwork, some CDs, some DVDs, some pens and some other associated ‘junk’.

You may remember (it was on a few paragraphs back) that I mentioned turning on the gas rings to heat up the kitchen a bit? Well they are gas and, therefore, flames and, sort of, flames tend to do things to pieces of paperwork, plastic CD holders, plastic trays, etc.
To pieces of paper, even bank notes, they tend to send them up in flames. To CD and DVD boxes, the tend to melt them before setting them on fire.

The kitchen was full of flames. Well, the cooker was full of flames and not all from the burners.

I don’t know what happens sometimes in times of crisis. Usually, I react quite well. Sometimes, though, my brain doesn’t seem to work. For a moment or two I blew on the flames, trying to put them out. It almost worked but for one small but very important fact. I couldn’t blow the burners out, of course, and so blowing the flame on a piece of paper out had the effect of it going out for a split second before reigniting itself from the burner.

Hmmm.

At the same time as blowing, I start to move things (well, move isn’t quite the right word – more like grab and chuck) from the cooker hob to the sink which, luckily, was full of water for washing up, the washing up being in the water and not having been done by now because I am on that long, horrible job of sewing.

I do remember thinking that this really wasn’t the best day for this (but, then, when would be?). Not only am I sewing but it is also too cold for me. And I’ve had a bad week at work.

And my tooth hurts.

Although this may seem like a long time for me to ‘do the right thing’, in reality, of course, it was seconds. Seconds before I realised that, of course, before trying to extinguish the flames I should, in all probability, turn off the hob rings.

I do. Then I am blowing and throwing stuff at the sink at the same time.

The CD/DVD cases have started sticking to the black covers over the gas rings. And sticking to each other. In that plastic burned way. They also go into the sink along with the washing up.

I’m thinking that a wet CD/DVD is invariably better than a totally warped one.

I start to clean up the cooker. I fish things out of the water. Some bits of paper have fared better than others. Some now have no writing on. It seems pointless to keep them without anything on them, their meaning lost to the water. I hang others in various places to dry.
I start separating CD cases. The CDs themselves, look OK. I will have to try them. Possibly when they are no longer wet.

The plastic box full of blank DVDs is difficult to open since bits of the plastic seems to have become welded together. I prise the lid open. The DVDs themselves, seem OK. We shall see. Again, perhaps better to check when they are dry.

I make a cup of tea. There is irrational fear in turning on one of the gas rings to boil the water. I mean – REALLY irrational. There is nothing on the microwave any more. It all went onto the rings, into flames or was melted, then the water, then the drainer for drying out or thrown away for being of no use any more.

I have tea.

I re-start my sewing.

I finish the shirts. There are a couple of pairs of jeans that also need repair. They are my favourite jeans. They need repair because I am not sticking to my wine diet very well. And, also because the jeans were always quite ‘tight’ – even before I had need of any wine diet! One of them has come apart where the buttons were. It was either that or the buttons. The sewing gave first. I sew that up. Not well but, I hope, quite ‘strongly’. The other pair were not so lucky. The second button down – since they are not really buttons but those stud buttons you get on jeans – sheared in two. I have a stud from some other pair of jeans. I fix that in and hammer it together. I hope it holds. But I guess there will be another real button put there if it comes off. I guess there’ll be a button there soon, then!

Also, maybe as a result of the need for a wine diet, some shirts have ripped at the sleeve – underneath the armpit. They cannot be repaired. But a couple of them are good shirts and I don’t want to chuck them. I decide that I could just cut the sleeves off. They would be summer shirts. I try. the result doesn’t look so bad. Maybe they will be fine? I will show F later, maybe?

It has taken me all bloody day to do the sewing. The jumpers have not been done. They will have to wait. I’m quite pleased with myself at having done all this. F and I have chatted over Facebook when I was doing the shirt buttons. I told him I hate doing it, having forgotten how he told me that for S’s first show, various family and friends were up all night doing the sewing. He says he will do it later. For one moment I think of saying ‘yes’ but then decide not to. After all, I should be able to do all this myself. Maybe next time?

We went out for a meal. F was ill. The next day he stayed in bed until about eleven o’clock. Asleep. Then he got up and went home and went to bed and slept.

Yesterday, as he was sleeping, I took the dogs out for a long walk to the park. Have I mentioned that Rufus seems to have really perked up in the last week or so? Well, he’s still quite perky. I’m very happy about it even if I was writing him off only before Christmas.

Then, last night, I went to the supermarket. I love that, now, the Esselunga in Viale Piave is not only open on Sunday but also open after 6! Actually, I think it stays open until about 9 p.m. Italy is moving into the 20th Century. Just a little behind others. In fact, apart from about 2 days in the year, it is open every day and at reasonable times.

I had a hankering for parsley sauce. And roast potatoes. And leeks. I got everything, including some cod (because F likes that). Of course, the cod was salted cod and I didn’t soak it for long enough. The rest was perfect. I must try it again – with a more soaked cod.

And F feels a bit better now and has gone to work.

But he didn’t take the dogs for a walk on Thursday and Friday of last week (because he had very long days and was going to do Pilates), nor Sunday because he was ill, nor today (nor tomorrow, nor Wednesday nor Thursday, I suspect) because he was going to Pilates again. So it only lasted last week. And only for three days. Oh well. I’m sure it’s the thought that counts.

&

And some lost comments:

  1. Gail says:

18 April, 2011 at 5:16 pm

………phew. I hung in ’til the end. phew – and that’s because I love you you old straight-gay man you!!

Love Gail
peace…..

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    • Andy says:

18 April, 2011 at 6:37 pm

Well done, Gail! Loads of love back

It’s life Jim, but hardly logical.

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When you look at it, logically, there’s nothing actually wrong.

Just like those times when I feel angry for no reason at all.

But I am really pissed off.

Except when I’m with F. For some reason, everything just lifts when I’m with him.

Take last night. After a really dreadful day, followed by a lesson and then a dreadful drive home, meaning I was later than I wanted to be, meaning that, although I really rushed a shower, I arrived at the shop later than I wanted to, once I was with F, I was relaxed and happy. For the next couple of hours, even if he wasn’t with me all the time, I was still happy and relaxed. I knew he was there. It was enough.

It was the “Aperitivo”. They were holding it because it is the Furniture Fair. It was nice. I had several glasses of prosecco. And a couple of the small finger food ‘dishes’ they were handing out. There were lots of F’s colleagues there, of course. They are always so nice to me.

One thing struck me though. F, not usually overly demonstrative towards me, completely changes when there are a lot of his colleagues around. It’s quite funny. He seems, almost, to be jealous of any attention given to me – but not jealous that I’m getting the attention and he’s not. Rather jealous in that I’m his. Phrases such as ‘keep your eyes off him, he’s mine’ tend to come out (or something similar, since it is in Italian). It does make me laugh, inwardly. Of course, part of it is for show, I know that. He is, after all, a showman. It’s what he does best. It’s why he’s good at his job.

And now, as we rapidly approach 4.15, it is the weekend. And the weather should be OK (average for this time of year) and so, I hope, F & I will spend some time together and take the dogs for a walk, etc.

These are the times that make me really happy.

a

Not a seismic shift, exactly but significant, nonetheless

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The dogs get excited as normal.

Dino starts ‘talking’. He does that now. When he wants to ‘go’ or when he thinks we are about to go – somewhere, anywhere.

The light comes through the shutters. Yes it is different this morning. I go to the bathroom and shut the door so that there is no noise to wake F up. I turn on the light and start going through the usual routines.

Except this is not usual at all. This is all different and it feels very, very strange.

I wash and shave. When I come out of the bathroom the dogs are quiet again. They know this was a false alarm. This is a different day for them too. All strange and not as it should be.

I don’t know if this will work, I think to myself.

I make my coffee and sit down in front of the computer, checking stuff and then playing the game.

I feel as if I have overslept. Well, not exactly that but similar. There’s not the rushing around of having overslept; there’s not quite the same feeling. I finish my coffee and instead of going to get ready, I just have to put my tie on and then go. The timing isn’t right – and yet it is, of course. It is just not normal. Well, it WILL be normal, just not today. It is the new normal. The normal-to-be.

I go and put my slippers in the bedroom. F is awake. I kiss him on the forehead. He says he will have a coffee before taking the dogs out. I know that they will love it. Later he tells me that it was a surprise for them. I bet it was.

And it’s a huge change for me. Getting up three quarters of an hour later seems almost relaxed, like it’s the weekend. I will still do the evenings but he will do the mornings – at least when he can or when it is not raining. This is how it will be for most of the summer.

This is more sharing of stuff. It’s probably good. I’m sure it is good.

It will take some getting used to, though. And, weirdly, I already miss my morning walk with the dogs. Especially now that it’s summer. This was the time of year when I didn’t mind the morning walks so much. But this is easier and will make me less tired all the time. At least, that is the plan …….

Me neither

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F A B U L O U S!

Well, for me, anyway.

It seems not for most. An said, last night, that she loved being able to wear sandals now. Compared to the last six years in London. Exactly!

Then she complained it was too hot.

Bah!

As I often say, it can never be too hot. Or, at least, not that I’ve ever yet experienced. She worries about the summer.

“If it’s this hot now, what will July be like?”, she queries.

In my head, I’m thinking, ‘bring it on’. But it won’t be like this. Already, from a forecast high of 28° for today (it will be hotter, I am sure), it will barely reach 21° tomorrow. It says.

I am sitting here, in T-shirt and sandals, with all the windows open and, surprisingly for Milan, a bit of a breeze. It is really, really lovely.

After my cup of tea I will go shopping (for groceries) and then, maybe, I can convince F to come to the park with me and the bambini. I hope so.

I know that those of you from the UK are also enjoying nice weather and I’m almost certain that most of you are not complaining about it.

Me neither.

Fixing the house by the sea – all for me and the bambini, it seems.

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“I’m not going to go to Vienna”, he says. “I’m going to go down and do the house”

This is, actually, quite an important statement, I think.

I mean to say, he seems to really want to make it a nice place to be. I have the feeling it was left to fend for itself in the last few years. Now he wants to put it in some sort of order.

“Then, when I am away, travelling, you can go down with the bambini on Friday night or even Saturday morning.”

It seems he really does want me to do that. What he doesn’t seem to realise is that, without him, it isn’t really going to be the same at all.

But there is a change in the way that he’s looking at things.

Don’t get me wrong. We are ‘together’ but it’s an ‘individual togetherness’. It’s not like it was before for me (and probably for him) where you planned your future together; your life together. We don’t really do the planning bit at all. We continue to be separate. Just conveniently together. I don’t know whether I like it or not. But it’s OK.

So, he intends to go down at the end of May for a week. I suggested that, as it’s a ‘long weekend’ for us (for Italy, really), I could come down with the bambini. It seems not. Apparently, it will not be of help, even if I did suggest I could do the garden. No. He wants to get the house (well, flat, really) cleaned and painted. He will get R to help. He wants it tidied up a bit. Then we can go down for the weekend. Well, the ‘we’ is without him, it seems. For me, that’s not nearly as good but, as he seems to really want this, I suppose it is good.

But, no, we can’t go down whilst he is doing this tidy up. We will be in the way. I suggested the garden thing since that is one thing I really do miss from being in the UK. It seems not. Oh well. I won’t push.

And it has to be right for our holidays since the first week we will be there. It’s nice that he wants the place to be a little spruced up for me and the dogs.

Just thought you should know.

Other things:

1. CV not finished but I needed a break.

2. Since yesterday morning there has been a real change in Rufus, for the better. He seems quite a different dog. Maybe it’s the warmer weather and, so, less of a problem with arthritis? Still, whatever it is, it’s very nice to see.

After the after-party party

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“Oh!”, she exclaimed, “we won’t be able to fit Rufus in. I have to pick up this other thing too and it will take all the room in the back’.

I turn from looking at the thing we had come to get – something like a washboard but not – and reply, “It’s OK, he can sit in the footwell with me”.

“No, no”, she adds, “I’m sure we can work it out”.

She is giving me a lift home. We are in a furniture restorers or carpenters place or something like that. F is not here. He is somewhere else. I’m not sure where. I don’t like him not being here. He should be here. I am uncomfortable with him not being here. It is the following day. The following day after the party or exhibition and after the after-party party or after-exhibition party at her house.

We had walked to her house from the party or exhibition. F had been there but not for the after-something party. It is disconcerting. I am not questioning why I cannot walk back home.

My worry about Rufus and whether he will fit into the car changes it all. I wouldn’t call it a nightmare – just a bad dream.

I wake up.

The TV is on. But it is silent – the sound turned right down. F is not there. I shout ‘Babe’ and he replies. “Are you OK?”, I ask. Yes, apparently he is. Except he’s not really as it’s almost 3 a.m. and he’s not asleep.

I can’t shake this dream even if the remembering of it is difficult. It has left me with a certain disquiet but for what, I can’t be sure. I get up and go to join him in the kitchen. I am really tired but know I have to get it all out of my head. Look at it logically – not that it was really logical – I know that much.

I grab a glass of milk and a cigarette. I ask him why he is up. He says he doesn’t know but he just can’t sleep. It’s not me or the dogs. He is playing ‘the game’ as we call it. He says that maybe it will help. I doubt it but say nothing.

I go back to bed. In the morning, when the alarm goes off, I put it to snooze and snuggle up to him. He got to sleep then, eventually.

I’m not even sure how the bad dream started. Something about a party or an exhibition. Rufus only appeared the following morning. It wasn’t Milan – nor anywhere I know. But it was similar to Hay-on-Wye. A group of us decided to go to the after party. I knew the people although, with the exception of F (who was never there but always just outside the picture) and one other, I can identify none of them. We walked up the hill. Maybe through fields. It was very late. F knew I was going and would join us later. We arrived with the girl whose house it was and who was giving me the lift back home on the following day. We started the party. Nothing really happened. More people came. It was nice. I worried about F not having arrived. I don’t know if I texted or tried to call but I think I did. I was worried anyway and really wanted him to be here.

Then V arrived. It wasn’t altogether unexpected. I mean, for some reason, I knew he was coming or, rather, might come. Somehow, he managed to avoid turning towards me. He was, as FfC and I say, ‘being fabulous’ as V does. But, still he wouldn’t look at me. I saw him across the room (with his back to me), taking off his jacket and talking to the woman. And laughing as he does. I was disappointed that he wouldn’t at least acknowledge I was there but other than that I didn’t really care.

He must have stayed for a bit and then he left, never once showing me his face. And then it was the next morning. And F wasn’t there. And, for some equally strange reason, I had Rufus (although not as thin as he is now) and we had to get home. And we were stopping on the way to pick up these things that the woman had to get. And then I woke up.

Elettrauto – Cadore – great food/poor service

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He wasn’t happy.

I turned round once but he told me not to call her over. He pursed his mouth in the way that he does when he’s annoyed. He didn’t go in to tell them. The waitress had, after all, laid our table and given us menus about 15 minutes before. It did seem strange that she had not come back to take our order. She came outside several times but, each time, walked away from our table to other tables.

He was getting more and more annoyed.

Eventually, some 20 minutes after we had been given our menus, a waitress appeared.

There then followed some dialogue between him and the waitress. It wasn’t good. He complained about us having to wait so long. She asked why he hadn’t come in to say anything ….. or something like that. Of course, that was the wrong thing to say, especially to him. The correct thing to say could have been – ‘I’m terribly sorry, sir. I wasn’t aware you were here but I shall make sure you get your order quickly’. this would have stopped him dead in his tracks since this sort of response always leaves the person with two possible options: 1. shut up or 2. repeat the things you have said, thereby making yourself look like an incoherent idiot.

He explained afterwards that he was this way because a) he comes here a lot and b) that was not the right way to answer a customer that wasn’t happy.

And he should know. He added, after I had suggested that ‘OK but maybe they were busy’ with the fact that the turnover of staff here is very high. ‘They change every five minutes’, he advised.

He was right. The service was terrible. The shrimp club sandwich that I had was very nice, though. And the fact that we could sit outside was good. And I wore sandals until the late evening. And we’d had such a lovely walk in the park with the dogs. And I’d changed the duvet for the bedspread. And it felt more like May than April.

But back to the late brunch we were having.

I didn’t even realise that Elettrauto in Via Cadore DID brunch. It is conveniently situated almost at the edge of the park I (we) now go to with the dogs and it’s useful to know that they serve food at 4 p.m. – see, I told you it was a late brunch!

It’s not that cheap – two club sandwiches and two beers came to around €35 – but with the weather being so nice, it was perfect. Obviously, the service was dismal but I wasn’t in a hurry.

But, then, this morning I read this article and I got to thinking.

There is absolutely no reason to be rude to waiters, waitresses, shop assistants nor, indeed, anyone else. At the same time, people doing these jobs should have a pride in what they do and want to give the customer good service. I am a different person when I talk to or are with my customer. It doesn’t matter what day I am having, they are the customer and should be treated with courtesy and respect. I always try to exceed their expectations but, at the very least, meet them. If I can’t then I tell them and apologise. Not really so difficult.

So I am always amazed when the service leaves one feeling disappointed. And the service, yesterday, was disappointing, which was a great shame. It won’t stop me going there – but if it happened too often, it would.

As it is, it does seem a great place to go for a Saturday and Sunday after walking the dogs in the park.

Angolo di Casa and Piccola Cuccina – although we only went to one of them, of course!

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He had talked about another one. One that he used to go to with S. It was a single room with about 10 tables. He said it was very nice.

But that wasn’t where we were going.

It was another one of the Groupon vouchers. €50, for which I paid something like €20 or €25. But we understand it now. We expected to pay at least €50 – €100 on top of the voucher.

To start, I had some kind of Cod mousse. He had pulped broad beans with bits of octopus or squid. Then we shared a sea bass with an orange and fennel salad. Then we both had the same chocolate thing. And nice wine. And a mirto each. It was OK. The branzino (sea bass) was lovely. Being done in salt, it usually retains its moisture (unless it’s done badly) and this one was excellent. F’s pulped broad beans with bits of octopus was nice too. The rest of it was, well, nothing amazing. And, for the price it should have been amazing.

The place was nicely done. I liked the warm colours of reds and yellows. F says that red is not good. Too aggressive. He’s a visual person. I love red. I wanted to say that it was the red in my hallway that I loved at first sight – and still do. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to hear that he didn’t like it, I suppose.

It was, as F would say, very ‘fashion’. We got there at 8.35 or so. The place was empty. For me this didn’t bode well. However, by 10, the place was full. This is the Italians going out on a Saturday night. Arriving at the restaurant at 9.30 or 10. Too late for me, really and, luckily, also for F, even if he is Italian.

And it was very ‘fashion’. Just before we were leaving a couple came in. F explained that the woman had been on Isola di Famosa and he was something on television (I forget what, now). I’m really not that impressed, to be honest. Is that wrong of me? I mean, it’s someone from the telly – and here, that could equally (and is probably more likely to) be someone with no talent. Not that the UK is much better but here they still have dancing girls in the middle of game shows so I’m sure you will understand.

And the bill meant that it was €72 per head. We both agreed we shan’t be going back to Angolo di Casa in a hurry – voucher or no. The food was not really fantastic. F said that he would much prefer Porca Vacca for the price and for the service and for the food. And I agree.

We left and started walking up Viale Piave. As we walked within a couple of doors was the other one he had mentioned. I stood on the step to look inside. It looked delightful. I agreed that I would like to go there. It’s mostly meat but there is one fish dish. F said that it would be fine. And, so, although I can’t write about it, our test of this restaurant meant that we found Piccola Cucina.

So not a wasted evening.

As an aside, yesterday (and today), I am wearing sandals. Yay! This means it is warm. And, yesterday as I was walking the dogs because F was cleaning my kitchen, including the dogs’ toys, the dogs’ basket, etc., I realised that I was out at about 6 p.m. still in sandals. Not something I really ever did in the UK, except for occasional times in the height of summer. And it reminded me that this was one of the reasons I love to live here. And the washing gets dry quickly. And it’s time for salads. And it’s only the very beginning of April. And today is the same and about 2 we shall go to the park with the dogs and stop and get something to eat as well.

I adore my life.

The sun has got his hat on and he’s already out to play!

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In one hour I shall leave here.

To complete my holiday from 2010.  It’s the ‘rule’ here.

On the bright side, the weather is fabulous and will get even better over the weekend. On the downside, F is still ill and so I may not be able to do as planned today.

I had planned (or, rather had thought it would be a nice idea if) I take the dogs for a walk in the park when I get home and stop at a café to have something to eat and a beer – outside. It would also involve F joining us, perhaps.

Now, probably not.

Oh well, such is life. I hope he really improves today as this will be the first properly fine weekend we’ve had for such a long time. I was even going to suggest going somewhere tomorrow or Sunday (with the dogs, of course).

Hope you all have a fabulous weekend anyway, whatever your plans or weather are like.

Signs; Four or three?

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‘Isn’t it usually darker than this?’, I ask myself.

It’s stupid o’clock when almost everyone is still in bed. Well, being Tuesday, not everyone. In fact, the market is already being set up by the stallholders.

But there we were, getting used to the light at this God-forsaken hour and then everything changes. However, it is the signal for me. I long for sandals and T-shirts. I long for heat; real heat when my skin seems to have a permanent ‘slickness’ about it. When we get up and the sun shines and I get home and the sun shines and, even in the middle of the night, it’s just sandals and shorts and T-shirts.

So, in spite of the fact that this is a crazy time to be walking around, I have a certain lightness in my step and I ache for the ‘sandal time’.

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I don’t say ‘I’m sure it will be soon’. I’ve been saying it for almost a couple of years. In spite of myself, I am slightly superstitious and I wonder if I shouldn’t say it – just to make sure it doesn’t come true?

The other day we went round to F’s flat for a few minutes. F had bought new toys. As we were in the lift, going up, Rufus got over-excited. In fact, I haven’t seen him this excited for a while. He knew where we were going and he knew it would mean biscuits and treats. He’s not stupid.

He tries to push the lift door open with his head, even as we’re moving upwards. He is desperate to get there. And, sure enough, when we arrive, he has biscuits and treats. The toys he’s not interested in, really. But then, they’re for Dino, really.

The floor, however, is a problem. And he is less steady on his feet. His legs give way and he is there, much like a spatchcocked chicken. I stand at his rear, keeping his back legs close together with my feet and put my hands underneath his all-too-obvious rib cage and lift him up. Within a few moments he is, once again, doing his impression of a parachutist in free-fall. F tries but hasn’t really grasped what I do. I explain and he almost gets it.

It happens a few more times and I decide to go. F can also see that it is difficult for him. Now, I think, there’ll be no stopping at F’s during the night. I did offer on Saturday night, since F did not feel so well but ‘no’ apparently because of Rufus.

Then, as I was on holiday yesterday, last night I had done stuffed pimentos. F had bought them back from Spain and I found a recipe that fills them with a fish stuffing and made some adjustments to fit what I had. It was after we had finished and we sitting drinking some wine and having a cigarette. Rufus did a little whine or two. I stroked him and he stopped whining. Then he got up or, rather, he tried to get up, his paws slipping on my floor, which is not really a slippy floor. But I know it is probably his arthritis playing up a bit. A change in the weather, perhaps?

And that’s when I thought that it wouldn’t be long now. The whimpering a sign of some pain. Not so much but just a little; the getting up made difficult by the stiff joints.

But I don’t want to voice my concerns. F won’t handle this so well, I think. No, it’s better not to say anything. But I wonder if he’ll even make it until Easter, when we all go away? Or if it will just be the three of us?

Maybe it will all be alright again in a day or two. Who knows?