Category Archives: Strange things

How different is Italy and the Italians?

It’s like a party out there …… and here.

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There are plenty of taxis – just none that are free for hire.

For that matter, there are plenty of cars too.

And there are plenty of people. In fact, in this street, normally fairly dead at this time of night. In spite of the fact that there are some nice hotels on the road, mostly it is shops, and the shops are closed.

And there aren’t any people, normally, since the road doesn’t really lead to anywhere to which people would want to go.

But not tonight. Or, rather, last night. Last night it was ‘buzzing’, in spite of the rain.

It is, of course, the week of the Furniture Fair – Salone Internazionali Del Mobili. Apart from the fashion weeks, one of the most important times for Milan (or maybe bigger than the fashion weeks), showcasing all that is good and great about Italian design.

Now, the main exhibition is at the Rho Fiera (the big, new exhibition centre) outside Milan.

And whilst, when it first moved, Milan became a bit dead, now there are many smaller exhibitions and parties and things around the centre of Milan. And so it was last night, the third (I think) night of the Furniture Fair.

F’s shop had a book launch and so there was a small party, of sorts. Of course, now, I must go. I like to watch him schmoozing the customers – and he is very, very good. Full of charm and jokes.

I know some people, of course, and get introduced to more by F, permitting F to go off and see other people. I chat a bit but I do find it more difficult. I’ve never really been that good at small talk. Still, I do my best and the party is nice.

I step outside sometimes for a cigarette – watching the taxis and cars and people in this unusually crowded street. Feeling kind of odd. I mean, I don’t feel like I really fit in but it seems nice and I want to fit in; to be part of this ‘world’ of art and design and ideas.

But it’s OK. I have a glass of prosecco in my hand and, after several, I’m more relaxed. I meet people that I recognise but can’t place. One is an author; another a buyer or something for Prada; some English woman who is a buyer for some shops out of Milan. But I am crap with names and crap remembering. Somehow I manage to get by, sometimes having to ask F quietly, who it was I have been talking to.

I mention the dog; the new puppy – but they all already know and most have seen the photographs. “Yes, I have seen you in the photographs with the dogs”. Of course they have. I say to one, “I don’t know whether he’s with me because of me or because of the dogs”, laughing as I do. In fact, both are true.

And I am tired. His colleague from Paris has gone (and she is really lovely) and two nights of going out, eating, getting back at half-past midnight have taken their toll. Tonight I would have preferred to go to bed immediately but it can’t be so. It’s part of the deal of a relationship. One does things for the other. And, anyway, F enjoys introducing me as his ‘fidanzato’, especially to people who have never met me. They always think I’m something in fashion or design and he delights in telling them that I’m not. It’s his thing.

We walk home, since there are no taxis. It’s not late but both of us are so tired it feels like it’s midnight anyway.

In the middle of the night, we both stir for some reason and, for no apparent reason at all, as he turns, he lifts himself up on his elbows and kisses my face. He doesn’t really show affection as such but sometimes I feel happy that I know he loves me.

The Fallout

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For every action you make or don’t make, there is fallout.

In this case, someone sent me a message. I felt sorry for him as he’d certainly paid some money for a service that wasn’t a good service. I thought, “I’ll just go on and do a reply to him”. It seemed the fair and right thing to do.

I told him that I was already in a relationship and wasn’t looking for anyone any longer.

I didn’t get a reply back but, then, I wasn’t expecting one.

What I did get, though, was a load more emails!

That’s because I logged on to reply to the message and, so, I’ve been ‘promoted’ so more people are viewing my profile.

Luckily they automatically go to my spam folder now.

As I said to someone recently, I would NEVER use Meetic again as it simply doesn’t give you a good service. If you sign up, the chance of finding someone ‘real’ is remote.

The burning question – suppository or not?

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I have mentioned, before, that Italians have things like colpo d’aria (fault of the air) and pain in their livers (which cannot feel pain) as some of the (very) strange illnesses.

What I haven’t talked about (because I didn’t know) was that they also seem to have strange ideas about cures.

The colpo d’aria, of course, can easily get to your neck which is why Italians like to keep their necks covered. Wearing a scarf is NOT a fashion statement but a requirement if you are to keep that nasty illness away (although it may well have become a fashion statement now, as well).

I’m sure, for the Italians, we, from the UK, are strange too.

Take suppositories. In the UK, no one would admit to taking them on the basis that the only things they are really good for are jokes.

For example, this:

A guy goes to the doctor and the doctor examines him and gives him a prescription for suppositories.

“Take two of these a day and come back in two weeks”, said the doc.

After two weeks, the guy returns and the doctor says, “Well, how did that medicine I prescribed work for you?”

The guy says, “Doctor, for all the good those damned things did me, I coulda shoved ‘em up my butt!”

or this:

A man with a bad stomach complaint goes to his doctor and asks him what he can do. The doctor replies that the illness is quite serious but can be cured by inserting a suppository up his anal passage. The man agrees, and so the doctor warns him of the pain, tells him to bend over and shoves the thing way up his behind. The doctor then hands him a second dose and tells him to do the same thing in six hours.

So, the man goes home and later that evening tries to get the second suppository inserted, but he finds that he cannot reach himself properly to obtain the required depth. He calls his wife over and tells her what to do. The wife nods, puts one hand on his shoulder to steady him and with the other shoves the medicine home.

Suddenly the man screams, “DAMN!”

“What’s the matter?” asks the wife. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” replies the man, “but I just realized that when the doctor did that, he had BOTH hands on my shoulders!”

The only things I remember having as remedies as a kid were bread with hot, sweet milk and special kid’s disprin.

Not so here, it seems. (Nor, for that matter in France). Here, apparently, suppositories are the cure-all and are given to kids as soon as they are able to ‘do it themselves’.

I must admit I am quite shocked. I mean I don’t know of anyone in the UK who would use one to, for example, cure a cough. But last night, I was assured, it absolutely totally cures such a thing and is much better than syrup or anything else.

Who knew?

These foreigners, they ARE strange people, aren’t they? ;-)

And, apparently, it burns a bit – hence the title :-D

We go to the vet (and other things)

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I weigh it up in my mind. Emergency or not?

Of course, in reality, one day or two probably won’t make any difference but I am worried.

Just because I’m worried doesn’t make it a real emergency, though, does it?

No but I would absolutely hate for it to be my fault if something bad happened.

So, although it may not be an emergency, they SHOULD have been here and, so, it is an emergency and won’t wait for another day or two.

But let’s step back a bit.

I didn’t leave work early yesterday. Probably because of my undoubtedly-misplaced loyalty. In any event, I left ‘on time’. I parked and went to see about the tyres. The old, miserable guy remembered me. Or remembered the car. I booked. They keep the tyres in their store since I have nowhere to put them – and the store is somewhere else in Milan, so no doing it straight away.

Anyway, I don’t really want it done before Easter. I want good tyres for going up to the lake (for that is where we are going). If it rains a lot, the winter tyres hold the road better.

Then I go to the supermarket. Not my normal supermarket since I need soap and, therefore, I have to go to the horrible supermarket, Unes. It used to be my favourite supermarket until I found the meat wasn’t so good and they kept overcharging me for plastic bags, etc. Now I hate it. But they do the soap that I like and so I have to go there. I try to get round it as fast as I can, not only because I don’t like it but also because I have to take Dino to the vet.

I get my stuff and pay and leave. Back at the car, I put the shopping in and drive the few streets home. Of course, I am later than normal and so there is no parking in my usual street :-(. I drive around a bit and, eventually, park in a dodgy place – on a corner. Ah well, other people do it. Mind you, my normal parking is half-on the pavement in a street where it has a sign showing that cars will be towed away.

But we are in Italy and everyone does the same and, so far, mine has not been towed away. And nor has anyone else’s. So I park in a place that in England would be absolutely illegal and for which you would certainly find you had a big fine – if not that your car had been towed away.

I rush to get cigarettes since I am nearly out.

I rush home and change my shoes and take my tie off and off we go. I notice that Dino now has a cough as well. This is not good :-(

I feel rushed. And hot, even if it isn’t quite so hot. Spring is back with a vengeance – meaning it is cool and overcast and not really that nice. Milan is grey when it’s cloudy. More like Aberdeen (in summer :-) ) than a city near the Mediterranean!

Dino is a bit confused because although we start as normal for our early evening walk, we deviate.

There are a lot of people about which is why, normally, I don’t come down this street. Too many shops and stuff and the pavement is not very wide. It means Dino cannot wee as often as he would like.

As we approach the vet, I see that the shutters seem to be down.

When we get there I see it is closed. I check the opening times on the notice. Yes, they are supposed to be open. There is a motorbike outside and it may be one of the two vets. I try to call the vet number – the phone inside. It rings but no one answers. I look at the notice. There are two mobile numbers to call ‘in an emergency’.

Then I spot another, temporary notice. It explains that they are sorry but the practice is closed this afternoon. In an emergency phone this mobile number – one of the ones on the main notice.

And now we have caught up. I phone the number. I get the not-so-nice-vet. I explain the problem. He is sorry that they are not open. I humpf in my head. I am not happy. It’s a good job I hadn’t come home early especially to take him there. But I don’t say this. I explain he has what seems like a very bad cold.

He asks if he is coughing – except he uses the Italian word for it. Cough is a difficult word for Italians – unsurprising when you consider its spelling to its pronunciation. I explain that he wasn’t until this evening.

He asks if he’s eating. I say that he is – which he is. He says its a virus and common at this time of year. I think it must be Kennel Cough.

Anyway, he asks what I have left over from the time when we had Rufus – as we kept on having lots of pills for him. I say I don’t know and he says I should telephone him and he will advise if anything I have is good for Dino.

I rush home. The chemist will close in just over half an hour and if I need to buy something, I need to do it soon. Of course, I moved a lot of the bandages and plasters and stuff that we used to use with Rufus, into storage above the wardrobes. At least, I hope I did else I don’t know where they all are. And, of course, there’s the bathroom cabinet stuff. Some dog’s stuff might be in there.

I get the stepladder and find the stuff I am looking for in the second box I open. I get the stuff from the bathroom too. It goes onto the kitchen table and I make the call. I don’t have so much, to be honest. I thought I had more. Ah well.

The vet tells me that none of the stuff I have is any good and I must get this other stuff. He should have one pill tonight and one in the morning. Then I should phone him tomorrow. The stuff I am getting is anti-inflammatory.

I rush to the chemist. I get the pills. Dino has one. Or, rather, I shove it to the back of his throat and clamp his jaws shut, massaging his neck so that he swallows.

Last night I was really quite angry with the vet; for being closed; for not being there in MY emergency.

This morning, Dino is much better. He still has the occasional problem but is definitely more lively than the last few days. He didn’t cough at all this morning. And I didn’t get woken up in the night. But I shall take him to the vets this evening, just in case. I am not so angry with the vet now and, anyway, any anger is negated by the fact that the pills seem to have worked.

Cold to ‘Flu to something else?

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My body doesn’t seem to quite be with me, this morning. My legs seem as if they belong to someone else.

My eyes feel sore and, I think, if I were to look in the mirror, I would see them red and puffy.

I want to go home and go to bed. Not that I could. The cleaner will be in now.

And I know that when I DO go home, I have many things to do.

We are going away this weekend – as is usual for Easter. Tonight is my only really ‘free’ night and so I must get some things from the shops; arrange to have my tyres changed from winter to summer; take Dino to the vet.

The last one is a new thing, decided about 4 a.m. this morning.

I am now doubting (a bit) my thoughts I posted earlier about Dino suddenly becoming older and slower. Now I’m not sure that is the reason. Now I’m thinking it could be something else.

It really started the night before last. I heard some strange sounds coming from where he was sleeping. At first I thought he was having a dream but later, confirmed my thoughts, when we went out for a walk and he started again – on the walk. It seemed he had a cold.

Yet, when I am home and during the evening, he seemed alright. He had an ‘attack’ once during the evening.

The ‘attack’ includes him not being able to breathe properly and seeming to suck back the mucus in his nose and then swallowing it. It is all very loud. And sounds quite dreadful – but is just like a bad cold.

I wasn’t unduly worried. Although I couldn’t remember any of my dogs ever having a ‘cold’ before, I thought to myself that it must be possible. After all, we get them and the change in weather may be the key.

Last night F was awake and heard it. He asked me about it. I said it was just a cold. He said he would go to the chemist and try to get something for it. I said OK but make sure it was for dogs – our remedies are just too strong for dogs.

He said that I should take him to the vet. I said I would but only if continued for a few more days like this.

This was about 2.30 this morning after a particularly heavy ‘attack’ when F had got up and switched on the light which then woke me up, of course.

But then, lying there, not sleeping, I got to thinking that it was, indeed, a very strange thing, this ‘cold’. Not only had I not seen it before in my dogs but I couldn’t actually remember any other dogs catching a cold.

So, I thought to myself, what I would do is do a search on the Internet and see if a) they could catch a cold and/or b) what else it could be. I would do it this morning, at work.

Except that I couldn’t get it out of my head. What if something were really wrong? And after a couple more ‘attacks’, I got up.

I would check it now.

Of course, one must be careful not to read the Internet as gospel. One site said that, of course, dogs could catch a cold. Most sites said that, in the sense that we mean a cold, dogs did not catch colds but that it was something more serious.

So that would be no sleep for me then.

I nearly decided to stay at home and go to the vet asap – but then thought that that was quite stupid as nothing would happen in a matter of hours.

However, most sites suggested that the dog would need to be checked by a vet and so it is the thing I will be doing tonight as now, after F’s prodding me, I am a bit worried.

Probably, it is nothing much and a course of antibiotics will fix everything.

But you never know.

One of the causes of this flu/cold symptom is distemper. Although he has been fully vaccinated, one cannot be certain and his booster is due in May. So I have to go. Some of the symptoms include lethargy. Well, he’s certainly been a little lethargic. I put that down to his age and Rufus being gone. Maybe not.

Still, he seems to be eating and drinking OK.

But, you know, better to be safe than sorry, as we say? And I certainly don’t want to be sorry.

I told him this morning, as I woke him, that I would take Dino to the vet this evening.

Later he texted me and asked me why I was doing it when I had said I wouldn’t.

I said it was because Dino had kept me awake all night. There’s no point in worrying him too. I can do the worry for both of us and more.

But, truth be told, I feel like shit right now. I’m sure it’s a lack of sleep but the worrying won’t be helping. Maybe I will leave work a little early? Then I can take him to the vet earlier. Yes, maybe I will?

Of course, if you can’t see the REAL problem(s), what hope is there?

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Italy is going through a period of change, right now. One could say, a period of upheaval. Not unlike most countries,I suppose.

We have what is known as a ‘technical’ government. The Prime Minister and the cabinet members have not been elected. They are here, temporarily, to ‘save’ Italy from the same fate as Greece, Portugal and Ireland. Monti (the PM) has been tasked with introducing reforms. The idea is that he will reduce the amount of government debt and reform the labour market to make Italy more competitive.

At the beginning, like Obama in the USA, he was hailed as the saviour of Italy but it’s now all turning a bit sour – just like it is with Obama.

The latest problem for Monti is his determination to reform the all-important Article 18.

Article 18 is a law that provides for any employee who has been sacked to be reinstated to his old job if judges think he was unfairly sacked.

Apparently, most of the time, the judges tend to side with the ex-employee. This is judged as the reason that Italian companies do not sack workers and why people stay in their jobs for EVER, thus depriving young Italians of a chance to get real, full-time jobs – and youth unemployment is very high here.

In order to ease the situation, some years ago, there was a law introduced making it much easier to hire workers on a contractual basis. It was cheaper for the companies and, of course, was intended that they could ‘try out’ a worker before offering them a full-time job.

But it didn’t really work out. Most employers renewed the contract for a couple of years (the limit) and then let the person go and found someone else just as willing (desperate) to work on a 6-month contract basis for a nice, low salary.

Monti (and many other commentators) seem to believe that, by reforming Article 18 and making it much easier to sack workers (who are bad workers, of course), it will free up the job market, providing employment to the youngsters and getting the Italian economy back on track.

Workers are worried that nasty bosses will just sack workers if their face doesn’t fit. Bosses think that the reforms proposed (enacted?) don’t go far enough.

But, in my opinion, they are all totally wrong.

First, it’s not the problem. And reform is not the solution.

The problem is much more complicated than this. The problem is Italian culture and this won’t be changed by the change in Article 18.

in my experience, certain young people get full-time jobs without a problem. They do this because they are from a wealthy or powerful family and their parents ‘call a favour’. In one case, for one guy to whom I used to teach English, his father simply created an Estate Agency and put him in charge. Making money was not really its major concern. Giving his son something to do, was!

Take the company I work for. Many people who work here are related. Cousins, wives, husbands, etc. It’s the way it works. Jobs are ‘found’ for people’s relatives. People ask if ‘you know anywhere that is looking for a xxx’.

Sure, it can be similar in the UK but here it is more so.

But it’s not just that. My first landlady here decided she wanted to ‘change her life’ a bit. She wanted a different kind of job. She was in the chemical industry. She thought she wanted to move into the Energy industry with a focus on renewable energy. In the UK, to change one’s career drastically, like this, is not really a major problem. Here it is virtually impossible.

She spent a year or more getting the qualifications that she needed. Then she found some work. On a temporary contract. The problem here is that people will look at your previous employment and, if it is not exactly relevant, will, quite often, dismiss it. It is very hard to change career. In the end, because it was just too difficult, she went back to the chemical industry. She didn’t have any other choice. And the only reason she was able to do it in the first place was because she had rich parents to support her. She’s mid-30s, btw.

Changing your career is simply not done here. Any skills you have obtained become almost worthless if you try to move out of your field. Getting another job in the same field is difficult enough – getting one out of your field is nigh-on impossible – unless, of course, you have the right connections!

Then there is the financial incentive given to employers to take on people under short-term contracts. They get to pay less tax and NI (National Insurance). Why take on someone full-time when you save money by taking them on a contract basis?

And, in addition, I don’t entirely believe that employers don’t sack people because of Article 18 and the judges, apparently, favouring the employee. I think there is a deep-seated fear of confrontation. Employers don’t want to confront employees. Everyone here wants an easy life.

Even here, in my company, there are numerous instances where employees appear to ‘take the piss’. Sometimes, something is said. But then everything just goes back to the way it was before.

And, remember, I used to employ many people – so I’m not predisposed to come down on one side or the other.

The worst thing about this whole thing is the belief by Monti and many commentators that changing Article 18 will be the magic wand that a) brings young people into employment and b) gives a kick-start to the Italian economy.

It is my opinion that neither of these things will happen with the reform of Article 18. It is a red herring and will change nothing.

Monti and his gang are a group of economists/bankers, etc. Look where they’ve got us so far! It’s like putting the prisoners in charge of the jail.

One day, people will wake up but with the false promises about the labour reforms that Monti is putting in place, this is likely to turn out the same way as Obama in the States. People will be disillusioned but everything will continue just the same. Except that, maybe, Italy will lose something important along the way.

I don’t see a good outcome, unfortunately.

Gripping something untenable

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Well, as you know, I have opinions. They’re mine, of course. That is, they are part of me and won’t really change although they can become modified depending on circumstances or logic.

So, I was reading this from that dreadful newspaper and I find myself with my opinions again.

I don’t really understand why someone would go to court to try to KEEP someone who, quite obviously, doesn’t actually want to be with them.

I mean to say, I know it’s painful. Good grief, I’ve been there! But, sometimes, you just have to let go. Every time, I am reminded of something a once-good friend told me. Previously, he had ‘gone off’ with a younger model. I had warned him not to. However, after a time away he wanted to come back. I warned them both (him and his wife) that the only way it would work is for there to be no resentment (imho an impossible thing) – and so they got back together.

At the end, he went back to her because she, to all intents and purposes, had blackmailed him into going back. It was all so sad to watch and be part of. She, desperately unwilling to let him go.

And, then, years later, he confessed that he didn’t have a happy life.

She had wanted him back at all costs. But the balance had changed and they were now two different people. In fact, it was because of this whole thing that he is a “once-good” friend. He used me in a way that was unforgivable.

Years later still and I told him.

He hadn’t realised. But then he realised that it was true. I left them both before I would get to hate them for what they did (for they both used me).

We had, as the common phrasing has it, moved on. Or, rather, I had.

The thing is that the woman in the article and me and my once-good friend and his wife must all realise that we don’t actually OWN people. We can own a house or a car but we don’t own a living being. Sure, we say we own our pet but it’s not actually true. Its life is its own and, although they have less choice than us, they can share it in a good or a bad way. It’s just that, with pets, they tend to share it in a good way.

After all, we (pets and people) don’t speak to each other (in spite of what F says) and that’s probably half the battle. The problem with people is that we speak and, often, speak the wrong words at the wrong time. We also make things up in our heads (as to what someone thinks or what they meant when they said something) – and, of course, it may not be true at all.

We see what we want to see. Hear what we want to hear. Believe what we have already told ourselves.

Another friend once told me that relationships tend to finally break up some two years after the start of the breakup. My experience is this is true – both for partners and friends. It takes a couple of years for one or both to realise it’s finished. We cling on, hoping that somehow things will change, even as we know that they won’t.

I was with V for over 20 years and it all ended in seconds. And, yet, when I look back, it had started to break a couple of years before. And I knew it then, for we had a conversation, walking down the road, that I remember very well. I was trying to warn him. I failed, of course. And then, two years later or so, even after those few seconds of realisation, it took another 6 months (one could say a year or more) before it became properly ended.

And I can blame him, of course. But there are two of us. And, we are equally to blame.

And then I read this, from Gail.

I can’t reply to Gail directly, sorry, Gail. I too feel bad for her and how saddening it is for her but this is life. Maybe it has nothing to do with Gail and all to do with her friend – but, unfortunately, it probably has something to do with Gail too. There! No one else will say that, I know.

As with my once-good friend. After all, I was used but, to be honest, I could have saved our friendship by stepping away from being used. So my fault too, really.

And, anyway, I’m not stupid enough to think that it is all someone else’s fault. It rarely is and I don’t really do the ‘blame culture’ thing that we all seem to do now.

So, I’m sorry for the woman in the article – but sorrier that she couldn’t let it go. I am truly sorry for Gail, whom I consider a friend, but she is letting it go and I think that is correct. Maybe, in years to come, she will come to understand or be told, why. Maybe not. Either way, one must try to keep the good memories – much the same as when someone dies – don’t remember the last part for that is usually too sad – remember the good things that you had over the years. For the good things are what made the two of you be together all that time.

And, even if I write about V from time to time, there are things about him that I liked (that I still like, for underneath it all he is still the same) and I will remember those things with fondness.

And, like I always say, Gail, all these things seem to work out right in the end, even if we don’t see it right away.

But we don’t own people and neither can we understand the things that go on in their head – which may be false but we cannot help that. And for that reason, when it comes time to stop, then stop we must, for to try and hold on to something untenable is painful for us in so many ways.

And so my once-good friend and his wife stay together and, probably, try to snatch some moments of happiness in a situation that shouldn’t be. That’s got to be a sadder situation, hasn’t it? Like gripping a crumbling rockface when everyone else can see it about to come off in your hands.

And Creme Eggs! A picture post.

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This follows on from my last post. I also really fancy a Cadbury’s Creme Egg and, since some of my readers didn’t know about Hot Cross Buns and, almost certainly, won’t have ever heard of a Creme Egg, here are pictures of both:

Cadbury's Creme Eggs - yum, yum

Cadbury's Creme Eggs - yum, yum

Hot-Cross-Buns

In addition, some readers wanted pictures of the all-important birthday party and so, here they are:

When I walked in through the front door, there were balloons on the ceiling –

balloons on ceiling

balloons on ceiling

balloons on ceiling2

balloons on ceiling2

……….and a banner –

happy birthday banner

happy birthday banner

………. and, of course there was the cake with the candle. Note the carefully placed bits of the ‘cake’ as decoration around the cake itself :-)

birthday cake

birthday cake

……….. and cake with the birthday boy quite eager (in spite of the candle flame) to get his mouth on it –

birthday cake and dino

birthday cake and dino

……… and the birthday boy looking out from under the table –

the birthday boy

the birthday boy

And, finally, although the balloons were up on the ceiling on Friday night, by Saturday morning they had started to drop and by Saturday night, most were on the floor and so a compromise was made with clusters of them all over the flat! –

more birthday balloons

more birthday balloons

And, there you have it. I hope you enjoyed the pictures of the birthday party.

Er, Happy birthday, I suppose.

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Saturday sees a very important birthday.

Apparently.

I am told.

There will be presents. There will be cake.

Apparently.

He is more excited about this birthday than about his own.

For it is the birthday of Dino.

Apparently, even if he has more toys than are needed for a hundred dogs, there must be more toys.

So, he said to me the other evening, “We shall eat at home on Saturday night, so as to spend more time with the bambino”

Since then, I have been thinking about what to do. As you know, cooking for F is not easy as he won’t eat meat (unless it is minced).

Last night he told me that he has bought everything for us to eat on Saturday night.

“Why did you do that?”, I asked.

“Because you always cook”, came the reply.

Except I don’t – as I told him. In fact, I almost never cook these days.

Anyway, I looked on the internet (one must get into the spirit of these things – at least a little bit) for a recipe for a ‘dog’s cake’ and, perhaps unsurprisingly, I found one. It contains bananas. I never knew that bananas were OK for dogs. You learn something every day.

I will also have to buy something – but I know exactly what I shall buy – if I can find it.

And so, Saturday we shall be celebrating a birthday like no other before now.

Apparently.

Never going back (unfortunately).

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Walk down any High Street in the UK and, more or less, you could be walking down any High Street in any UK city.

What’s wrong with that?

Positively, it means that, wherever you go in the UK, you can be sure there will be the same shops. It means that, if you buy something in, say, Nottingham, it’s more than likely you can buy the same thing in Exeter. This is a good thing, right?

Well, yes, of course. And also no.

The High Street is filled with the same shops everywhere. Individual shops, local to a town or small region have all but disappeared. It means that economies of scale can apply – the big shops buy larger amounts so can get better prices which, hopefully, they pass on to the consumer.

I remember when we first came here. I was shocked but delighted to see shops that weren’t the same in every town. How refreshing it was to find a small, independent jewellers, a stationary shop that had something different or unusual, etc? It was a little like when we went to live in North West Herefordshire and went shopping in Kington.

It’s a treasure that one should guard lovingly. Of course, in every major town there are streets full of High Street names, but mixed with them and in many side streets off them are the small shops. Let’s take cake shops as an example. Go to the UK and there’s Greggs. Probably there are some others but Greggs comes to mind. Greggs is in every town. Everything is ‘freshly made’. Everything is ‘the same’. You go to Greggs because you know what you’re going to get.

Here it’s not like that. Each cake shop (maybe with a café as well) produces their own stuff. Cakes are different. Some cakes you won’t get anywhere else. There’s a risk, of course, that you won’t like what they’ve made. There’s also the risk that it will be a unique experience and will be the most divine thing you’ve ever tasted – like my local cake shop does zeppole. However, I am informed (by F) that these are not quite the same as normal zeppole. They are not deep fried (as is common) but baked. They have ones filled with custard and ones filled with cream. If we choose them, we usually have one of each.

The UK used to be more like this but then it all changed. Competition was everything and, gradually, for convenience and, originally, price, we chose to use the big supermarkets and the national bakers, etc. And, so, the result is a High Street that is homogeneous and, to be frank, boring as hell.

And now Italy is going down the same road. People here don’t realise what it will mean. It means that the small shops will close. It means that all towns will look the same. We will have to buy what everyone else buys because there will, in the end, be less choice – well, less real choice.

Of course, it’s being sold as ‘opening up the markets’ and the arguments are made that everyone will benefit. But, in reality it will mean that big business gets to own the market and the benefit will be, in a word, ‘grey’ – i.e., the same things sold everywhere.

I find that I can’t put into words what this change really means. But I’m not sure that the free market is actually worth the loss of what Italy has now (and what the UK HAD about 30 or more years ago).

Sure, it would be nice to buy aspirin and stuff at the supermarket. It would be nice that shops were always open. But that ‘nice’ is tempered by the fact that, as a result of allowing this to happen, we shall lose something that is most precious.

It’s not that I don’t want change or that change is bad. It’s not that I even like the rules and regulations here. It’s more that I don’t want to see, here, what happened to the UK. Nothing is perfect but I am fearful that Italy’s ‘localisation’ will be lost forever and it’s something I would not like to see.

After all, once the small places are gone, they are gone forever – there’s no going back.

Joni sang all that needs to be said:


(Joni Mitchell – Big Yellow Taxi)