Category Archives: Work

A Subheading only, really

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

Signs. Or not.

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As I was sitting in Engineering, one of the rubber soles came off my heel.

I wonder, briefly, if this is a sign.

Does it mean I’m on way to becoming a down-and-out, grateful to have shoes with heels or not? Does it mean that it’s the right time for a new job? Or does it mean that I need to get my shoes re-heeled?

Or all three?

After all, I could be going down the ‘Gentleman of the Road’ road, if you see what I mean. I’ve always felt that I am a step away from that. Well, actually it’s more like a hundred steps. But once you take the first one, I can see how easily one can get pulled down the other ones.

I have applied for the new job. I checked my ‘Internet footprints’. I don’t think I’m that easy to find. I mean to say, this blog is not easy to find. And most other things have privacy setting set so that it is hard to connect everything. I hope. Of course, I am aware that, should I be successful, this blog may have to close, even if I say little about work, apart from Teaching. Well, we’re a long way from that. Not in terms of time but in terms of I haven’t started yet. That’s because I haven’t had an interview yet. That’s because I only sent the CV off about an hour ago.

I think I would love the job. I just think it may have already been taken, if you understand my meaning. Even though this is a British job, I have a feeling that the way it all works is more akin to the Italian way of working. Ah well, I still have this job. This one which allows me to write this blog. Well, they, probably, wouldn’t do much about it if they did find it. If you get me.

I will, of course, on Friday or Saturday, take my shoes to be re-heeled.

Until then I am really busy. Or, rather, really occupied. Which is another reason this post will be short.

Oh yes, and this morning, when I woke up, I had a) no hot water and b) (although I didn’t know it at the time) a broken shutter.

The hot water I hope I can fix by buying a couple of batteries. The shutter has been fixed by the workmen. Thank goodness F was there.

In so many ways.

And now I must really do some work ………

The Last Supper (the real one this time)

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Italy!

Sometimes, to be perfectly honest, it can be a real pain in the neck.

I was only chatting with R, last night, how, although everyone in Italy had mobile telephones the moment they were first introduced and a minimum of two when Britons were still umming and ahing about having their first, when it comes to the internet, they are a tad slow. So, whereas Facebook was a big hit in Britain, say, five years ago, it only really got a toe-hold in Italy in the last couple of years.

And web development is, to be frank, fairly crap here. It is almost as if they don’t really get the power of it. My colleague, S, for example, doesn’t like to book anything or buy anything over the net. So, using websites in Italy is quite hit and miss.

I needed to book tickets to see The Last Supper. If you haven’t been in the last 10 years or so, you really, really MUST. They have cleaned it up and it is, quite honestly, breathtaking. Any pictures you see of it really don’t do it justice.

But you should try to get tickets before you come. These days the viewing is strictly controlled. The number of people allowed in at one time is limited to about 20. You are only supposed to be in there for about 15 minutes.

It used to be quite difficult to get tickets anyway but now, with all the restrictions, it is definitely harder. You can book about 2/3 months in advance only. Even so, tickets are not that easy to get, especially if you are restricted to certain days.

So today, the tickets for July and August came on sale. And I learnt some interesting things that, should you be wishing to book, might help:

1. Getting through on the phone is almost impossible.
2. The website which shows available days, is updated ……… A LOT (so refresh the page as often as you can).
3. Pre-register with the booking site as, during the time you are trying to register, the tickets you thought were available will have been sold.
4. Do try the call centre again if you can’t find what you want on the site.

I had rung last month. The kind lady (there is an English section) told me that I couldn’t book for July, yet. Also, she told me not to worry as they always have tickets available in the call centre that are not shown on the site. I don’t rest easy with that sort of information. When people say ‘don’t worry’ in Italy, it’s usually the time to worry.

Anyway, this morning was the ‘time’ to get July tickets. I need them because D&S are coming over for their first anniversary. So it’s important that I get some for them. I suggested to F that, perhaps, I should also purchase a guided tour. He said, ‘No, I’ll do it’. ‘Really?’, I queried. But, apparently, yes. Well I guess he might know something about it since he did Art and stuff at college.

I got on the site. Until about 8.45 a.m. July and August were not even available as months to look at. Then July was there – but no days were available. Grrrr.

I try phoning the call centre. The line is engaged. I try again. The line is engaged. And again. Engaged. Engaged. Engaged. Engaged.

I get through. I press ‘2’ for English. They tell me, in Italian, that I have to be put through to an operator. I wait. They play a message apologising for the delay. I wait. They play another message apologising for the delay. I wait some more. They play a message that apologises for the delay but adds that the operators are all busy and so it is taking too long to wait. They cut me off.

THE BASTARDS! Having already spent money on the call, I want to wait more. Instead, I must phone again. The line is engaged. I try again. The line is engaged. Engaged, engaged, fucking ENGAGED! Bastards, bastards, BASTARDS!

I am now repeating the calls on both my mobile and landline. I get through! Hurrah!

The message about waiting for an operator comes on. I wait. I hear the ‘sorry for the delay’ message. I wait. I hear the same message again. I wait. I hear the same message plus the bit about ‘we’ve decided that rather than permit you to hold the line, we shall cut you off with no thought for you whatsoever and make you redial 6 million times until we get you get through to here, giving you false and unreasonable hope that you will actually get to speak to someone – but, at least, then, someone else can get through and they can have the false hope that they will get through. Anyway, it’s our joke because although this is called a ‘call centre’, in fact it is only one person sitting by a telephone’.

Bastards.

I go back to the website. I refresh. Well, you never know?

I didn’t know. This time, every day is available until the 13th July! WTF?

Ah, yes, of course, someone is just entering them by hand, right now! They are entering the available dates by hand because, well, this is Italy, and the thought of setting it up in a file beforehand so that the flick of a program makes them all appear at once is JUST NOT POSSIBLE!

Useless BASTARDS!

However, on a brighter note, it means that, if these dates have suddenly appeared, more dates will too. I hope. I sincerely hope.

I am now dialing the useless number that is always engaged and simultaneously, refreshing the page on the site.

The day I want comes up as available. Hurrah!

I select the date. Some times come up. I select a time. To continue I must register or sign on. Damn! I have signed up with this company before. I bought ballet tickets for V at La Scala. I can’t remember my username or password. Damn, damn! I try to register. I cannot. My email address is already taken.

I click on the forgotten login button. I will get an email. An email arrives. It has the username but the password is not there for security reasons. This is quite stupid. I wait for a moment for another email with the password. It’s not coming. I go back to the site. I go back a few pages – except I can’t. I am, in my head, screaming at ‘them’. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

This seems to have little effect. I go back to the original page. OK there’s even more dates available now. I click on the same date and the same time. Of the 7 tickets available, there is now only 1. BARSTEWARDS!

I try a different time. I try to log on with my username and say I have forgotten my password. I go back to the tab with the email and click on the inbox to refresh it, every few milliseconds. I fail to notice that the email has arrived and so click once again on inbox. This only slows everything down.

You might guess by now that I am a tad frustrated.

I copy the password and paste it in.

There is a message in Italian. I do not read it. I have no time for this. It is not letting me go any further. I try a different tab. The same thing happens. I go back to the first tab and try again. I reload the page from the beginning and try it all again. No dice still.

I read the message in Italian.

I am already logged on somewhere else and so must close the tabs and start again.

I close all tabs. I open a new tab. I start again.

The date and the time I want is still OK. They have seven tickets, still. I want four. I sign in again. They do not have all the details they would like. Anyway, the address is wrong. It’s the one that I used to have in the UK. I change it. I have to look up my codice fiscale on my phone. I ensure I have entered all the required fields. I tick the box to say I have read the Terms and Conditions. As with most people, I haven’t, of course.

I am not allowed to go further.

You utter, utter, fucking bastards!

There is a field they insist must be filled even if it is not marked as required. They do not need this information. It is not essential to this transaction. Am I a man or a woman? Why must you know this to allow me to purchase tickets from you (which, incidentally, are going to cost me an extra €1.50 EACH!!!! because I am booking in advance)?

I am tempted to say I am a woman.

I don’t.

I continue.

It lets me pay. But now there is this new thing with the credit card. I must enter my password. The one assigned to the card.

The last time, even if I know I entered the correct password, it didn’t work and I had loads of shit trying to get a new one, eventually having to phone a premium line from my mobile to get it working.

I enter the password, making sure it is 100% correct.

It starts processing. It is taking a long time. I am not hopeful. Eventually, a message appears. The transaction has not processed. For fuck’s sake! I re-read the message. The password is correct, the transaction is being processed now.

Oh!

I get the confirmation that I have four tickets. I print it, not really believing that after more than an hour of phone calls and messing about on the internet, I have actually got them.

F sends me an email with the picture of a dog, a picture of a shower-head, the date of Friday the 22nd and a picture of a clock at about 10 o’clock.

I reply with a picture of tickets, of the Last Supper, a poster with the date that I have booked the tickets and a clock with 1:15 on it.

Underneath I put a picture of a finger pointing out of the screen (you) and a picture of a tour guide with a flag.

We are done.

So, in case you wish to book to see the Last Supper, you can (maybe) book through this site. In fact, if you check right now, there are even a few dates that have become available in April, May and June that, previously, were all fully booked.

Failing that, you can try the telephone number on that site. But only phone on a day that is not the first day of sales. They say ‘Not to Worry’. Of course, I have lived here long enough to know you should. Still, it is worth a try, isn’t it?

Anyway, this was only my experience. I’m sure yours will be better ………….

Nope. I missed that one. Doh!

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“You are very happy”, he says.

I hesitate. I mean to say, I’m not unhappy but ‘very happy’?

“Well, yes, I suppose so”, I reply.

“Now you are living together”

We are? I query in my head. But, nothing has changed. Why did he say that?

“I read your blog. He will be there all the time.”

Ah. It dawns on me. I feel stupid. I should have realised the significance of this. I did not. Maybe it was a seismic shift, after all? Hell, yes!

I can see the logic. It never even crossed my mind. But, of course.

He is going to take the dogs out every morning – except when he’s away or, maybe, if it is raining. To do that, he has to be there. To be there, he needs to sleep there ……. here …… in my flat.

So, we are, sort of, *whisper* living together!

Don’t say it loudly.

Of course, it will never be said. Like all things that he does, these things are kept within his head and not said. But the real significance of all this was only shown to me by Pietro – in the car park – as we were about to go home.

Thanks mate! I really hadn’t got it until that point.

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.

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.

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.

Wine with fattening stuff.

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We’re back!

Me and the wine, that is. This is very good. What isn’t so good is that it also came with pasta and a rather too-strong sauce. And A. The pasta with the too-strong sauce isn’t really (well, actually, not at all) part of the wine diet. The wine diet relies on distinctly less food or, preferably, no food. This has two benefits: a) you get drunk quicker and so drink less wine and b) you don’t eat anything which will, invariably, make you fatter.

So the pasta didn’t help.

I think A was a bit upset with my post about the Mars bars. He doesn’t let it drop. Now when he says the funniest things, I am sure he is checking my reaction. If my reaction is favourable it’s OK. If not then he tells me that he only says it to wind me up. I’m not sure that I entirely believe that.

Last night, we were very successful with the wine diet part. We drank a whole bottle of wine. And he was very nice about the pasta sauce. However, I think it was too strong. Sometimes, less is more. This was too rich. Still, it was OK. It wasn’t like it was inedible, which is good although not good for the diet. Luckily, he can eat and so most of the pasta went to him.

I knew I could invite him round as I knew that F would be staying in his own flat last night. I am beginning to understand him. The night before he had been ill. He was up in the night and only came back to bed after I got up. And so, when he told me he was leaving work early to go home, I knew that he wouldn’t be coming to mine and, so, I knew that after my lessons, I could invite A over. But I didn’t want to be late.

You know how it is, you get talking and, suddenly, it’s 10.30 and the dogs need going out and then suddenly it’s 11.30 before you get to bed.

Hmmmpf! So, that was the early night killed. That’s not really good.

On the other hand, as F has decided to stay off work today because he ‘feels like shit’, I will be on my own again tonight and so tonight WILL be an early(er) night.

Today, I have been mostly listening to spam.

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See this?

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It’s a part of one of the spam comments I get in the inbox for this blog every day.

That’s what I was listening to this morning.

It was like spam. All the words were English and all were understandable as individuals but, together, it was like listening to spam.

“I believe in communication”, he says. He does too! He talked.

“I think I’m better than everyone”, he could have said. He was, after all, a salesmen. These people, for me, rate almost at the bottom of any pile or any list.

It reminds me of someone else. It’s not a good memory.

I sit looking at this man and watching his mouth move and listening to the words he is saying – individually – but not hearing them for there is no point to them. They’re all business terms. Strung together in the latest business fashion. The ‘why say anything in a straightforward manner when it can be said in a thousand nonsensical words’. Oh, how I HATE it.

He mentioned the fact that he liked to communicate – A LOT. He didn’t have to. I could tell. I was mostly silent. ‘Communicate with that!’, I thought, triumphantly. After a while he realised that it was not me he should be talking to. Good.

We started at the start. He had his luggage stolen in Paris. I wanted to laugh. Is that so wrong of me? Well, yes, it is but I really didn’t care. I couldn’t place his American accent.

He tells me about all the wonderful things he is doing and all the wonderful companies he is/has been involved with. It’s just like when people reel off the number of famous people they have met or the people they have slept with. It’s not really boasting. It’s just ignorant. The problem is that I am, in an instant, seriously unimpressed.

Later he even ‘drops in’ how many hours he has flown because, in his long life, what he hasn’t done isn’t worth the effort. Probably. Do I show the face of someone who doesn’t care? He may be all for communication but he’s crap at reading people. I don’t care.

But I digress. Back to the beginning. After the Paris bit. After the ‘I like my coffee black because that’s the colour of me inside’ (WTF????). After the ‘I like to communicate’ for the first time. He didn’t rate the Germans, apparently. I nearly said ‘Then you haven’t dealt with the Swedes’, but I didn’t. After all, he likes communication so much that he doesn’t allow the other person to communicate and so I didn’t get the chance.

I ask, ‘Whereabouts in the US do you come from because I can’t place your accent?’

‘I’m from Sweden’, he replies.

I thank God that I hadn’t been able to communicate with him prior to this. And then, again, I keep thinking that I wish I had! You never know, it might have got him communicating a little less.

Probably not, though.

To be honest he’s checking us out. The company he is representing is looking for companies for ‘acquisition’. ‘Acquisition’ – it’s a nice word. Better than ‘Buy so we can take your knowledge/expertise’, I suppose. But that’s what they’re after. Whichever way you look at it, I am NOT the right person for this meeting.

At the first opportunity I get out.

After lunch and a cigarette, I catch him about to leave. I shake his hand. ‘Nice to meet you’, I lie. ‘I hope the rest of your trip is less eventful’, I add. It’s OK. He’s not listening to me anyway. He had complained that the French Police hadn’t wanted to know; hadn’t listened to him.

Or, just maybe, he wasn’t listening to them? For me, the greatest and most important thing in the art of communication is to be able to listen. I guess in his long, varied and full life, he’s missed that bit?

Do you think I may, possibly, be a bit peeved?

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“I’m sorry, I forgot”.

Well, at least it was honest.

“I’m in Venice, at the dentist, so I can’t come”. Well, obviously, since Venice is several hours away.

“I’ll pay double next time”. He treats it as it should be. I like him. Anyway, unlike Monday night, I had no other plans and no one had invited me anywhere where I had said I couldn’t.

This morning was a slightly different thing, as I had suspected it would be.

“M! And Monday?”

I don’t even speak English correctly anymore. Like last night. It wasn’t ‘film card’ but ‘film star’ and yet I understood what ‘film card’ meant and failed to recognise that, actually, it should have been ‘film star’. I have developed this Italian-non-English way of speaking, mimicking the Italians. It is ever-so-slightly annoying.

He was shocked, in any case, to see me. You could see it in his face. The eyebrows arched and a look that was as if he had seen some alien monster was about to eat him.

The excuse:

“Ah yes, I didn’t have my phone, I left it in x.” I can’t even remember what he said as it wasn’t really important.

“And the reason you didn’t reply to my texts – even the next day? Just to say sorry or something. Anything, really.” I didn’t say this. I just thought it. I’ve already kind of lost interest in anything he might have to say since it’s all bullshit.

“I’ve bought some books yesterday and I’ve started reading them. I’m going to take my exam at the end of May. After I’ve done some studying …….”

“Yeah, call me”, I cut him off with this.

I’m already screaming in my head.

“BULLSHIT!”

and

“FUCK YOU!”

I don’t say that he’s lost that time. I’ll just say that he only has an hour and a half left. Fucking bastard.

It made me more angry that he couldn’t be honest and say he forgot. That would have been better although a reply to my texts (that I had sent on Monday night) on Tuesday morning would have been better still.

Obviously it’s too much to ask.

But it seems stupid to me since we’re bound to see each other at some point and then, instead of already having covered it, you have to come out with bullshit and be quite horrified to see me. What did he think? He wouldn’t see me? Some people seem quite stupid sometimes. Some people even seem quite stupid most of the time.