Category Archives: Experiences

There’s moving and moving.

Posted on by
5

We were dropped off near his flat. We had been to lunch with some friends and it had lasted rather a long time. It was now about 5 p.m. It was a rather lovely lunch and the people are very nice and easy. They have a three-year-old boy who is a really nice kid.

At the traffic lights, I pause and say, “See you later.”

“Don’t you want to come and see my flat?”

“No, not really.”

“But you could help me with moving things.”

I guess the look on my face (probably one of horror), said it all.

“OK, you don’t have to. I can do it myself.”

I go home and make a cup of tea as I’m really thirsty. I have a lot to do. I have already, the day before, reorganised my wardrobe to allow space for his clothes and put a lot of clothes to either be thrown away or, if they were good condition designer clothes, to be sold. Now I’ve started on the other wardrobe – but there’s lots to do – and I haven’t even started on shoes yet!

But, it’s no good. The thought of him filling the car with clothes, then making the trip to the new house, then unloading everything – on his own – makes me feel guilty. Yesterday, he had a couple of guys with a van helping. Tomorrow, again. But, today, he is alone.

I message him, asking him if he would like me to come and help. I really don’t want to do this but my guilt wins the day. He replies with an “if you want” but it’s not as simple as that, is it?

I go. He has already partly loaded the car. We finish loading it and go to the new flat. We unload things (suitcases stuffed with clothes, shopping bags full of plates and dishes and other stuff). He has two clothes racks for the clothes to be hung up and several boxes ready to take the clothes from the suitcases.

He stuffs the boxes and the bags go on the floor in the corner of what will be the dining room.

Back to his old flat, we stuff the suitcases again and also take a load of hanging stuff. Back to the new flat and unload, stuff boxes and hang the hanging stuff. And again back to his old flat with, this time, just hanging clothes.

Whilst we are doing this, I am thinking 2 things:

1. The new flat is not nearly as big as I thought it was. In fact, I’m now worried that we won’t fit everything in! Of course, I remember feeling the same about the perfect-flat-on-the-perfect-street so console myself with the thought that, once everything has a place to go, it will be fine.

Still, it’s a bit worrying. What once seemed huge now seems, at best, a comfortable fit.

2. I remember very well why, for the last 6 or so moves, I get people to do everything. Pack, haul boxes and suitcases, lift heavy things. I AM NOT doing the same as him. People will be doing all this work, not me!

We finish at something to 9. I am totally exhausted. I want a shower and a beer. His place still has loads of stuff in it. But he, too, is tired, wants a shower and a beer. We both shower in our respective places and then meet up for a beer. Which is refreshing, to say the least but after two we are so tired we just want bed and sleep.

The next day, Monday, is a public holiday here. We are going to look for a kitchen. We need to go quite early because we need someone to help with the planning. F, of course, has all the floor plan and dimensions, including where the water, gas and electrical sockets are on the walls.

So, we get up quite early and have a quick coffee at a bar and then off to the place.

We book an “agent” and then go and wander around the store to pick the kitchen types we like and look at wardrobes as he needs one in the bedroom.

Our agent becomes available and we go and sit down and start planning the kitchen with the “kid”. It goes on for a long time. It’s not quite as easy as it’s not a square kitchen and things are difficult to fit. There are lots of “modifications” that will need to be done.

Eventually, we have two options that we like. The cost is at the lower end of my expectations. Whilst we are there, we add the wardrobes and a bed base. The order is “on hold” as we need to get a surveyor round to check all the dimensions before they will agree to accept the order and fit it all in. We do this.

We then go to IKEA to have a quick look at some of the units he has chosen for other parts of the flat, to hold other things. It’s quick because a) we both dislike IKEA and b) there are just too many people walking around like they’re on holiday and, generally, being in the way. We don’t buy anything – he’ll buy stuff later.

We go home. So far, this has taken over three and a half hours!

He has the guys coming back to move the rest of his stuff and I have lessons and I have to take the dogs for a walk and put away the dry washing and stuff. No sorting out for me today.

After my lessons he messages me to ask if we should go for a beer. I agree.

I get there first as he is doing the last delivery with the guys. He comes soon after with a couple of bags with stuff he’s leaving at my place whilst we live there for a month or two.

We drink our beer. He has, finally and officially, moved out of his flat and so, I suppose, we are, finally and officially, living together. But I only think of that now – not at the time of the beer!

Over our beers, he starts suggesting things.

“Once we have the kitchen in and I’ve started putting up the units we have, we can start moving your stuff.”

“But, I’m going to get the movers in.”

“Yes, for the big furniture but we can move the other stuff ourselves. I’m not trying to tell you what you should do but we can do a box an evening.”

But, of course, he IS trying to tell me what to do. I remember the day before and I AM NOT doing that.

“It will save some money.”

“Let’s see what the quotes are, first.”

He reiterates that, obviously, it’s up to me (which it most certainly is NOT, if he had his way) but he really thinks it would be better.

It’s not. However, I don’t argue. Sometimes it’s just better to go ahead and get it all done – in the way that I want!

Let’s see.

I get a surprise!

Posted on by
8

“You know my family know, don’t you?” He means that they know we are moving in together.

Well, yes, of course. I didn’t really think it was a secret since his cousin had posted something to some pictures added to Facebook.

“What, everyone?” I ask.

“I’m sure,” he replies. “B (his sister) telephoned me.”

“I saw that E (his cousin) had made a comment,” I said.

“Yes, and she will have told everyone.”

I wonder, since he and I are, where not exactly a secret couple, shall we say, a couple of really, really good friends, even though, of course, everyone knows, what his parents think then, assuming they have been told that we will be moving together.

“We can invite them up,” he says, “maybe for Christmas.”

Now – “invite them up” is all the family? Surely not!

“Who?” I ask.

“My Mum and Dad,” adding, “I can go and pick them up but we would have to sleep on the sofa.”

I have no idea what to say to this. Inside, I know this is the “final” acceptance. This means that he is so relaxed about “us” that he can now invite his Mum and Dad up to stay into our flat and that, as they would see we only had the one bedroom with a double bed, there couldn’t really be any doubt – even though, of course, he would never, ever tell them. But that’s OK for me. I don’t need for everything to be explicitly said. Not any more.

“What a lovely idea!” I exclaim.

Of course, I can’t add all the feelings I really have inside – but I am really very happy about this surprise announcement.

“Maybe, not for Christmas but for a weekend, anyway.”

OK, as you want, I think and, probably, say. He goes on to say that his Mum has only ever been to Milan once before and his Dad never, despite him living here for well over 20 years! They don’t have this need or desire to travel. Even in Italy! I mean to say, I’ve seen a honeymoon picture which, I think, was taken in Rome but I’ve never heard tales of any travel.

Of course, I realise this may never happen, this trip to Milan but that’s not really the point. The fact that he’s thinking about it means so much in so many ways. Every time I think about it brings a new insight into the fact that he’s so very happy we’re together. Happy and more and more relaxed about it.

Which is more than can be said about the actual “moving” thing. For that he is exceedingly stressed. But it will settle down once he’s moved his stuff over – which is happening right now.

But that’s for another post.

As I read, so too, I hear

Posted on by
2

I read this a few moments ago –

And I could hear her reading it on stage, all those years ago. Truly awesome.

And, remember, she read it with spaces.

Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Thank you for having been here.

Posted on by
4

We were going to dinner.

But this wasn’t just any old dinner. This was an “after the event” dinner. The event where, because of V, we were sitting on the very front row.

The event itself was indescribable. Really! The power of the words and the power of the voice stunned me. The voice so rich and deep and warm. One that felt more like a really comfy sofa that you just sank into until you couldn’t see anything – her voice covering all other sounds with its tones and undulations and silences.

Yes, silences. For each sound was measured and weighed against the lack of sound. Each word made richer and more meaningful by the lack of a word that followed. Each sentence punctuated by silence in just the perfect way to highlight that, what you had just heard was “stand alone”, was worthy of your paying attention.

Oh I could have sat there all night, listening to her speak. Her words or, to be frank, any words she spoke (although hers were always better).

And then we had dinner. We drove to this big hotel that was a former country house – big and grand in a beautiful setting under Welsh hills.

We sat at a large table. I, next to the American First Minister to the Court of St James’s wife. But she was almost opposite me and to the left. I really can’t tell you much about the dinner (although I do have a story about the woman next to me – but not for this post) since I was trying to listen to the main lady of the dinner. To me, more than the Queen – it was a lady of power and strength beyond any other.

After the dinner, we retired to another room for drinks. The lady “held court”, everyone being introduced to her – there were singing of songs, reading of words and, of course, the beauty of her presence and voice.

I was in awe. I was also scared. This was someone to whom I really felt inferior.

Eventually, just before we were about to leave, we made our way to her to speak to her. To thank her for the dinner which she had “hosted” and for her words and for being her.

“Oh,” she said, “I’ve been so wanting to meet you two. You look so interesting.”

At which point, with her words said with that voice seeming to have ripped into my body and squeezed my heart, I lost all sense and reason and reverted back a two-year-old child. Nothing sensible came out of my mouth.

Oh, she understood but that wasn’t the point. I wanted to say something wonderful or, at the very minimum, nice. But my brain had stopped working and, anyway, was no longer connected in a meaningful way to my mouth.

I deeply regret not having gone to her earlier; not being able to say something coherent; not being anything other than a right prat.

However, I won’t ever forget her nor the power of her words with that voice nor the fact that I touched her nor that she spoke to me, nor that I was in the presence of such greatness.

So, it is with sadness that I learn she has passed away.

RIP Maya Angelou.

And, thank you again for having been here and having done everything you did.

There are times when it’s quite exciting ….

Posted on by
Reply

For many reasons I am looking forward to it. There are just some times when I am taken aback.

Last night, for example.

We met in the bar, Polpetta. He was having a beer because I was teaching and I joined him when the last student left. He had been to the new flat and had made measurements of everything and then done a floor plan. Such detail! So perfect! This is what comes of being with someone trained in design and stuff, I guess.

“You can think about where you want things to go,” he says.

Well, yes, sure. Of course, he has already “decided” where most things will go. But, apparently, I am permitted to say something about this.

I say “apparently” because, in reality, he will decide. I know this. I am certain that he knows that I know this. I say,

“But it’s better for you to say. After all, you are good at this sort of thing.”

“No, we have to decide together.”

Well, yes, of course. What this means is that I should agree with his choices or have bloody good reasons why not.

But, apparently, we have to decide where everything is going before we move in. Although, eventually, he did concede that we could move things around later.

He’s going to paint the door frames a “colour”. I didn’t ask what colour. It’s not really important (to me).

He might paint a few walls – but maybe after we’ve moved in.

He talked about buying some Ikea (ugh!) furniture to put in the lounge (to put the TV on and somewhere to hide the DVDs, etc. My bookcase will remain a bookcase, it seems, and will go in the lounge (probably); the breadprover and chest of drawers will go in the entrance hall; the sofas will go in a particular place in the lounge; etc., etc.

And, at certain points, I held my breath. Let’s be honest, I knew already that I would have little say. It doesn’t bother me, exactly, except that, if I don’t really want something, I’m not sure that I will be able to get it changed.

Ah well, there are worse things in life. In the end, I’m sure it will all look lovely even if I really HATE Ikea furniture or, in fact, anything modern – except in the kitchen and the bedroom.

He hopes to move his stuff into the flat this weekend.

Eeek!

The new lounge and dining room.

Erm, celebrating ……. sort of

Posted on by
2

I have an idea in my head.

It goes something like this.

We sign the contracts and we are both really happy.

We should celebrate!

OK, so he paid half for Piero, so this is not the first major thing we’ve done. But, you know, it’s a little different than Piero. This is a contract that binds us together for at least 4 years. This is where we have to live, whatever happens. This is not quite the same as buying a house, but damn well near it.

Of course, tonight I have a bloody lesson. But it’s only from 7 to 8. We can go out at 8. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?

Well, yes but he’s arranged to go for a drink with some ex-colleagues. I can come but it’s not near my flat so, as my lesson is at 7, I can’t. It’s just too far. It would be lovely – to celebrate the new flat that we’ve got together – but later, after my lesson. After all, he’s going for an aperitivo – just a drink. He’s coming back to my flat straight afterwards.

She’s late, my student. To be honest, she’s a bit of a pain in the arse. But I can’t really fob her off just to go for a drink. We’ve finished by 8.30. I text him straight away to tell him she’s gone. Perhaps, on his way back, he’ll suggest going for a quick drink to celebrate?

It’s now gone 9. He’s not replied. I wonder if they’ve gone on to eat somewhere? But I don’t know. It’s no good phoning. I know him, the sound is off on his phone and it only vibrates or, even if the sound is on, if it’s in his bag, he won’t hear it.

I open a bottle of wine. After all, I’m celebrating.

I am celebrating and ever so slightly pissed off.

I think of texting/calling my friends. But I don’t. I just sit here, typing this and celebrating our new contract together ………. on my own.

Well, the wine is quite good.

I think I’ll ring Best Mate. She should be the first person I tell, really.

I’ll celebrate with her over the phone.

But, you know, this is not really anything like I had hoped.

Excitement and Trepidation

Posted on by
6

He’s not sleeping at all well. One night, almost no sleep, the next sleeping for about 10 hours ‘cos he’s so tired!

I put it down to the worry of getting everything sorted by 1st June and excitement at moving.

For, he’s certainly excited. You can tell.

Yesterday, as I mentioned, I paid the deposit and the agents fee. He came straight to my place after work and was so excited that I had paid the money.

“It will all be so tidy and organised,” he said.

I groaned, inwardly and silently.

Here will be the difference:

He will go in and stay up all night, if necessary, to put everything away and for everything to be perfect.

I will go in and, after a couple of hours of sorting things, I will have had enough. Plus, I prefer to “live” the place before deciding where to put everything.

“We can take the chest of drawers,” he said. Except he called it something else but I forget what. “Casettiera” in Italian – but that’s not what he said either. The chest of drawers belong to his old/existing landlady. It came to my flat because, by the time he had filled the flat with IKEA, white, fitted furniture, there wasn’t any room and, anyway, it looked out of place. It was always meant to be given back. Unfortunately, Piero did a bit of chewing on it, at the bottom.

She told him that she wouldn’t have anywhere to put it (as he’s leaving all the fitted furniture there) and she can’t fit it in her cellar. So, we are to keep it – at least for now.

“It will go in the entrance hall,” he suggests. “We can put the dogs’ leads and stuff in it.”

The advantages of him being able to go in there from the 1st June will be many. He will, for example, be able to organise his “Romy Schneider wall”. And, certainly, there will be one wall which will be exclusively Romy. I’m sure he will be doing this trick of hanging pictures on the floor again.

I don’t know where this wall will be but I suspect the lounge or the dining room.

I’m pretty certain that the majority of my pictures will be located in my room or stored away. But it’s OK. I don’t mind. As long as I still have them.

Once we get the keys, he will take the carpenter round there to see what he can do in the way of fitted cupboards so that everything can be put away and hidden. We really are so very different. Obviously, there will be some things out – but just specific pieces. Everything else will be away.

Bless him. I can see his excitement. And, then when I stop and think about it all, the trepidation returns.

Nearly there …. in more than one way.

Posted on by
Reply

OK so the problem I had with the websites that I have been working on (and off and on) over the last couple of weeks is finally solved. I think. I hope!

It included over a week of inactivity whilst the hosting company detected and solved the problem with some (I suppose) hack on their servers and then me fixing the WordPress parts. The main thing is that the hack that made the Dashboard really crap (for both the customer and me) has now gone away, which I like. I had a few hairy moments today but, now that’s it’s fixed, I am so much happier. It’s been weighing on my mind somewhat.

Now, once the backup is complete, I shall do a bit of tidying up on that one site and then, maybe, update my site.

So, I think that’s nearly done.

The editing I have been doing in my waiting times is also nearly complete – although that is no chore but rather lovely, to be honest. But, I reckon on finishing it by tomorrow. So that’s nearly done too.

And, then, this lunchtime, I went and paid the deposit and agency fee for the new house. Tomorrow evening, we go to sign the contracts and, in theory, it will be ours to furnish and sort out from 1st June. This is good because, as I may have mentioned, F’s flat has already been rented to someone from 1st June.

So the flat “getting” is nearly done. Obviously the moving part isn’t but that’s not so bad.

But I’ve stopped worrying (for now) about the moving in together thing as I was sorting out the website and that was much more of a worry.

So that’s good too.

So, nearly there in more than one way! :-D

Tomorrow – will the Daily Hate Mail have won?

Posted on by
Reply

I do my best but it’s difficult.

After years of crisis and depletion in spending power and savings, someone HAS to be to blame.

The popular newspapers have done their very best to pin the blame on a number of people which include those who are not working (the difference between not wanting to work and being unable to work is rarely made – and, anyway, the point is that “these people are taking your money for doing nothing”), people who are stealing from the system (often rolled into the previous group – at least by implication) and immigrants (illegal or legal).

In particular, they’ve being doing this, more or less, since 2008. That’s six years of propaganda. And six years of constantly pounding people with the same stuff has an effect.

Then, along comes the UKIP. Now, I’m unsure if the media want the UKIP or not. Certainly, they’ve being helping the three main parties to sling as much mud at them as possible. They have been effectively dubbed the “Loony party.”

However, there’s a major problem. In spite of the media and other parties attempts to discredit them, they ARE, in fact, repeating a lot of what those popular newspapers have been saying for all these years. This includes stopping immigration, removing the EU red-tape and making sure everyone pays his/her way. They repeat, for the most part, the headlines of the last six years and, because people have been reading about it for so long, it all makes perfect sense.

After World War I, The Germans went for similar rhetoric. Instead of blaming the huge debts that Germany was having to repay on both the other nations that were enforcing it and the government and its policies, they took the easy option of blaming the Jews. And we all know how that ended up.

And yet, it seems that the “how” of that happening has been lost and forgotten. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not drawing a direct comparison between the UKIP and the Nazis – the UKIP haven’t yet been talking about a “final solution”. But, there are similarities, don’t you think?

Even here, talking with colleagues and friends, there is a feeling that “immigrants” are to blame, especially the illegal immigrants. I point out that, without these immigrants, there would be no badante (private carers) to look after the increasingly aged population, since Italians don’t want to this type of work. But you can see I don’t make any real impact.

And, to be honest, it scares me. the problem is that I DO understand to some extent. The illegal immigrants that try to sell you a rose or some trinket or novelty lighter – sometimes one every five minutes – when you’re having a drink with friends outside a bar. It’s more than annoying. I point out that the problem is that “people” buy the roses. F, for instance, will, occasionally buy a novelty lighter. And so they continue to ply their wares. If you don’t want them here, annoying the hell out of you, DON’T buy anything from them and don’t give them money!

As I’ve always said, just like “charity begins at home”, look at your and your friends’ actions – THAT’S often the reason these people are here, still; still trying to sell you stuff you don’t need nor want.

And, since I’m an immigrant here, remember, when you say you agree with sending the immigrants home, that would include me! And I want to stay here, if you don’t mind.

So, we shall see what will happen tomorrow for the UKIP. I hope they don’t get the huge support that is being suggested. I fear, unfortunately, that they will. Their simple messages coinciding with the messages that have been fed to the populace over the last few years.

Bloody frightening.

On [the] edge

Posted on by
8

I don’t really understand. Why DO I feel like this? On every previous occasion there’s been so much excitement that any doubts I may have, have been so hidden as to not be relevant. And yet, in this case, the feeling of nervousness is so strong.

There IS excitement. There is a vision of how much better everything will be; a knowledge that things will be more comfortable, more enjoyable, more settled. Everyone will be so much happier, after all.

Well, that is, everyone but me. It’s not that I won’t be happy. I’m sure I will, I tell myself. But, there’s the rub. I have to keep telling myself. And, that in itself is worrying.

But we’ve reached the point of no return. The brink. The edge. The no-going-back place.

So, on Friday evening, F told me that he’d found someone to rent his flat. From the first of June.

I cannot correctly describe the panic that swept over me at that news.

So, this is REALLY it. From the first of June, he HAS to move. The new place won’t even be ready, of course.

I thought, “but what will he do? Where will he live?”

Of course, we shall carry on as normal, except that most of his stuff will be in the new flat, I guess. Or being moved there slowly, bit by bit. And he’ll sleep at my place – so it will be almost as normal, then.

Except, not quite. Not quite because it’s really happening, this move. It’s no longer just talk, it’s for real.

So, why this feeling? It doesn’t make sense to me really. There’s no really good excuse for it. As people keep pointing out, we virtually live together anyway. So, almost nothing will change – again, as pointed out. And, whereas that’s all perfectly correct and, logically, i know it to be true, somehow it IS different in ways that I am unable to convincingly explain.

Saturday, we went off to see the sofa place to look at fabric for new covers. Luckily, I really like the colour that he loves and, even if it will be more difficult to match with other things, it is the right choice. Today he will be doing sketches of different things we can do (so that it won’t be too samey) – don’t you just LOVE having a partner who can do this type of thing?

I also found my way to the second-hand shop where I bought my dining table to look at doors – but it was closed. Maybe we’ll try again next Saturday or, even, Sunday.

So here we are, on the edge. And me, on edge!