Category Archives: Experiences

After the after-party party

Posted on by
Reply

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wake up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elettrauto – Cadore – great food/poor service

Posted on by
2

He wasn’t happy.

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

He was getting more and more annoyed.

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

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

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

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

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

But back to the late brunch we were having.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Posted on by
Reply

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

But that wasn’t where we were going.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So not a wasted evening.

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

I adore my life.

Wine with fattening stuff.

Posted on by
4

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.

Fighting with demons

Posted on by
4

Yes, I’m sure.

It is, almost certainly, the drinking bit that’s the problem. I am British and it is the ‘British disease’ and I have definitely caught this and I need to find the cure.

It’s not that I’m an alcoholic. Far from it. No, I can go for days or maybe even minutes without alcohol.

I jest, of course. About the ‘maybe even minutes’. Did I need to say that? Probably not but I thought I would just in case. You never know who is ‘watching’. I do have ‘lurkers’ on this blog. People who come but never post a comment.

But when they put a bottle of some digestivo on the table and the other people insist on staying and talking, it seems only right to top up my glass. Several times. This is in addition to the two beers. And I didn’t really need the two beers. I just had the second because everyone else was having one. And I’m British, so one has to keep up, doesn’t one? And I should have just stuck with the one glass of the digestivo and then I wouldn’t have had to concentrate on keeping in a straight line for the five minutes it took to walk home. Sometimes, I’m even almost angry with myself.

And when I looked in the mirror this morning, I could see I had that old-age paunch. Part of me doesn’t care and part of me does. And I know it must be the beer. Too much. I should be sticking to my wine diet. I really should. That never made me fat.

Of course, it could be that I’ve reached that time in life and I have become fat because my body says something like ‘OK, well you’ve had it pretty good up to now but did you really think you could continue to eat and drink what you wanted forever? Well, …….. did you?’

And, yes, I kind of did.

Damn!

And damn the bottle of digestivo too. I bet that didn’t help.

Damn, damn, damn!

Signs; Four or three?

Posted on by
4

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

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

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

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

__________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the night ……… mare

Posted on by
10

I just can’t tell you about it.

Suffice to say, it was a dream that turned into a nightmare. It was when his face turned towards me. It turned out to be someone else. Someone from the past. It was unexpected. In my dream I tried to distance myself but it wouldn’t work. It was the first time for this dream. I wonder why? Why now? Why did it turn into this nightmare?

So, again, at four, as the night before, I was up.

I went back to bed after about an hour. F was sleeping and, from time to time, snoring. Rufus was sleeping and, from time to time, giving that ‘death rattle’, gasping for breath as if it was to be his last. It’s quite scary, really but I guess he does it most nights, if not, every night.

This morning I had to get up to do the tyres. I wish now I had booked it in for Friday. Friday is going to be beautiful. Ah, well, I’ll have Friday afternoon off instead.

Today, I have been mostly listening to spam.

Posted on by
Reply

See this?

In the early in America the Reagan administration of leptin may be effective for losing weight.For instance, each woman needs to take progestin or separate estrogen plus progestin.Eli lilley nolvadex.People suffering from different pill form with practically no muscle.The most commonly perceived stereotypes, in turn to fast food and sweets.Will nolvadex boost sperm count

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?

Does the future exist?

Posted on by
2

Well, it’s not like I didn’t warn you.

OK it’s typically sensationalist, as one would expect from the Daily Hate Mail but, if their facts are anything like correct, be assured, this is just the start.

After the Second World War, when the state pension age was set at 65 for men, their life expectancy was 66.4 years and women’s was 72.5 years. These figures have risen to 77 years for a man and 82 years for a woman.

Now, unless there is a huge increase in the number of people working (and, therefore, paying) to enable the ‘system’ to support many more pensioners, something has got to change. Either we start dying off earlier or we must work later. Obviously, the ‘working later’ bit is preferable.

The comments by the Daily Hate Mail readers make me laugh though. It seems that it’s all the previous (Labour) government’s fault. Of course it is! How stupid of me?

Apart from the fact that their spelling is really atrocious, their ideas seemed so warped as to be really quite scary (the readers/commentators – about the Labour government I couldn’t possibly comment). Sometimes it makes you think that there should be a rule only allowing people of a certain intelligence to be permitted to vote or have children, etc.

However, in reality, it was not any government’s ‘fault’. Well, they could have seen this coming and done something about it earlier, of course. But it’s hardly a ‘vote winner’ now, is it?

I mean to say, ‘Vote for us and we’ll make you work longer’. Not really catchy.

But, if you think about it, what else is to be done? Either work longer or get paid much, much less. I know which I’d prefer.

People on the newspaper site are complaining that the government are ‘making you work ’till you drop’. Well ….. erm ….. yes – but then, they are also the government that, should you live a long time in retirement, will be paying you something. These same people would complain if the government said ‘OK, you don’t have to pay so much tax but, after you retire, you’re on your own’.

It’s the stupidity that gets to me. It’s the lack of an overall awareness. It’s a lack of the basic understanding of how such a system as this is supposed to work.

I despair.

But, as I’ve said for years, I expect that I will never retire – dropping dead prior to retirement almost certainly. But I’m not blaming anyone except myself and, if I had really wanted to retire with lots of money, I should have saved more. Much, much more. But it’s OK since life should be about living now not living sometime in the future. We know about now. The future is uncertain and may not even exist.

Signs and remembering

Posted on by
2

There are things. Things that remind me of the past or a person. Very occasionally a smell or some music. In this case there is no smell nor music but just a sight.

Sometimes it is unexpected. I catch my breath. Like this morning.

The sight was something like this:

OK so not quite as nice as this one pictured – but you get the idea.

My maternal grandmother loved Magnolia. I think it was her favourite and they had one in front of their bungalow, right outside the lounge windows. And it is still there, outside the bungalow. We passed by the bungalow when I was boring F to death with the ‘….and this was where…..’ stuff last year when we went to the UK for the wedding. I didn’t really understand, all that time ago, because it had no smell (and I liked flowers with smell). However, my last house in the UK had one because I put one in. You don’t see them so often and they only seem to flower for a few weeks but they are glorious. And they are, of course, a reminder that spring is here. The only problem in the UK was that you were as likely as not to have a frost which would kill the blooms immediately. Here it is much less likely.

And, so, I was reminded of both her and, by association, my maternal grandfather whom regular readers will know, I loved very much.

And it was a nice thought on this fine, slightly-not-cold, spring morning and I thought I would tell you.