Category Archives: Friends and Inimies

Don’t have enemies. It’s not good for you. So, that’ll be just friends, then.

Gravity and a slightly strange friend(ship)

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I went to see the film Gravity last night. It wasn’t in 3D but it was in English which was the best I could do.

Even if it wasn’t in 3D, it was fabulous – a gripping-the-seats fabulous, all the way through. Although at one point after about the 3rd or 4th “mishap”, I found myself thinking, “What! Another problem? Give the girl a break!”

It was, of course, better to see in the cinema and, I’m sure, have been better still in 3D.

I went with a friend. Well, I say “a friend” and, yet, not really that close.

A few months ago or so, she contacted me. It was unexpected. We were, really, friends of friends. I had met her a couple of times and even spent on evening at her place for dinner. But it’s not like we had each others phone numbers or lived in the same area of town. When my friend went to live in the USA, I thought that I would never see her again.

That’s not really true. The reality is that I never thought of her at all. That’s how close we were.

In fact, my friend, before going off to the USA, fell out with her and so, wasn’t invited to the wedding. However, when my friend was back over Christmas, it seemed she had “made up” with her.

Anyway, as I say, a month or so ago, she contacted me (I think via Facebook). She wanted to go for an aperitivo (a drink) one evening. I expected her to tell me something but, no, we just had a drink and chatted. And yet I felt something was not quite as it seemed. I mean, we never really “got on”, we don’t really move in the same circles and we have very little in common. So I kept asking myself why had she suddenly got in touch.

Then, suddenly, last week, she suggested we go to see Gravity. OK, so I wanted to see it but, still, it was strange. It’s not like we are bosom buddies or anything. So why?

Of course, it did cross my mind that I was just being a little paranoid. Perhaps she really liked me? Perhaps she thought of me often?

But, even so, the whole thing just didn’t ring true.

And, last night, I think, I got my answer.

She is going to be made redundant. She knew about 6 weeks ago. So, she’s networking and I’m a person who might, at some time, be able to put something her way. I guess. Not that I wouldn’t, of course and not that I mind being “used” in such a way – I would, after all, do the same.

Or maybe this is just me and she’s just being my friend?

But I don’t think so.

In which I almost lose my power of speech …..

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It was the shock.

We’re out for a drink with An, a friend who lives up the road from me. We’re in Polpetta and I’ve arrived a little later than them.

And I forget how it all happened because, to be honest, everything else beforehand became a little blurred.

F is talking about his house near Carrara. He’s talking about doing it up (as I may have mentioned before). During this talking previously, it has been mentioned that it would be done so that, in due course, we could retire there. Of course, “retiring” is something that I’m not sure I’ll get to but, no matter, it’s not for a few years yet. And, of course, the idea of doing it up is not only for that but also to go down there more often. F hates Milan (whereas I love it) and dreams of being somewhere else.

If the house was done up, we could, for example (he says), go down for Christmas, Easter and other times. We would have computers and TV and DVD players and so on. We would have nice (new) furniture and it would really be a home away from home. The dogs would have the garden and it would be totally “ours” (well, his really, but you know what I mean).

I’m happy with this. It would be nice. We’d have his family and friends nearby; we’d have the beach for the summer; the dogs love it – so everything would be good.

Then, last night, he’s talking about it with An and comes out with …..

“Once I’ve got the money to do it and it’s done, we’ll move down there to live.”

My face must have registered the shock of this statement. He adds, to me, “I didn’t tell you before but it means we get out of Milan.”

We had always suggested that, once the house was done, should we lose our jobs or something else happen that we could, if we wanted, move there permanently. But this was a slightly different twist. This was more like once it’s done, we move immediately!

“It’s OK,” he adds, “you can do teaching and editing and I’ll get a job.”

Well, that’s OK except, the pay for teaching down there would be less than here – and here it’s not so fantastic. Plus, teaching means no pay for December/January and mid July to mid September. I don’t know if he understands that.

Not that we would need so much, of course. But, still …….

Then, as we’re talking, he qualifies his shocking statement to “maybe we move down in 1, 2 or 3 years.”

But it was the feeling I had when he first said it. It was a little frightening, to be honest. Now, that seems stupid, even to me. But there you go. I was frightened by the thought.

On the one hand, he obviously sees the future with me in it, which is good. On the other hand …. well, I don’t know, really. I’m not sure why I feel a bit frightened by the thought that we could be there by this time next year. I almost feel “not ready”. It’s not a feeling I have, generally. I’m much more of a “take things as they come” kinda guy. So, in theory, it shouldn’t pose a problem for me.

And, yet, the unease remains. When I first met him I would have moved in with him the next day. Now, I’m more “it’s OK as it is”.

“We’ll buy all new furniture,” he says. “But what about my furniture?” I ask. “We’ll sell it,” he replies.

I pull a face. I’m really not so happy about that. I mean to say, I’m not that bothered about “things” but ….. they are my things and, in some way define a little who I am. I don’t want to get rid of them. I would if, say, we were moving to the other side of the world but, still, getting rid of all my furniture would mean giving up nearly everything I own. Then I really would, almost, have nothing, plus some things are irreplaceable. The grandfather clock and the bookcase are what I bought with the money my dear Grandfather left me. To part with these two things would be difficult.

And, yet, they are only things, so in reality less important.

They aren’t the reason for me feeling so unsettled about the possible move. Part of it but not really that much.

No, I don’t know why I feel like this. It’s not normal for me. Well, it’s not the “new normal” that came with the move to Italy anyway.

But after he said it, I was unable to speak at all for a few minutes.

And there’s still an element of shock that remains.

So, I guess we’ll see what happens. After all, F does tend to say things that don’t necessarily happen. So, let’s not panic just yet, eh?

Why I was in the UK – NOT ignoring friends, exactly.

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It isn’t that I meant to snub all my friends but this is inevitable when you go “back home”.

I mean, I was going back for Best Mate’s 40th birthday. She hasn’t been so well over the last few years and, although I intended to stay for the weekend, I didn’t know how she would be and whether I would a) be with her the whole time or b) if she was up for “nights out with friends”.

So, I couldn’t take the risk and chose not to tell anyone I was going back. If I had, I would have had people trying to make arrangements to see me – which, in other circumstances I would have loved, but, in this case, would have just been hassle, particularly, possibly, for her.

In the end, I spent the whole weekend with her (also her kids and her Mum and Dad). We met one mutual friend in passing in Hay-on-Wye and sat and had a drink with her and chatted for a bit, which was lovely but, it was Best Mate’s birthday weekend so, for me, anything she wanted was what we did.

And it was really lovely. She seems much better now and it was so good to spend some quality time with her.

As we discussed (and have discussed many, many times before), there would appear, on the surface, to be no good reason why we are best friends. Nobody ever really understood why we were and since we don’t really understand either, it’s difficult to explain. And yet, within about half a day of our first meeting all those years ago, we had a “connection” and, even if we don’t speak or see each other so often, the moment we are together again it’s like we’ve never been apart from each other.

It’s all so easy and we can just relax in each others company.

And I like that. A lot.

I’m hoping she is on the first steps to a full recovery and that, maybe, I can see a bit more of her in the future.

In any event, to me she has always been and will remain a star.

Just like Christmas?

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I arrived home on Friday evening, having picked F up from the airport, to find a stack of goodies that had come in the post.

First there was an eBook reader that I had bought at a discount. This is to stop what happened during the summer where I was left for almost a week without a book. In future, I shall have books wherever I am (in theory). It’s taken me most of the weekend to set it up but now I have one book already on and I shall look for more in the coming weeks.

There were also a number of (real) books that I had ordered. Having finished Bring Up The Bodies by Hilary Mantel, I am now ready for the next one which is a choice between:
The Tenth Chamber – Glenn Cooper, the third in the series;
The Weekend – Peter Cameron, who I saw this year at the Mantova Festivaletteratura;
The Haunting Of Hill House – Shirley Jackson;
Maddaddam – Margaret Atwood, the third in the series.

I also received a calendar for next year. This, you might think, is not so special except that the first photograph (for January) was taken by Best Mate’s eldest daughter, so rather special.

The weather is quite crap now. It’s much cooler and we had a lot of rain overnight although, in spite of the forecast, it hasn’t been raining all day.

All made up for by the fact that Friday night almost seemed like Christmas :-)

Autumn brings ………………. something to look forward to

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Well, in two days it will be September and, so Autumn.

Actually, since last weekend, it’s felt like Autumn. There’s been quite a bit of rain and the nights are cold. So much so that two nights ago we put the sort-of-duvet on the bed again. I don’t think I’ve ever done it so early!

Apart from the cold weather and rain which I do hate, Autumn/September brings one other thing – the Mantova book festival – Festivaletteratura!.

Once again, F will be too busy to come, which is a shame. In fact, for this festival he will be away in Greece opening new stores/concessions for the company. However, in another way, it’s kind of better in that I get to do what I want and see what I want. There’s also the slight possibility that I shall be able to stay overnight which would be great because maybe I can go to Scritture Giovani – which I love.

So we shall see but, in any case, I shall go for the Saturday and, depending on the weather, hope to have my usual stroll around the town, go to some events and meet up with old friends (and eat some lovely food).

It’s really brightened up this cold, miserable, rainy day for me :-)

Holiday; Weather; Books; BMWi3

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You know that thing?

You’re on holiday.

You wake up in the morning and go out onto the balcony and the sky is that strong blue and the temperature is such that a pair of shorts and a T-shirt is more than enough to wear.

That. That thing.

Well, that’s what it’s like for me nearly every day in the summer here. Like I’m on holiday :-)

Anyway, last weekend, I started two books. Quinn’s Way and Bleak House.

I finished one of them.

And it wasn’t Bleak House. Just the introduction notes to Bleak House took me an hour or so!

Quinn’s Way was OK. My criticism would be a) that there was a load of stuff about the scamming in the motor trade that was almost like making a list and b) the ending went too fast and my character kinda disappeared.

Bleak House is something else. Not exactly a light read.

Anyway, the weather now is superb. Not too hot (about 33°C) and warm in the mornings.

Oh, yes, and we went to the Milan Launch Party for the BMWi3 last night. This is the new battery powered/hybrid, slightly-larger-than-a-Fiat-500 car. The party was invitation only and it’s ‘cos we know a friend of a colleague of F’s.

Anyway, it only started at 9. We got there about 10 and left about 11.15. But it was nice.

At one point, F said to me: “I hate these people”. “What people?” “The people here. It’s all so false.”

Which is true – but, still, it was nice.

Today, I have been mostly drinking coffee

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I have already had about 9 coffees this morning.

I am tired and tonight I have to travel down to Carrara – just me and the dogs because F will stay near Venice tonight and then join us tomorrow.

So, I’m doing coffee today, mostly.

I’ve had a very busy week. Monday was a pizza and stuff with one of F’s colleagues and her boyfriend. We got home late.

Tuesday was the Earth Wind and Fire concert. And we got home late.

Wednesday was out with A and, because we didn’t go out until late, I got home late.

Last night was round to where FfI is now staying – and I got home late.

In all cases there was MUCH drinking.

Let me just say that, in every case, I didn’t intend to drink much. It’s just that I did.

And, last night, I really needed to come home early but, instead, because I felt that FfI needed me, I didn’t come home early and we drank two bottles of wine between us (more or less).

The “perfect gentleman” ex-boyfriend had not only thrown her out but had also cause a number of bruises and a bite.

So, not really the “perfect gentleman” after all.

Nor is his son, who, the next day, punched her daughter when she came to pick up her Mum.

I was told the story and, given that this is Italy, having had the whole story, I could see why he lost his temper (although hitting someone because you’ve lost your temper is NEVER acceptable).

The problem is the mentality of (certainly older) Italians. The problem is the homophobia that is rife here (as is racism).

In this case, in the heat of the argument, he told her that it was her fault that his son wanted to leave home. He said that she was so horrible that his son couldn’t be in the same house as her and was, therefore, leaving home. His son is about 25 years old.

Apparently, at this point, she advised him that the real reason his son was leaving home was because he was gay.

Given that I am writing this without being involved, I am, probably, not giving the correct feel of this “conversation”. I suspect that there was much shouting at each other and that it was as far from a “conversation” as would be possible.

However, whilst in no way condoning his physical response, I can understand why he lost control.

This is his one and only son. Both his eldest and his only child. This is Italy. Whilst outwardly he does not seem homophobic (I have met him several times and he always seemed quite a “nice” man) as it certainly used to be about 50 years ago in the UK, don’t tell a man that his only son is a raving poofter! In case you don’t know what I’m talking about, the film Billy Elliot shows you (although in the interests of a good film (meaning a feel-good factor) and to show how enlightened we are in the UK now, the father eventually realises that he loves his son for who he is – which was certainly NOT the reality of the situation). And this is Italy, so even though straight men are camper than straight men in the UK and the USA, etc. by a LONG way, being gay is not seen as OK. In fact, they are STILL discussing amending a bill in parliament to make it illegal to discriminate on the basis of sexual preference (so I think marriage is way off yet).

Anyway, back to the story – and so, the ex-boyfriend got angry and, unfortunately for all involved, got physically abusive.

His son, who witnessed some of it (and, apparently egged his father on), felt the need to emulate his father the next day after being provoked by FfI’s daughter. But, then, his role model is not exactly one that I would want my son to have.

Have I ever mentioned that the last time I ever hit anyone was when I was about 12 or 13? I felt so ashamed by my own behaviour that I never hit anyone again. Ever. I was ashamed because, even if I had been provoked and even if I had been the subject of a lot of bullying (both physically and mentally), and even if the boy I beat up was my age and in my class, he was weaker than me. And I have never forgotten that nor how bad I felt about what I had done. I did what my father had told me to do – but instead of to the bullies (who were both bigger and stronger than I), I did it to someone who was supposed to be a friend.

So, my hatred of violence stems from then.

And so, I felt the need to stay with her longer than intended.

And now I am suffering. Ah well, F is only joining us tomorrow so tonight I will go to bed early and try and recover from this week.

Don’t mind me, I’m just having a little rant that’s all.

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This is a post for non-Italians.

Italians – don’t read this.

That includes you, Lola and you, Pietro. This doesn’t apply to you.

I’m just having a rant.

I have come to the conclusion that Italians are a) ignorant b) bad-mannered, c) rude or d) stupid.

Or, of course, all of the above at the same time.

Yesterday, it seemed they were all those and all at the same time.

Let me give some examples:

1. I’m taking the dogs for the evening walk. We get in the lift and we arrive at the ground floor. I open the lift doors and there is an older couple waiting to take the lift. From the front of the lift to the door to outside is a matter of a few feet. There are some steps on the right (the stairs to the floors going round the lift) and to the left is the corridor to go to the shops and café that are on the ground floor. When the lift door is open, this corridor is, effectively, shut off to you.

There is, just about, enough room for two people to pass each other without going up the stairs a step or two, providing you walk a little sideways.

I am holding two leads connected to two excited dogs. They enjoy going out for a walk. They are straining on the leads. It is not possible for me to either go sideways nor to go up the steps.

The two people stand, one behind the other and, two people, one behind the other, effectively block the door outside.

I wait for a few seconds.

The dogs don’t. The people stand there – in my way. They give no thought to moving. I decide they are stupid. Surely, it must be that? They look like perfectly respectable people but, quite obviously, the fact that they have lived so long is purely a matter of luck and definitely not judgement.

As the dogs strain to get past, the woman turns a little and tries to step back. She is obviously more stupid than I had at first thought as there is nowhere to go. So the dogs brush against her (much to her chagrin) and I mutter that they are stupid.

2. On the same dog walk. We are nearing the end. We have to pass the tobacconists. They are doing some road works (on the pavement) and the pavement is not so large.

As I approach, I see that there are about 5 or 6 people who are at the cigarette machine and as if they are in a queue. They are completely blocking the path.

They see us but do not move. I mean, why would you? We are in Italy. We get to the point where in a second we will collide with them. Two of the people who are “at the end of the queue”, move back slightly, permitting us to squeeze through. Again, I have two dogs. They are obviously not happy about the dogs touching them. Because, quite obviously, they just didn’t realise that the dogs would touch them if they leave a minuscule gap for us to get through!

3. I am driving. I need to turn left. There are two bikes (one after the other) coming towards me on the opposite side of the road. If I were Italian I would just turn into the road and go. I am not. I am polite. I wait. The first bike, without any signals turns right into the road into which I will be turning. It is annoying but it’s OK. The older woman on the second bike sees that I am waiting and so tries to cycle a bit faster.

Without signals, she also turns right. I could have turned right before the first one, IF ONLY THEY HAD SIGNALLED. Bastard people with no thought for anyone but themselves.

4. I am driving down the road. Cars are parked either side. There is enough room for a car to double park (providing it is “tucked in” and for another to get past. Just about. The car in front is driving a little slowly – but anyway, suddenly stops without any indication that they were going to do so. They have not “tucked themselves in” and, therefore, there is no way I can get past. Obviously, the road belongs to them and I should have realised that. Also they had absolutely no idea that I was behind them. I guess their mirror is used to check hair and make-up?

There were lots of other examples last night – but I can’t list them all.

But, can I just say, it FUCKING ANNOYS me!

* Of course, this doesn’t apply to any Italians that are my friends. Except, of course, the ones who are a) ignorant b) bad-mannered, c) rude or d) stupid. But you’ll know who you are.

Where I get to see a bit of Italy I haven’t seen before.

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I’ve lived here almost 8 years now (I know, I can hardy believe it myself)!

And, much as it was in the UK, I know I’ve seen hardly anything of Italy. There are tons of places I’ve never been to, even places near Milan!

But, this weekend (well, as of Thursday) we shall be going to the toe of Italy, namely, Calabria. It’s my first time a) in that area and b) that far south in Italy. Not right at the big toe, so to speak, but in the toe area – more like the instep now that I’ve looked at the map to check.

We’re flying down and so leaving the dogs at the place we bought them from. Then hiring a car to get to this place called Catanzaro. Well, not actually there, but close by.

We’re going to a wedding. Not one of F’s friends but, rather, one of mine. And not an Italian friend but, rather, an English friend who is marrying someone from there. Actually, it’s an ex-colleague from the time I had the business. And he’s of Irish extraction, so the place will be full of Irish people getting, I suspect, absolutely plastered. We’ve decided to stay a few extra days and make a long weekend of it.

Normally, when you speak of somewhere in Italy (that isn’t Milan), Italians will tell you how lovely it is. Not this time though, which was a little bit of a shock. I had been under the impression that everywhere in Italy was beautiful (according to Italians), except Milan (which, as you know, I think IS beautiful).

We’re staying at the hotel that is the venue for the reception. It means drinking without having to worry about driving.

But, then, I thought I would just check Trip Advisor. All the English reviews don’t have anything good to say about it – apart from the views. The Italian ones, say it’s wonderful. I’m tempted to put a review up after we’ve been – just to try and balance it one way or another. I thought that it must be OK as it will be local to her family and a lot of the English guests will be staying there. Surely, they wouldn’t have the reception and people staying in some sort of dump? No, surely not. Well, we shall see.

The place is near the sea – so beaches may be involved. It must be near some other things that may be worth a visit – I must check some of my books to find out.

Anyway, it will be a weekend away and one where we don’t have to get up early to walk the dogs. And the forecast suggests that, although it may not be as warm as Milan, it should have almost zero chance of rain which will be nice.

And then there will be the food – which should be good (although, of course, that isn’t guaranteed).

So, a weekend away without the “children”. I am looking forward to it :-)

He comes to stay. And other things

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I went to a second-hand book fair last Saturday.  It was organised by the Anglican Church in Milan of which, one of my friends here is a member.

I came away with 6 books to add to my other 2 that I am saving for the summer weekends and weeks on the beach.  I can’t remember all the titles or authors but they included Bleak House which I have never actually read.

In fact, I realised as I bought it, the only Dickens I have read was when I was at school and I thought it was about time I read one of them for pleasure.

Previously, I had bought Life of Pi and the Hilary Mantel book, Wolf Hall, her historical fictional account of Thomas Cromwell’s rise to power.  In fact, I shouldn’t have bought Life of Pi at all.  I was lent it by someone but then Piero got it and it was turned into small pieces of paper, spread all over the flat, so I bought another copy and I might as well read it before I give it back.

So, that’s my summer reading all sorted now.  All I need is summer which is taking a rather long time to come through and all the rain we are having is rather annoying, not to say anything about how cold it is.

F, having spent all last week in Spain (for work), became ill but still travelled down to his Aunt and Uncle’s 50th Wedding Anniversary “party” on Saturday.  I was invited but I don’t think he was so keen for me to go, so I didn’t.  However, he rang me during the meal because his Aunt wanted to thank me for the present (which F bought in Spain – but which he said was from both of us) and his cousin just wanted to say hello.  It’s nice of them but I still get confused with S and, in fact, his Aunt called me S.

But that really doesn’t bother me at all on the basis that they see us as a couple in the same was as F & S were and, after all, they’re both foreign names to them :-)

F only went down for the day (the party was a lunch) but by the time he came back he was worse.

Sunday we went to the hospital.  The sister of P (One of F’s best friends and who got married last year in Villa Singer), E, has just had her kidney replaced (she had been on dialysis for ages) and, until the middle of last week, had been doing so well, they were going to send her home.  Then it started rejecting and so they needed to put her on stronger drugs and keep her monitored.  Obviously, as she comes from Cararra, she is a long way from home and F tries to see her as often as possible.  Sunday, we went together.

The hospital is one of the biggest in Milan and only a little way outside the city. It took us about 10 minutes to get there by car).  The strange thing was that, apart from the hospital beds and people walking around with bags hanging from them containing liquids of various kinds, it didn’t actually SEEM like a hospital. I mean it didn’t have the usual hospital smell that I really hate. It almost seemed quite nice!

Anyway, P rang F later to say that she had been very happy to see us, so that was nice.

By Sunday night F was feeling worse. Yesterday, he didn’t go to work and this morning, he went to the doctors to be told he had otitis and he’s off work until Friday (which is good because we have the Lisa Stansfield concert on Friday night).

Now, here’s thing. I mean to say, here’s the point of this post.

F doesn’t really do being ill very well. In fact, he always prefers (he says), to be on his own.

However, he has gone home, on his way back from the doctor’s, to get changes of clothes before he comes to my place to stay with the dogs! This is a huge difference from previous illnesses when he would go home and stay there. Of course, I guess it helps that I am there in the evenings to make drinks and other things for him. Bless.