Category Archives: General Rambling

For posts that just go on and on and on and on and ……

It seems I come first, after all!

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“It’s OK”
“Don’t worry about it”

Well, that’s what I wrote. Apparently it wasn’t her fault. Well, I thought, then let’s not beat about the bush. “When is the wedding?”, I write.

“What wedding?” and then, “He’s not getting married”.

OK, well that’s enough then.

I just write, “How strange”

Of course, I was asked why it was strange. I explained that several people, to whom I have mentioned ‘the wedding’, were just surprised I knew about it rather than not understanding what I was on about – which is what you just did (although I didn’t add the last bit – only thought it).

“There’s no date set”. So, and the “What wedding” and the “not getting married” bit, then? What was that?

Basta

And don’t be thinking of getting angry with me about the short shrift. I can’t stand lying and you, as one of the people who were there at the time, should know better. It seems not.

It’s not that it’s a massive surprise but, still ………….

________________________________________________

I’m doing stuff. I mean, sorting stuff out. Much to do. Very busy. Some physical (putting up cupboards, buying new cooker, etc.) and others just practical (paying some bills, sorting out companies, etc.) – but, the important thing is doing it. And it makes me much happier.

Last night he got home really, really late. He lost his way on the way back. Too busy talking to his colleague! Hah! And, so he was very late. He texted to say he would drop his stuff off at home and come to me. I was surprised. I thought that, as he was really tired, he would not come. I can’t go to his place as Rufus is quite ill at the moment and, although on medication, it seems to be taking a while to clear. Up until recently, he would be ill (diarrhea and stuff) about once a month for a couple of days. Now, it seems like once a week. I thought it was eating shit in the dogs areas at first but now I’m not so sure …..

And he is getting so thin. He is just a bag of bones now, especially at the back end. I know it’s how it is but, you know, it is sad to see. Still, he is still walking OK, not falling over (except every so often) and, generally still looking healthy (ish).

But, as he is currently a little ‘unpredictable’ with his toilet there was no way we could go round. Still, I was very happy that F had to decided to come round to mine.

I took the dogs out (it confirmed that Rufus was still ill) and then had a shower.

Then he phoned. Would I mind if he didn’t come round? He was really sorry but he was so tired. If he had known it would be like this, he would have come straight to mine. I do understand. It was a surprise when he said he would come over in the first place. I said not to worry and that I understood and he said:

“Yes, but I wanted to to be with you and the babies”.

It seems I come first, after all!

Tidying up a bit.

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This post is full of lines and paragraphs from old, draft posts. Posts that never ‘made it’. I like some of the bits below though and, now, I have got rid of all these draft posts.

Enjoy!

The feeling that ‘I’ve seen all this before’ prevails and I mistake that for being wise.

I read an interview today. Someone said that he didn’t want to be content. That content sounded like ‘maturity’ and that implied decay.

A single lie that I find out means that everything that is said might be false. Probably is false.

Funny, isn’t it. Some people spend their whole time trying to convince you they are someone that they’re not.

He sings songs to Dino. The latest one is:

pupi pupazzo ¨ un cane pazzo
pupi pupazzello ¨ un cane bello
pupi pupazzino ¨ un bel bambino
tu che sei dino
sei un cane carino

>The tour was surprising. Mostly because most of it remained the same or, nearly the same. England’s green and pleasant land remaining green and pleasant – with lots of sheep and cows and, so, lots of photo opportunities!

Yes, he was probably bored, the sheep being a welcome distraction.

We drank beer, he ate fish and chips and I ate lamb. We walked around the towns. We went to the church where my Grandfather was buried. I tried to explain but found that I couldn’t really.

My Grandfather was 83 when he died; my Grandmother, 85. They lived quite long, really.

His philosophy on life was that you had a good life if you were ‘content’. And he’s right and always was. My father never understood that, always striving onwards and upwards as he did and now probably having died before he was even 70.

We exchange few words, the woman who owns them and I. It’s too early in the morning for me to understand Italian and, anyway, we don’t need to talk. I’m not good in the mornings. Today neither she nor her dogs are there, of course.

Gotta be strong. Gotta say ‘no’.

This meant asking for the stuff. F said to get 1 etto (100 grams) of prosciutto and half an etto of coppa and salami. I asked about buying the pre-packed stuff, saying that I wasn’t sure the deli was open but the horrified look on his face said all that I needed to know.

However some friends (of theirs) turned up just as we had started and hadn’t been invited to dinner and just sat on the sofa, reading, whilst we spent the next couple of hours eating.

At that point I began to realise that certain ‘strong’ memories of his were, as most people’s are, just a figment of his imagination.

Well, you know, fuck that for a lark.

I hope he doesn’t let you down but fear he will. But, please don’t be asking me why V has not been in touch or not come round to see you. He’s not my responsibility any more and I don’t have to make the excuses like I used to – go figure it all out for yourself.

Let’s say that we’ve both given each other some shit over the years so we must be ‘even’ by now but, still, fuck you for believing in what V has said. It is, in the nicest possible way, utter bullshit and for you, an intelligent guy, I thought, to have fallen for V’s greatest trick, makes you a fool at the very least.

“It’s the same for me”, he writes. I misinterpret that a little

Of course, it will never be ‘over’. Undoubtedly, I shall be ‘paying’ for it, in one way or another for the rest of my life and there will always be some little thing that will come back and haunt me but ….. still ……..

I realise now that I never understood him (probably, in much the same way as he quite obviously never understood me).

He always went from ‘mad passion’ for some friend or other to another. I learnt to avoid getting too attached to them (unless I really liked them too), knowing that it wouldn’t last that long in any event. The last time I did this, I was worn down after years of being told that this person was wonderful; I didn’t think so. Within a year or so of my ‘giving in’ the glorious affair was over but with such suddenness and such hatred that I vowed never to put myself in that position again – and I never did.

…. but there will be that falseness behind it. The people that you don’t exactly ‘dislike’ but that, if they aren’t there, actually don’t mean that much to you.

I just wish that the closure of these paragraphs would reach the closure of the chapter. We have both moved on and these things do not help either of us.

The old man rang yesterday. I knew it was him, since my phone said ‘Unknown Number’. I was driving the first time, walking from the car to my house the second, and doing something else on the third. It was the fourth occasion that I answered. “It will only take 10 minutes”, he assured me. I was not assured. I am assured that it will mean I am at least an hour later back at home – of that I am 90% certain, even if the actual work does only take 10 minutes.

And then that made me think about his blog. Do I want anything? At first glance, that would be no. The reality is, I think, that I do want something.

F is still feeling ill. Last night he had a stomach ache. He blames it on the food and drink he has had over the last few days – but it’s not that. It’s the drugs that he’s been taking. I try to tell him but he’s not listening and he’s Italian so he has a different view as to what causes things. I know it’s that because he stopped taking any tablets and his stomach was fine and then, last night, he got more syrup and some tablets and took one of the tablets and then suffered stomach ache.

He’s not really good with suffering – as most men; as most Italian men.

The Dead Parrot – or, rather, not at all.

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I squeeze into the back.  It’s not a problem but A (F’s friend) and F are already in.  We drive on to go to the restaurant.

As we’re driving up the road to go to the restaurant, I notice a movement.

Now, a lot of Taxi drivers like to fill the front of their car with stuff.  After all, it is their ‘office’ I suppose.  And so there are things that make them more comfortable.

However, I am shocked to see that, perched on the dashboard, just to the right of the wheel, is a parrot!  Yes, you read it correctly.  On his dashboard is a living, breathing parrot!

And here is the picture to prove it:

We took photos of it.  It got angry (so the man said) and started squawking so we stopped using our flashes.  Obviously it’s not a good picture but, nonetheless, it’s proof.

It was just so funny.  The parrot’s name is Gilda.  Unfortunately, after he gave it the name he found out it was a male parrot and not a female parrot, which makes it funnier still.

An unusual thing to see in the taxi.  Keep your eye out, should you be in Milan and taking a taxi.  Maybe, you too will share a journey with Gilda!

Re-living it all

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It’s been difficult – and I wasn’t expecting it.

As I explained previously, I found that, during the transfer of this blog, some rather strange characters had appeared and the photographs for certain posts no longer appeared.  So, I decided to fix them.  This meant going through all the posts from the beginning (and that’s nearly 800 posts now)!

I have learnt a number of things:
1.  I write a lot of crap.
2.  Most posts are not nearly as interesting as I must have thought they were at the time.
3.  I don’t always remember what I am talking about.  There again, some of them brought back some memories of events or situations.
4.  I know that V and I split at the end of November, almost two years ago and, yet, it took me almost a month to write anything about it.

And, I found, surprisingly, that reading through some of the posts from December onwards brought back the memories.  Rather than ‘brought them back’, it would be better to say ‘made me re-live’.  This was not so good.  They weren’t bitter memories just sad; sad memories for what should have been and wasn’t, for a future that I thought was, more or less, secure and, in fact, was like wet tissue paper – falling apart in my hands.  Even for the two years previously, there were some posts that hinted at what was to happen but the actual events, the actual posts, my fears, shock, despair – they are all tangible to me in the posts I wrote.

In a strange way, I am grateful to have them, to be able to read them.  I am also grateful that it didn’t seem to last too long as I am now up to the point where I have selected the-perfect-flat-on-the-perfect-street and I can see, through the writing, that I have come through the worst of it and I know it gets better after that (well apart from the crazy few weeks).

So, sorry not to be posting but I will be back soon, I promise!

How do you KNOW you don’t like it?

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“I think I’ve had this before”, he says, adding “and I don’t like it”.

It was very difficult to keep the disappointment out of my voice …. but I tried.

“Well”, I said, “try a little and, if you don’t like it, it’s OK, you don’t have to eat it”.

I had whipped up the cream. The cream was really for me rather than him. “You don’t like cream”, I realised this as I got it out of the fridge. Damn! I should have done custard. Ah, well, I thought, if he doesn’t like it anyway then it’s better I did cream.

I put a couple of spoonfuls of the sweet in the dish and added a little cream after he indicated it was OK to do so.

He tried it. It wasn’t the same as he had had before. He said he liked it. Then got some more from the dish. And some more cream. He asked about the topping. I explained that it was pastry, like for Lemon Meringue Pie but more butter and more sugar and without water so that it was crumbs rather than pastry as such. I tried not to be annoyed by the fact that he says he doesn’t like something before he has tried it first but I don’t say anything about that anyway. It took me a few years to train V away from that. I have time. I can train F, possibly, probably, hopefully. I am hoping, much like I did with V, that I can introduce things gradually and get him to trust that what I make is all right and worth trying. I’m not sure I have the patience for this but we’ll give it a go.

I said you can make it with any fruit.

He really did like it, it seems. I told him that he must tell me the truth because, if he says he likes something, I will do it again. He said he will.

I told him it was, to my memory, the first time I had made it. Although, to be honest, even if I can’t remember it, I am sure I must have made it in the past. Maybe Rhubarb Crumble and not Blackberry and Blueberry Crumble.

The next day, he texts me to ask what it was called because he doesn’t remember. Later that night I asked him why he had needed to know. Apparently, there was a guy there from the office in London and he wanted to tell him.

I see, in his fridge, there is a jar of Lemon Curd in the door.

“You can make Lemon Curd Tart”, I said, meaning I could make Lemon Curd Tart, of course. Later, he says I can take it home together with the Banana Curd he bought at the same time, when we were in Hay-on-Wye.

“You can make that cake with it” (meaning Crumble”), he says. I say yes, even if he has, clearly, not understood how Crumble works and that a Banana Curd Crumble just would not be right at all. Ah, well.

Just updating old posts is all

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Sorry for no new posts.

I discovered that all my photographs had disappeared from the old posts when I brought the database over from the old hoster – and some of the symbols (-, “, ©, etc.) had morphed into a strange selection of symbols.

So, I am updating and putting the pictures back.

A side effect of this is that, as I re-post an old post, if there is a link to another of my pages, it is showing up as a new ping-back!

I’m hoping that it won’t take too long to do but we shall see. Please bear with me :-)

Lemon Meringue Pie

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talians love this. This is a true Lemon Meringue Pie. Better than any I have ever tasted anywhere else (even if I do say so myself) . Taken from one of my most trusted recipe books – the Hamlyn All Colour Cook Book – my first cookery book, about 30-years-old, very well used, stained with old ingredients, the cover ripped and eaten by one of my dogs, years ago, it remains one of the best books I ever had. Here goes:

For the pastry case
6 oz plain flour   – 170g farina tipo 00
4 oz butter – 113g burro
1 egg yolk   – 1 tuorlo d’uovo
3/4 oz cater sugar   – 21g zefiro
2 teaspoons water – 2 cucchiani di aqua

For the lemon filling
2 large lemons   – 2 limone grande
1 1/2 oz cornflour   – 42g maizena
1/2 pint water – 275ml aqua
2 egg yolks   – 2 tuorli d’uovo
3 oz caster sugar   – 85g zefiro

For the meringue topping
3 egg whites   – 3 albumi d’uovo
5 oz caster sugar   – 142g zefiro

Sieve the flour into bowl. Cut the cold butter into small cubes into the flour. Rub the butter and flour together with your fingertips as quickly as possible until the result is like breadcrumbs. Add the caster sugar and mix well. Add the egg yolk and mix well. Mix in the water (I do all this with a knife until this point) and then bring together to form the pastry.

Use an 8″ (20cm) flan ring placed on baking sheet or one of those cake tins with the removable base (which is what I use). Rub a little butter over it. Roll out the pastry. The pastry is VERY short and will, probably fall to pieces easily. Don’t worry too much. Try to line the ring in one go, patching up the holes and gaps with any left over pastry. It will be fine when it’s all cooked. The important thing is to try and create a sealed pie base.

Prick the base all over with a fork and put it in the fridge for about 20 mins.

Now crumple up some greaseproof paper and open to fill the pie base. The point here is to stop the sides from falling in when you are cooking it as the pastry is very, very soft. Fill the paper with baking beans (I use dried peas or beans) – this is to weigh the paper down and so the base does not lift. Bake in a hot oven (400°F, 200°C or Gas Mark 6) for about 15 minutes. Remove paper and baking beans and allow to cool.

Grate the lemon rind. Try only to grate the yellow skin without the white pith. I use a cheese grater and use the smallest holes. This creates a fine breadcrumb-type of rind. Squeeze the juice from the lemons and add this to the rind in a bowl. Add the cornflour and two tablespoons (cucchiai) of the water. Mix well until it is smooth (no lumps). Boil the remaining water in a largish pan. Pour onto cornflour mix and mix well. Return to the pan, bring to the boil and simmer for 3 minutes, stirring all the time. It won’t look really attractive as the cornflour makes it gloopy. It will be quite thick but when it gets cold it will set, more or less. Remove from the heat and add the egg yolks and sugar and mix in well. Let it cool a little and then pour into the flan case.

Whisk the egg whites (using a mixer, if I were you – to do this by hand is too long and difficult) until they form soft peaks when you take out the whisk. Then, add the caster sugar a teaspoon at a time, whisking well after each addition. I leave the food mixer going whilst adding the sugar. Spoon out the meringue over the lemon filling. Try to make sure that the lemon filling is completely covered. Use the back of the spoon to make the top like waves on the sea.

If you have used a flan ring then, for me, it is better to take the ring off now. The danger is that part of the sides will collapse. Using the cake tin with the extendible ring, as I do, means that you can leave it on and then open it and take it off after baking – much more satisfactory.

Put into a moderate oven (350°F, 180°C or Gas Mark 4) for 15 mins. The peaks of the meringue should be slightly brown. Allow to cool.

Serve in slices. The pastry is sweet and soft and crumbly (and I use this pastry for nearly everything that is a sweet), the lemon filling should be firm and slightly sharp tasting and the meringue will be soft and sweet. It has the sharp and sweet taste that the British always love. The lemon taste is very strong but the sweetness of the base and meringue topping make it a divine finish to a meal. Enjoy!

Perhaps this will help?

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There’s Boy George, who, whilst in prison, has “found himself”. There’s Lola who seems to be in that process. And, then there’s me.

It’s difficult to explain. I’ve said (somewhere, at various times) that this blog is my own process of finding myself but that’s not actually true. I know exactly where I am; exactly what I am. This blog explores some of that and permits me to organise my thinking on it in a more logical way, allowing me to make conclusions and decisions based on what I find. I think it is better defined, not as me looking for myself but, rather, for me looking for a way in which me, as the person I am, can come to terms with the world around me and, also, for this world to realise who I am.

There’s a lot of ‘I’ in that. Perhaps, though, I have it wrong. Perhaps I should be reading the book that Boy George did or perhaps this follow up and, perhaps this is what it’s really all about.

I love the idea of the ‘Pain Body’ – that is (from my understanding), the part of you that holds and keeps safe all the emotional pain throughout your life. This all makes sense. In the same way that you don’t tend to put your hand in a candle flame more than once, you tend to shy away from things that have caused you any emotional pain or stress. As human beings we ‘learn’ through our experiences. But our experiences also hinder us from doing things that, maybe, we should do.

I also, particularly like Echart Tolle’s suggestion that accepting the present is the way forward, for this is what I try to do anyway. In fact, Wiki’s description of the final chapter of A New Earth, seems perfect (for me) as I’m already partly there (although, maybe, only a very tiny part).

‘Tolle’ explains the several ways to finding a more peaceful way to live. There are three stages in the inner consciousness of an individual. The three stages are acceptance, enjoyment, and enthusiasm. Acceptance is when you may not enjoy what you are doing but you have to be able to accept it. This is essentially being able to take responsibility in your life and to take action with certain things that are not enjoyable at all and to find peace within these activities. Enjoyment is the next modality and it is being able to make the present moment a pivotal part of your life. This doesn’t mean that if you want to do something that you will find enjoyment in it. It means that with everything you do that you need to enjoy it in the present; you can’t let the moments pass you by or tell yourself you will enjoy something in the near future. The final modality of the inner consciousness is enthusiasm. Enthusiasm entails that there is a deeper enjoyment in the actions you do and being able to work towards a final goal, with a sense of urgency, but without stress.

Hmm. Perhaps these should be my next two books to read?

Nobel Political Prize?

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Liu Xiaobo is, undoubtedly, an amazing man. In spite of being put in prison and suffering, he continues to ‘fight’ against a regime that he feels should be more democratic. This ‘fight’ to get basic human rights, move towards a democracy, etc., is not something new but he is the latest high-profile figure to do so.

His attempts to change the way that China treats it’s dissidents, is admirable. He does so by non-violent means in an ever-increasingly violent world and against a reportedly violent authority.

He should, indeed, be lauded and treated as a hero, as should anyone standing up for the rights and safety of ordinary citizens, especially if they do so in a non-violent way. I wish I had his courage.

And it is important that the rest of the world recognises his attempts and, one day, one hopes, his achievements.

Alfred Nobel, in his will, declared that a Nobel Peace Prize should be awarded “to the person who shall have done the most or the best work for fraternity between nations, for the abolition or reduction of standing armies and for the holding and promotion of peace congresses”.

Now, although Liu Xiaobo deserves some sort of prize, to me he does not quite fit the profile of a person who should win the Nobel Peace Prize. Only the last part could be said to be fitting but the reason it was awarded to him was, apparently, “for his long and non-violent struggle for fundamental human rights in China”. Again, laudable but not really what the peace prize is for, in my opinion.

The Chinese are outraged and consider that this is a political act. Holding our hands up in horror, I read that it is not the Norwegian government that decides this but, rather, the specially formed Norwegian Nobel Committee. How can the Chinese be so confused?

Maybe they read this!

All the Committee members are or were politicians.

So, not only does it seem that they haven’t picked a person who fits the precise requirements (according to Nobel himself) but, also, they may well have done so, being ex-politicians and all, in full knowledge that this was, in fact, a political act.

A shame really.