Category Archives: Italy

Overall thoughts on Italy and things we do

We go to the vet (and other things)

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I weigh it up in my mind. Emergency or not?

Of course, in reality, one day or two probably won’t make any difference but I am worried.

Just because I’m worried doesn’t make it a real emergency, though, does it?

No but I would absolutely hate for it to be my fault if something bad happened.

So, although it may not be an emergency, they SHOULD have been here and, so, it is an emergency and won’t wait for another day or two.

But let’s step back a bit.

I didn’t leave work early yesterday. Probably because of my undoubtedly-misplaced loyalty. In any event, I left ‘on time’. I parked and went to see about the tyres. The old, miserable guy remembered me. Or remembered the car. I booked. They keep the tyres in their store since I have nowhere to put them – and the store is somewhere else in Milan, so no doing it straight away.

Anyway, I don’t really want it done before Easter. I want good tyres for going up to the lake (for that is where we are going). If it rains a lot, the winter tyres hold the road better.

Then I go to the supermarket. Not my normal supermarket since I need soap and, therefore, I have to go to the horrible supermarket, Unes. It used to be my favourite supermarket until I found the meat wasn’t so good and they kept overcharging me for plastic bags, etc. Now I hate it. But they do the soap that I like and so I have to go there. I try to get round it as fast as I can, not only because I don’t like it but also because I have to take Dino to the vet.

I get my stuff and pay and leave. Back at the car, I put the shopping in and drive the few streets home. Of course, I am later than normal and so there is no parking in my usual street :-(. I drive around a bit and, eventually, park in a dodgy place – on a corner. Ah well, other people do it. Mind you, my normal parking is half-on the pavement in a street where it has a sign showing that cars will be towed away.

But we are in Italy and everyone does the same and, so far, mine has not been towed away. And nor has anyone else’s. So I park in a place that in England would be absolutely illegal and for which you would certainly find you had a big fine – if not that your car had been towed away.

I rush to get cigarettes since I am nearly out.

I rush home and change my shoes and take my tie off and off we go. I notice that Dino now has a cough as well. This is not good :-(

I feel rushed. And hot, even if it isn’t quite so hot. Spring is back with a vengeance – meaning it is cool and overcast and not really that nice. Milan is grey when it’s cloudy. More like Aberdeen (in summer :-) ) than a city near the Mediterranean!

Dino is a bit confused because although we start as normal for our early evening walk, we deviate.

There are a lot of people about which is why, normally, I don’t come down this street. Too many shops and stuff and the pavement is not very wide. It means Dino cannot wee as often as he would like.

As we approach the vet, I see that the shutters seem to be down.

When we get there I see it is closed. I check the opening times on the notice. Yes, they are supposed to be open. There is a motorbike outside and it may be one of the two vets. I try to call the vet number – the phone inside. It rings but no one answers. I look at the notice. There are two mobile numbers to call ‘in an emergency’.

Then I spot another, temporary notice. It explains that they are sorry but the practice is closed this afternoon. In an emergency phone this mobile number – one of the ones on the main notice.

And now we have caught up. I phone the number. I get the not-so-nice-vet. I explain the problem. He is sorry that they are not open. I humpf in my head. I am not happy. It’s a good job I hadn’t come home early especially to take him there. But I don’t say this. I explain he has what seems like a very bad cold.

He asks if he is coughing – except he uses the Italian word for it. Cough is a difficult word for Italians – unsurprising when you consider its spelling to its pronunciation. I explain that he wasn’t until this evening.

He asks if he’s eating. I say that he is – which he is. He says its a virus and common at this time of year. I think it must be Kennel Cough.

Anyway, he asks what I have left over from the time when we had Rufus – as we kept on having lots of pills for him. I say I don’t know and he says I should telephone him and he will advise if anything I have is good for Dino.

I rush home. The chemist will close in just over half an hour and if I need to buy something, I need to do it soon. Of course, I moved a lot of the bandages and plasters and stuff that we used to use with Rufus, into storage above the wardrobes. At least, I hope I did else I don’t know where they all are. And, of course, there’s the bathroom cabinet stuff. Some dog’s stuff might be in there.

I get the stepladder and find the stuff I am looking for in the second box I open. I get the stuff from the bathroom too. It goes onto the kitchen table and I make the call. I don’t have so much, to be honest. I thought I had more. Ah well.

The vet tells me that none of the stuff I have is any good and I must get this other stuff. He should have one pill tonight and one in the morning. Then I should phone him tomorrow. The stuff I am getting is anti-inflammatory.

I rush to the chemist. I get the pills. Dino has one. Or, rather, I shove it to the back of his throat and clamp his jaws shut, massaging his neck so that he swallows.

Last night I was really quite angry with the vet; for being closed; for not being there in MY emergency.

This morning, Dino is much better. He still has the occasional problem but is definitely more lively than the last few days. He didn’t cough at all this morning. And I didn’t get woken up in the night. But I shall take him to the vets this evening, just in case. I am not so angry with the vet now and, anyway, any anger is negated by the fact that the pills seem to have worked.

Cold to ‘Flu to something else?

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My body doesn’t seem to quite be with me, this morning. My legs seem as if they belong to someone else.

My eyes feel sore and, I think, if I were to look in the mirror, I would see them red and puffy.

I want to go home and go to bed. Not that I could. The cleaner will be in now.

And I know that when I DO go home, I have many things to do.

We are going away this weekend – as is usual for Easter. Tonight is my only really ‘free’ night and so I must get some things from the shops; arrange to have my tyres changed from winter to summer; take Dino to the vet.

The last one is a new thing, decided about 4 a.m. this morning.

I am now doubting (a bit) my thoughts I posted earlier about Dino suddenly becoming older and slower. Now I’m not sure that is the reason. Now I’m thinking it could be something else.

It really started the night before last. I heard some strange sounds coming from where he was sleeping. At first I thought he was having a dream but later, confirmed my thoughts, when we went out for a walk and he started again – on the walk. It seemed he had a cold.

Yet, when I am home and during the evening, he seemed alright. He had an ‘attack’ once during the evening.

The ‘attack’ includes him not being able to breathe properly and seeming to suck back the mucus in his nose and then swallowing it. It is all very loud. And sounds quite dreadful – but is just like a bad cold.

I wasn’t unduly worried. Although I couldn’t remember any of my dogs ever having a ‘cold’ before, I thought to myself that it must be possible. After all, we get them and the change in weather may be the key.

Last night F was awake and heard it. He asked me about it. I said it was just a cold. He said he would go to the chemist and try to get something for it. I said OK but make sure it was for dogs – our remedies are just too strong for dogs.

He said that I should take him to the vet. I said I would but only if continued for a few more days like this.

This was about 2.30 this morning after a particularly heavy ‘attack’ when F had got up and switched on the light which then woke me up, of course.

But then, lying there, not sleeping, I got to thinking that it was, indeed, a very strange thing, this ‘cold’. Not only had I not seen it before in my dogs but I couldn’t actually remember any other dogs catching a cold.

So, I thought to myself, what I would do is do a search on the Internet and see if a) they could catch a cold and/or b) what else it could be. I would do it this morning, at work.

Except that I couldn’t get it out of my head. What if something were really wrong? And after a couple more ‘attacks’, I got up.

I would check it now.

Of course, one must be careful not to read the Internet as gospel. One site said that, of course, dogs could catch a cold. Most sites said that, in the sense that we mean a cold, dogs did not catch colds but that it was something more serious.

So that would be no sleep for me then.

I nearly decided to stay at home and go to the vet asap – but then thought that that was quite stupid as nothing would happen in a matter of hours.

However, most sites suggested that the dog would need to be checked by a vet and so it is the thing I will be doing tonight as now, after F’s prodding me, I am a bit worried.

Probably, it is nothing much and a course of antibiotics will fix everything.

But you never know.

One of the causes of this flu/cold symptom is distemper. Although he has been fully vaccinated, one cannot be certain and his booster is due in May. So I have to go. Some of the symptoms include lethargy. Well, he’s certainly been a little lethargic. I put that down to his age and Rufus being gone. Maybe not.

Still, he seems to be eating and drinking OK.

But, you know, better to be safe than sorry, as we say? And I certainly don’t want to be sorry.

I told him this morning, as I woke him, that I would take Dino to the vet this evening.

Later he texted me and asked me why I was doing it when I had said I wouldn’t.

I said it was because Dino had kept me awake all night. There’s no point in worrying him too. I can do the worry for both of us and more.

But, truth be told, I feel like shit right now. I’m sure it’s a lack of sleep but the worrying won’t be helping. Maybe I will leave work a little early? Then I can take him to the vet earlier. Yes, maybe I will?

Of course, if you can’t see the REAL problem(s), what hope is there?

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Italy is going through a period of change, right now. One could say, a period of upheaval. Not unlike most countries,I suppose.

We have what is known as a ‘technical’ government. The Prime Minister and the cabinet members have not been elected. They are here, temporarily, to ‘save’ Italy from the same fate as Greece, Portugal and Ireland. Monti (the PM) has been tasked with introducing reforms. The idea is that he will reduce the amount of government debt and reform the labour market to make Italy more competitive.

At the beginning, like Obama in the USA, he was hailed as the saviour of Italy but it’s now all turning a bit sour – just like it is with Obama.

The latest problem for Monti is his determination to reform the all-important Article 18.

Article 18 is a law that provides for any employee who has been sacked to be reinstated to his old job if judges think he was unfairly sacked.

Apparently, most of the time, the judges tend to side with the ex-employee. This is judged as the reason that Italian companies do not sack workers and why people stay in their jobs for EVER, thus depriving young Italians of a chance to get real, full-time jobs – and youth unemployment is very high here.

In order to ease the situation, some years ago, there was a law introduced making it much easier to hire workers on a contractual basis. It was cheaper for the companies and, of course, was intended that they could ‘try out’ a worker before offering them a full-time job.

But it didn’t really work out. Most employers renewed the contract for a couple of years (the limit) and then let the person go and found someone else just as willing (desperate) to work on a 6-month contract basis for a nice, low salary.

Monti (and many other commentators) seem to believe that, by reforming Article 18 and making it much easier to sack workers (who are bad workers, of course), it will free up the job market, providing employment to the youngsters and getting the Italian economy back on track.

Workers are worried that nasty bosses will just sack workers if their face doesn’t fit. Bosses think that the reforms proposed (enacted?) don’t go far enough.

But, in my opinion, they are all totally wrong.

First, it’s not the problem. And reform is not the solution.

The problem is much more complicated than this. The problem is Italian culture and this won’t be changed by the change in Article 18.

in my experience, certain young people get full-time jobs without a problem. They do this because they are from a wealthy or powerful family and their parents ‘call a favour’. In one case, for one guy to whom I used to teach English, his father simply created an Estate Agency and put him in charge. Making money was not really its major concern. Giving his son something to do, was!

Take the company I work for. Many people who work here are related. Cousins, wives, husbands, etc. It’s the way it works. Jobs are ‘found’ for people’s relatives. People ask if ‘you know anywhere that is looking for a xxx’.

Sure, it can be similar in the UK but here it is more so.

But it’s not just that. My first landlady here decided she wanted to ‘change her life’ a bit. She wanted a different kind of job. She was in the chemical industry. She thought she wanted to move into the Energy industry with a focus on renewable energy. In the UK, to change one’s career drastically, like this, is not really a major problem. Here it is virtually impossible.

She spent a year or more getting the qualifications that she needed. Then she found some work. On a temporary contract. The problem here is that people will look at your previous employment and, if it is not exactly relevant, will, quite often, dismiss it. It is very hard to change career. In the end, because it was just too difficult, she went back to the chemical industry. She didn’t have any other choice. And the only reason she was able to do it in the first place was because she had rich parents to support her. She’s mid-30s, btw.

Changing your career is simply not done here. Any skills you have obtained become almost worthless if you try to move out of your field. Getting another job in the same field is difficult enough – getting one out of your field is nigh-on impossible – unless, of course, you have the right connections!

Then there is the financial incentive given to employers to take on people under short-term contracts. They get to pay less tax and NI (National Insurance). Why take on someone full-time when you save money by taking them on a contract basis?

And, in addition, I don’t entirely believe that employers don’t sack people because of Article 18 and the judges, apparently, favouring the employee. I think there is a deep-seated fear of confrontation. Employers don’t want to confront employees. Everyone here wants an easy life.

Even here, in my company, there are numerous instances where employees appear to ‘take the piss’. Sometimes, something is said. But then everything just goes back to the way it was before.

And, remember, I used to employ many people – so I’m not predisposed to come down on one side or the other.

The worst thing about this whole thing is the belief by Monti and many commentators that changing Article 18 will be the magic wand that a) brings young people into employment and b) gives a kick-start to the Italian economy.

It is my opinion that neither of these things will happen with the reform of Article 18. It is a red herring and will change nothing.

Monti and his gang are a group of economists/bankers, etc. Look where they’ve got us so far! It’s like putting the prisoners in charge of the jail.

One day, people will wake up but with the false promises about the labour reforms that Monti is putting in place, this is likely to turn out the same way as Obama in the States. People will be disillusioned but everything will continue just the same. Except that, maybe, Italy will lose something important along the way.

I don’t see a good outcome, unfortunately.

Gripping something untenable

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Well, as you know, I have opinions. They’re mine, of course. That is, they are part of me and won’t really change although they can become modified depending on circumstances or logic.

So, I was reading this from that dreadful newspaper and I find myself with my opinions again.

I don’t really understand why someone would go to court to try to KEEP someone who, quite obviously, doesn’t actually want to be with them.

I mean to say, I know it’s painful. Good grief, I’ve been there! But, sometimes, you just have to let go. Every time, I am reminded of something a once-good friend told me. Previously, he had ‘gone off’ with a younger model. I had warned him not to. However, after a time away he wanted to come back. I warned them both (him and his wife) that the only way it would work is for there to be no resentment (imho an impossible thing) – and so they got back together.

At the end, he went back to her because she, to all intents and purposes, had blackmailed him into going back. It was all so sad to watch and be part of. She, desperately unwilling to let him go.

And, then, years later, he confessed that he didn’t have a happy life.

She had wanted him back at all costs. But the balance had changed and they were now two different people. In fact, it was because of this whole thing that he is a “once-good” friend. He used me in a way that was unforgivable.

Years later still and I told him.

He hadn’t realised. But then he realised that it was true. I left them both before I would get to hate them for what they did (for they both used me).

We had, as the common phrasing has it, moved on. Or, rather, I had.

The thing is that the woman in the article and me and my once-good friend and his wife must all realise that we don’t actually OWN people. We can own a house or a car but we don’t own a living being. Sure, we say we own our pet but it’s not actually true. Its life is its own and, although they have less choice than us, they can share it in a good or a bad way. It’s just that, with pets, they tend to share it in a good way.

After all, we (pets and people) don’t speak to each other (in spite of what F says) and that’s probably half the battle. The problem with people is that we speak and, often, speak the wrong words at the wrong time. We also make things up in our heads (as to what someone thinks or what they meant when they said something) – and, of course, it may not be true at all.

We see what we want to see. Hear what we want to hear. Believe what we have already told ourselves.

Another friend once told me that relationships tend to finally break up some two years after the start of the breakup. My experience is this is true – both for partners and friends. It takes a couple of years for one or both to realise it’s finished. We cling on, hoping that somehow things will change, even as we know that they won’t.

I was with V for over 20 years and it all ended in seconds. And, yet, when I look back, it had started to break a couple of years before. And I knew it then, for we had a conversation, walking down the road, that I remember very well. I was trying to warn him. I failed, of course. And then, two years later or so, even after those few seconds of realisation, it took another 6 months (one could say a year or more) before it became properly ended.

And I can blame him, of course. But there are two of us. And, we are equally to blame.

And then I read this, from Gail.

I can’t reply to Gail directly, sorry, Gail. I too feel bad for her and how saddening it is for her but this is life. Maybe it has nothing to do with Gail and all to do with her friend – but, unfortunately, it probably has something to do with Gail too. There! No one else will say that, I know.

As with my once-good friend. After all, I was used but, to be honest, I could have saved our friendship by stepping away from being used. So my fault too, really.

And, anyway, I’m not stupid enough to think that it is all someone else’s fault. It rarely is and I don’t really do the ‘blame culture’ thing that we all seem to do now.

So, I’m sorry for the woman in the article – but sorrier that she couldn’t let it go. I am truly sorry for Gail, whom I consider a friend, but she is letting it go and I think that is correct. Maybe, in years to come, she will come to understand or be told, why. Maybe not. Either way, one must try to keep the good memories – much the same as when someone dies – don’t remember the last part for that is usually too sad – remember the good things that you had over the years. For the good things are what made the two of you be together all that time.

And, even if I write about V from time to time, there are things about him that I liked (that I still like, for underneath it all he is still the same) and I will remember those things with fondness.

And, like I always say, Gail, all these things seem to work out right in the end, even if we don’t see it right away.

But we don’t own people and neither can we understand the things that go on in their head – which may be false but we cannot help that. And for that reason, when it comes time to stop, then stop we must, for to try and hold on to something untenable is painful for us in so many ways.

And so my once-good friend and his wife stay together and, probably, try to snatch some moments of happiness in a situation that shouldn’t be. That’s got to be a sadder situation, hasn’t it? Like gripping a crumbling rockface when everyone else can see it about to come off in your hands.

More like late spring than early spring.

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Although it is officially only just spring, it’s rather nice weather. Later in April, say, this would be normal weather. At this time in March, it’s less usual. It is warm and sunny and has been, now, for several days.

So the walks to the park in the last couple of days have been rather pleasant.

Dino gets lots of exercise (I take a ball) and, so, is exhausted by the time we get back.

Yesterday was a bit different in that A came with us and we went for a beer afterwards.

All in all, lovely.

All growed up?

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Of course, it could just be me but he does seem different.

A bit quieter. I mean to say, he still has his mad moments, still plays with the toys (always picking out the newest toys – carefully selecting them from the huge basket that, since F has been with us, is almost overflowing – and by ‘selecting’, he really does choose which one, taking a few moments to pick out one of the latest even if they are not on the top), still getting overexcited when F walks through the door, etc., etc.

But definitely a bit quieter. We were at the cafe this morning for breakfast. F had taken him for his morning walk and we met up there. Sure, he was pleased to see me but sat once I had sat. Watched for F as he went in to get breakfast and then remained sitting whilst we ate and drank.

Other dogs now are not necessarily so interesting unless they are female in which case his nose is often pressed right on their behind so that they look like two dogs joined together. Not all females. Just some. A suggests that this is because he is an Italian dog. I think it’s because he is a dog. But I can’t argue with A because that would just annoy me since logic is not his forte, even if he is an engineer – at least when it comes to things Italian.

No, it’s as if he is all grown up.

For me it’s not only his age but also because, now that Rufus has gone, he is not the little puppy anymore.

Or maybe it’s both.

But he has turned out, as I predicted, to be the best dog I’ve ever had. Not quite perfectly behaved all the time but, dammit, near enough and the only things he does wrong now (like his tendency to jump up) are because F encourages him to do it.

Yep, he is all growed up now.

And Creme Eggs! A picture post.

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This follows on from my last post. I also really fancy a Cadbury’s Creme Egg and, since some of my readers didn’t know about Hot Cross Buns and, almost certainly, won’t have ever heard of a Creme Egg, here are pictures of both:

Cadbury's Creme Eggs - yum, yum

Cadbury's Creme Eggs - yum, yum

Hot-Cross-Buns

In addition, some readers wanted pictures of the all-important birthday party and so, here they are:

When I walked in through the front door, there were balloons on the ceiling –

balloons on ceiling

balloons on ceiling

balloons on ceiling2

balloons on ceiling2

……….and a banner –

happy birthday banner

happy birthday banner

………. and, of course there was the cake with the candle. Note the carefully placed bits of the ‘cake’ as decoration around the cake itself :-)

birthday cake

birthday cake

……….. and cake with the birthday boy quite eager (in spite of the candle flame) to get his mouth on it –

birthday cake and dino

birthday cake and dino

……… and the birthday boy looking out from under the table –

the birthday boy

the birthday boy

And, finally, although the balloons were up on the ceiling on Friday night, by Saturday morning they had started to drop and by Saturday night, most were on the floor and so a compromise was made with clusters of them all over the flat! –

more birthday balloons

more birthday balloons

And, there you have it. I hope you enjoyed the pictures of the birthday party.

Walking through the city that I love.

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I must admit, it didn’t seem quite right. Of course, it had crossed my mind earlier, before I set out. And, so, I should have checked, I suppose. Still, I had mentioned ‘showroom’ and nothing was said to make me think otherwise.

In fact, when I had asked, earlier, if he would like to come with us for a walk, I had assumed he would be going that way anyway. He had said ‘no’ since he had many things to do. In a way, that was a shame, in that I would have found out that he wasn’t going to the showroom after all!

Unfortunately, I was a little late setting out. And there wasn’t a bus coming. But I knew that, if I walked, I could be there by about 7.30, so that was only half an hour after it started and that was OK. I walked. Eventually, at one of the stops I saw that the bus was coming and waited. Three stops later and I was off.

I don’t particularly like that part of town. It always seems so dark, so dead. I got to the gates – painted especially mimicking something that a graffiti artist would do, thereby making graffiti pointless. It works. Also it is quite stylish.

The gates were closed. I rang the bell. As I rang the bell, I thought that, quite obviously, I was at the wrong place. For certain, with something this important, the gate would be open and I would hear sounds of partying or, at least, sounds of people, etc.

I text him, asking if it was at the shop but not really expecting an answer since it would be unlikely he would have his phone on or with him. Still, if it were to be at the shop, then I would be very late and, maybe, he would check his phone and see where I was. Or where I had been.

I ring the bell a second time. There seem to be lights on, from what I can make out over the hight wall and gates – but, still, I am sure I am at the wrong place.

Now this is nowhere near the shop. The shop will take a while to get to. I think about a taxi but decide I can’t really justify the expense. If it had not been for him, at this point I would have just gone home. But I can’t let him down and I know he wanted me there.

Luckily, I have a general map of Milan in my head, including most public transport. I can get to the Duomo (cathedral), I think and from there I can walk – it’s not so far.

But first I need to walk back the way that I came – the other side of the park that Dino and I had been playing in a few hours before.

At first I was going to walk straight up the road then I realised it would be quicker to go diagonally, through the park. Well, when I say quicker, easier to catch a tram. I thought I would take a number 12 or 27 as I was sure they were the ones. They didn’t take me to the centre but it would do. It would have to do. It wasn’t so far to walk to the centre. Then I remembered that I could change and take a tram number 23 which would take me to a delightful little square just behind the Duomo. The park that I’m walking through is quite nice in the darkness (although there is no real darkness since we are in the city. So it is more shadows of darkness, some darker than others). There are few people about. A couple of couples, intertwined as young lovers often are in Italy – after all, they seem to have nowhere else to go! A few people walking their dogs. A group of three young lads one of whom is holding the lead to a rather small white fluffy dog which takes away from their swagger as it’s more of a lap dog. I smile. To myself, obviously.

But it’s beautiful in the park with its shades of darkness. It makes me think of Twilight (even if I’ve never seen the thing). It makes me think of summer (even if it’s not as warm so as to be wearing just a T-shirt). It’s that kind of smoky darkness you get at twilight in the summer. It’s why it’s also called dusk, I guess. Dusky.

I got to the stop. Earlier, when Dino and I were coming back from the park, there had been an accident. A tram had run into a car. I had heard the bang from the park and thought it must have been an accident. It doesn’t happen that often and still amazes me when it does. I don’t believe that the tram ran into the stationary car but that the car had tried to turn left, crossing in front of the tram, thinking that he could ‘get away with’ the manoeuvre – except he didn’t. Stupid.

Now there was no sign of the accident. I get to the tram stop and walk a little further down to check on the trams or buses that stop here. I am in luck! A number 73 bus, from Linate airport also stops here. I had forgotten about that option. This takes me right to San Babila and so is a much better choice.

And even more lucky! The bus is nearly here. The bus is packed as it always is, coming from the airport. I can’t believe it has taken them so long to make a metro from Linate. Well, it’s still not finished but at least now it’s under construction!

As we near San Babila, I look out of the window of the bus and see, above the buildings, the Duomo, there, in all it’s glory, floodlit and beautiful (well, if you take the plastic wrapping off the tower that holds the larger-than-life, golden Madonna). I catch my breath. It can still do that to me!

I get off the bus and walk over the square in San Babila. I think about V and how much we loved this city and realise that I still do. It fills me with an excitement that is impossible to describe. It has a beauty and a liveliness that I have found only in one other city, Istanbul (even San Babila with its modern buildings all around – its shops). There are people with bags – bags from designer shops, there are people making their way to dinner, or the cinema, or the theatre, or home, of course. The city is alive and I like it a lot.

I walk down Via Montenapoleone (one of the main designer shopping streets in Milan). I notice windows more now, given that it’s F’s job. I like the window in Louis Vuitton. They have large arrows as if on a target, in a circle, around a bag. The fletches are the same colour for each window, but a different colour between windows. I don’t know what it’s supposed to mean, as such, but it’s pretty and inspiring at the same time. Like a work of art.

I notice that some of the other shops are no longer impressive to me, with their window displays. I am affected (or should that be infected) by F and what he does. I am less interested in the actual clothes or bags than I am in the displays! I pause in front of Iceberg. They were my favourite designers. I quite like a jacket there. Sometimes, I wish I had the money to shop there like I used to but that’s just a fleeting thought. Clothes, after all, are not that important, it’s how you wear them that’s the key.

The street is not full but the people there are mostly tourists. Maybe they’re too frightened to come there during the day? Frightened they will be made to purchase something that’s too expensive or that they will look out of place walking down there when the shops are open?

Still, I enjoy walking down the street. I want to tell them that I live here, that this place is my home. I am happy to live here. No, even proud! I imagine their envy, even if it’s not for everyone (even for most Italians). Still, it’s a city that I love and I like to be reminded that I love it – and not just because I’m with F. And it does feel like home (which it is) even if I would happily live in the country again. But I may only have this short time here, in this city, so I have to savour every moment.

At the end of the street, I turn right and reach the shop. Even if F has not replied to my text, it is obviously right. Whilst all the shops are now closed, there are people outside this one, having a fag, talking, etc.

It’s a special thing to launch a range of spectacle and sunglasses frames. Of course, I know a lot of people there. Well, the people that work for the company. They are all, of course, very nice to me. F is pleased to see me and I explain what happened.

It’s like an upmarket cocktail party. There are drinks (prosecco and wine) and nibbles, being served around the shop by waiters. Finger food, aperitivo food. When I try some, eventually, it’s nice. As I would expect, really.

I wander about a bit, not wanting to be in F’s way as he is, or should be, working. Saying hello and chatting with clients many of whom he knows, of course.

Someone comments on the jumper he’s wearing. It’s a simple grey v-neck. He tells them it’s from Zara and that I had bought it for Christmas. This is true but I only recognise it now, when he’s said it. He did seem particularly pleased with it and, obviously, he really is. That makes me happy. Also, I am happy that, even if I’m not in this business, I can do something so right.

He finds me a little later. He puts frames on me. He favours one that is a pale grey. I prefer one that is a dark blue. He says that the lighter one suits me. This time, I think, I shall listen to advice since I am always better pleased later.

But since I like the darker frames, later still, with a group of colleagues around me, we have the frames put on me again and people nodding their heads or shaking it giving their sage advice as to what looks best.

Apart from me and one other person, they side with F. I guess my next pair will be light grey frames then?

The party finishes and most people leave. F had told me that he has to re-do the shop for tomorrow. It has to be done now because tomorrow (today as I write this) he is in Germany for a week. I thought it was going to take a long time but before 10 he is finished and we go home.

As soon as I got home, I took off my shoes since my feet were killing me. I had done a lot of walking in shoes that I don’t wear so much now. Still, the walk both through the park and the city itself were worth it, reaffirming as it did, my feeling for this city. And I’m not even a city person!

Er, Happy birthday, I suppose.

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4

Saturday sees a very important birthday.

Apparently.

I am told.

There will be presents. There will be cake.

Apparently.

He is more excited about this birthday than about his own.

For it is the birthday of Dino.

Apparently, even if he has more toys than are needed for a hundred dogs, there must be more toys.

So, he said to me the other evening, “We shall eat at home on Saturday night, so as to spend more time with the bambino”

Since then, I have been thinking about what to do. As you know, cooking for F is not easy as he won’t eat meat (unless it is minced).

Last night he told me that he has bought everything for us to eat on Saturday night.

“Why did you do that?”, I asked.

“Because you always cook”, came the reply.

Except I don’t – as I told him. In fact, I almost never cook these days.

Anyway, I looked on the internet (one must get into the spirit of these things – at least a little bit) for a recipe for a ‘dog’s cake’ and, perhaps unsurprisingly, I found one. It contains bananas. I never knew that bananas were OK for dogs. You learn something every day.

I will also have to buy something – but I know exactly what I shall buy – if I can find it.

And so, Saturday we shall be celebrating a birthday like no other before now.

Apparently.

Never going back (unfortunately).

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2

Walk down any High Street in the UK and, more or less, you could be walking down any High Street in any UK city.

What’s wrong with that?

Positively, it means that, wherever you go in the UK, you can be sure there will be the same shops. It means that, if you buy something in, say, Nottingham, it’s more than likely you can buy the same thing in Exeter. This is a good thing, right?

Well, yes, of course. And also no.

The High Street is filled with the same shops everywhere. Individual shops, local to a town or small region have all but disappeared. It means that economies of scale can apply – the big shops buy larger amounts so can get better prices which, hopefully, they pass on to the consumer.

I remember when we first came here. I was shocked but delighted to see shops that weren’t the same in every town. How refreshing it was to find a small, independent jewellers, a stationary shop that had something different or unusual, etc? It was a little like when we went to live in North West Herefordshire and went shopping in Kington.

It’s a treasure that one should guard lovingly. Of course, in every major town there are streets full of High Street names, but mixed with them and in many side streets off them are the small shops. Let’s take cake shops as an example. Go to the UK and there’s Greggs. Probably there are some others but Greggs comes to mind. Greggs is in every town. Everything is ‘freshly made’. Everything is ‘the same’. You go to Greggs because you know what you’re going to get.

Here it’s not like that. Each cake shop (maybe with a café as well) produces their own stuff. Cakes are different. Some cakes you won’t get anywhere else. There’s a risk, of course, that you won’t like what they’ve made. There’s also the risk that it will be a unique experience and will be the most divine thing you’ve ever tasted – like my local cake shop does zeppole. However, I am informed (by F) that these are not quite the same as normal zeppole. They are not deep fried (as is common) but baked. They have ones filled with custard and ones filled with cream. If we choose them, we usually have one of each.

The UK used to be more like this but then it all changed. Competition was everything and, gradually, for convenience and, originally, price, we chose to use the big supermarkets and the national bakers, etc. And, so, the result is a High Street that is homogeneous and, to be frank, boring as hell.

And now Italy is going down the same road. People here don’t realise what it will mean. It means that the small shops will close. It means that all towns will look the same. We will have to buy what everyone else buys because there will, in the end, be less choice – well, less real choice.

Of course, it’s being sold as ‘opening up the markets’ and the arguments are made that everyone will benefit. But, in reality it will mean that big business gets to own the market and the benefit will be, in a word, ‘grey’ – i.e., the same things sold everywhere.

I find that I can’t put into words what this change really means. But I’m not sure that the free market is actually worth the loss of what Italy has now (and what the UK HAD about 30 or more years ago).

Sure, it would be nice to buy aspirin and stuff at the supermarket. It would be nice that shops were always open. But that ‘nice’ is tempered by the fact that, as a result of allowing this to happen, we shall lose something that is most precious.

It’s not that I don’t want change or that change is bad. It’s not that I even like the rules and regulations here. It’s more that I don’t want to see, here, what happened to the UK. Nothing is perfect but I am fearful that Italy’s ‘localisation’ will be lost forever and it’s something I would not like to see.

After all, once the small places are gone, they are gone forever – there’s no going back.

Joni sang all that needs to be said:


(Joni Mitchell – Big Yellow Taxi)