Incredible.
I mean to say, compare now with a couple of weeks ago.
Now, no T-shirt, no jumper, no scarf, hat, thermal socks. I’m thinking about sandals and the beach!
The sky is blue – but so blue – the windows are open.
It reminds me of why I just love living here. OK, so it’s a bit chilly at night (you need a jacket, at least) but soon it will be too hot to wear anything but sandals, shorts and a T-shirt – even in the middle of the night.
And it makes me very happy.
We have no internet connection. This was written on 20th but will, probably, be posted on the 21st.
So, what to do?
Not a lot, it seems.
Last night I had a terrible night. Ambulances or fire engines seemed to go past once an hour, waking me up, not because of them, particularly, but just like a mother can hear her baby crying, these sirens presage the howling. The howling is loud, seemingly louder than the sirens themselves and so, to stop it, one must call Dino over.
The first time it happened, about 1 a.m., after quieting Dino down, I got up, for I was thirsty. After a drink I came back to bed but couldn’t sleep even though I was awfully tired. I switched on the TV and flicked through the channels hoping to find something so mind-numbingly boring (and by that I mean something where the voices were rather subdued and flat) that I would fall asleep immediately.
I came across something that was just amazing. It was for something called Edortex or Erosex or something. At first I thought it was for a blow-up doll but after staying on it for a few moments, from what I could make out it was a whole program (although I didn’t stay on it long) about some miracle natural medicine that could make a man ‘a man’ again!
At one point they went to a ‘live’ studio discussion. The presenter (a well-endowed, blonde woman) introduced the first ‘real’ person in the studio. He was a plumber. He stood up when introduced and came to stand beside her extolling the difference this wonderful elixir had made for him.
Except he was not some bloke they had picked up off the street. He was, most definitely, an actor. He probably had never even changed a washer in a tap! He played to the camera with the measured tones of someone reading a script.
I just wondered if he included it in his ‘portfolio’ when he went for other acting jobs?
Even if he did, I wouldn’t have given him a part on this basis. It was truly dreadful acting. But, then, it seemed a truly dreadful program and I guess all the good actors weren’t so interested.
I also wondered what the casting advert for this job was like?
On second thoughts, perhaps he felt he had to act badly so as to ensure that no one thought it was really him saying that without this wonderful product he wasn’t a real man?
As I have mentioned in some other post or posts, there is a prostitute who ‘works’ a corner just near where I live.
She always say ‘Hi, puppy!’ when we go past. (BTW, she’s talking to Dino at that point, not me 
). We say Hi to each other and I mumble something about the weather (especially recently as it’s been so cold, poor thing). I don’t know where’s she’s from. She is very tall and has legs right up to her bum. But I don’t really know much about her except that she is, undoubtedly, a prostitute.
I don’t have a big problem with it, in as much as I’m not interested and I do feel kinda sorry for her in that, as a career choice (if she has any choice), it wouldn’t rate as a fabulous choice imho.
But this is a profession that’s very, very old and, at least, it’s direct and to the point. I.e. you want sex, you pay for it.
Whereas, this, apparently, is most definitely NOT!
Obviously.
I mean, even where there are men saying they’ll fork out thousands of dollars a month, the terms and conditions explicitly state:
Please take note that we prohibit anyone from promoting illegal activities (such as prostitution) or commercial activities of any kind in their profile or in messages sent on the site and if such conduct comes to our attention we reserve the right to, amongst other things, remove you from our website and ban you permanently.
So, there you are. Not prostitution. Nor anything like it. Obviously.
Perhaps I should write down the url and give it to my lady friend from the corner?
In the meantime, I met this next lady once, in the street, in Milan. And she smiled at me. But she’s really tiny and not a prostitute, unlike my lady-from-the-corner friend.
(Tina Turner – What’s Love Got To Do With It?)
I mean, it’s so much better, isn’t it?
The Brits, who as F rightly says, are quite arrogant, think they have the best TV in the world. They scoff at American ‘crap’ (even though we all watch it); we used to have Eurotrash, taking the piss out of those horrendous foreign TV shows – our shows are just so ‘classy’.
I don’t go for Italian TV much. Not least because I don’t understand it all and so it is not really relaxing.
So, if I’m in the UK, I can’t wait to watch a bit of decent TV.
Except ………..
I get to the hotel about 5. I remember the news is on at 6 but it’s too late to go into Birmingham (which was my original intention) and so I lie down on the bed and switch the TV on.
I flick through some channels. There’s some kid’s stuff but most of the main channels have game shows. I’ve heard of some of them. The Usual Suspects. I’ve read about that, so I linger on that. What a pile of trash it is. Then there’s Deal/No Deal with the great Noel Edmundson (that was a joke – the ‘great’ bit). I’m watching this with some disbelief since it is, in fact, an English version of some show over here. Which is also mind-numbingly dreadful – I mean I have watched it because I can understand it – and if I can understand it, it has to be of fairly low quality.
Then there’s the news. I was addicted to the news when I lived in the UK. Now, it seems too shallow, too much in the way of soundbites, too sensational ……. or quite dumb.
In the past when I’ve been back to the UK, I’ve watched it but this time I realised that every time, without fail, it just disappoints me.
Great TV? No, it’s not great TV. It’s the same as TV the world over. Shallow and pointless and, to be frank, boring. We used to sit in front of the television for hours. It was one of the reasons I never got satellite TV over here. I didn’t want to spend my whole life in front of the box. And now, after time without TV (if you see what I mean), it’s just so very disappointing.
I admit to being a little apprehensive.
Amongst other reasons it’s the flying. I mean I love to fly – I just don’t like all the security and time-wasting crap that goes on, as I have mentioned before. It makes me anxious. Really it’s about the most horrible people doing all this. I mean to say, sometimes they are nice but often they are not nice and sometimes downright rude.
Then there is the going to the UK. I find myself disappointed, usually, these days. Disappointed with the people, the weather, the food, even the coffee. Of course, it’s not ‘home’ any more, which, for certain is part of it.
Then there is the meeting with people who I haven’t seen for at least four years – some even more than that. It’s not that being with them again is the problem it’s the different circumstances. I relied on V to remind me who all these people were. This time, I will have to rely on my own memory.
Not for all of the people, of course.
Then there is the ‘what to say’ thing.
Indeed, what to say?
I will be asked how I am. For some, it won’t be enough for me to say ‘Fine, thanks’. But, how far to go? I don’t know that they want to hear ‘Fantastic! Never been better’, or some such thing. But it will be difficult to keep it in check.
And, then, of course, there is V. Since I have no idea (well, very little) on the reality of his situation, I guess that much of what he will say will be bullshit. And, even if it weren’t to be bullshit, I would think it were so, which is a great shame.
Still, there is the slight concern that he will want to get back together again. And I don’t want to be cruel or hurtful but, quite obviously, there would be no chance of that, even if I weren’t with F now.
So, although I am looking forward to the party, I am very much looking forward to Saturday evening, when I will be back home and it will all be over and all the things that have worried me will be in the past.
Yes, I am a little anxious. But I guess it will all be OK really.
The weather.
It’s a bit cold.
I’m writing this post because, this morning, whilst chatting with someone over in the USA, they asked how bad it all was over here as they have an idea that people are dropping dead like flies.
Whereas, of course, people are NOT walking around and then suddenly dropping dead because of the cold. The people who are dying are the old and vulnerable. Homeless people, for example. And, whilst it’s not a good thing, of course, it’s something that happens every year.
I was asked about the lack of heating – apparently it is being implied that we have or are running out of fuel. Well, maybe we ARE running out but it doesn’t feel like it.
And, yes, we have had some snow. Just for a couple of days. It didn’t close everything although things were more difficult, of course. And, like most winters, it is cold – in the minus degrees (C) range and it may be lower than usual – but only by a few degrees.
It’s not Armageddon. Life is continuing. There seem to be no shortages in the shops. The restaurants seem emptier but, given the cold weather, I hesitate to go out too.
Dino, on the other hand, adores this. We have found a new game. I kick blocks of ice (the size of small stones) around the dog area and he chases them. This morning, there was a larger than usual block. When we came to leave the dog area, he decided he wanted to take it home. So he proudly carried it all the way home. However, at the front door to the building, I decided he would have to drop it so I opened his mouth and out dropped a piece of ice as small as a pea. It made me laugh. From the way he had held himself all the way back, I had assumed it was still quite big.
Last night I went out for an aperitivo, to celebrate FfI’s birthday.
She chose to have it at the Armani Hotel, near the centre of Milan.
They’ve taken months and months building this hotel on top of their superstore (although I understand the correct term is now ‘flagship’ store).
It’s plush, of course. And chic, I suppose. And, I expect, expensive.
We are in the bar. Or, maybe it’s the lounge. It has a ‘smoking room’ – which is, actually, a smoking corridor. Still, smoking permitted nonetheless.
Everything is creamy leather. The ceiling is several stories above me. The huge windows have, as their background, the Duomo – all lit up and looking beautiful. It seems like a posh-hotel bar and could, in fact, be anywhere in the world.
I was the first to arrive (after FfI). We sat and chatted. Eventually, just as I was getting a bit fed up with waiting for something to drink and thinking of going to the bar, someone came to take my order. I ordered. There were about 4 serving staff who were anything but rushed off their feet. And one barman, who seemed busy.
After about 20 minutes, FfI’s boyfriend arrived with his son and girlfriend. Then some friends. More drinks were ordered. I was still waiting for my drink.
Then FfI’s daughter arrived with her friend. The drinks arrived. I’d been waiting for about 40 minutes.
Nibbles had been served on several occasions whilst awaiting drinks. They were OK. All nouvelle cuisine and no substance, really.
To be honest, however much it cost, it was a waste of money. Appearance is everything at these places. Poor service is tolerated because, let’s be frank, you’re not really there for the drinks but rather to be seen.
Go, if you’re a fan of Armani. Go somewhere else if you want an enjoyable time and getting your order within about 20 minutes. In fact, go anywhere else.
I’ve mentioned before now about the strange things that Italians believe in and how funny I find it.
I was in the process of writing a crap post but, at lunchtime, I was given the opportunity to write about something else.
A colleague, who originates from the South of Italy was asking another colleague about whether the chilli pepper (that he and a lot of Southern Italians sprinkle on most of their food) was bad for you. He was informed that it was not bad for you but black pepper was.
I couldn’t help but laugh. But, I was told that the doctors say this. “Which doctors? Where?”, I asked.
“All doctors, everywhere”, came the reply. I was astounded. I was certain that doctor’s in the UK did not say this and, in fact, that there were health benefits to using black pepper and said so.
“Yes, but you drive on the left”, came one person’s comment – said in jest, I have to add.
However, I had to check. I do know many Italians (including F) who dislike black pepper here. But this was the first time that I had heard of it being bad for your health.
A check on Google both for the health benefits and the possible harm of black pepper confirmed what I thought – although it MAY irritate your stomach, it is (they say) good for your digestive system. Obviously, eating it by the spoonful wouldn’t be advisable but, overall, as I suspected, there is simply nothing wrong with black pepper.
Of course, I am unable to compete with the ‘doctors say’ line from an Italian and have to admit defeat on this one. I will never be able to convince her that she is simply wrong and listening to old wives tales.
What I want to know is, where the hell do they get their ideas from? Anyone know?
It may be that, although I am writing this, it is too ‘disturbing’ to post. We shall see. If I post it, I shall leave this bit in and warn you that you may choose not to read it, which is fine by me. At least you will understand that I was, in some way, reluctant to post it but feel that it should be posted.
I have a piece of advice.
Don’t go and open the box unless you’re sure you want to know. Sometimes (often), once open, the box can never be closed.
And I’m not talking about the box on the table in my lounge, here.
This piece of advice has come to mind a few times over the last few days. It first (in my memory) applied to a friend who was thinking about embarking on an affair. I suggested that it wasn’t a wise thing to do. I said that, once he had done it, there was no going back and that he would stand a chance of dying a lonely, unhappy old man.
He opened the box anyway. He’s still with his wife but, so he has said, unhappy. I predict that he will, whilst not ‘lonely’ in terms of having no people round him, die a lonely, unhappy old man with the regret that he did, in fact, open the box.
V did the same, imagining that the thing inside the box was fabulous. Of course, there is always a chance that the thing inside IS fabulous! I hope it is for him.
And there is another person who desperately wants to open the box. She’s been married for many, many years. She recently went with her husband and some friends to a big bar/club where older people, of between 30 – 60, go when they are single, to find that perfect someone to love. She said it was sad but wants to go again – and go to another. The friends she was with had met at this place and the woman confided in her that she misses the place and comes back when she can. I said that it was dangerous for her to go, given other circumstances surrounding her age and her marriage (although I didn’t add that bit).
This is just like I told her it was dangerous to go sniffing around on Facebook. Instead, she got an account and went sniffing anyway. Unfortunately, having not been able to find what she wanted, it has not taken any of the distress away, since she thinks (and possibly rightly so) that it is there but she is not been able to check because of security settings on people’s accounts.
This morning, she had a row with her husband. After staying awake all night (thinking about it all). I don’t know the details but I know (from a conversation she had with someone else) that it has to do with Facebook and something that has been happening for a year (they were both 50 last year and that was a cause for a mid-life crisis for both of them).
But, sometimes, in life, it’s better to turn a blind eye and not open the box. Knowledge is not, necessarily, a good thing. Sometimes less knowledge is better.
I tried to ignore my knowledge but during the last four years with V it became more and more difficult and, eventually, impossible.
This is, of course, not a new thing. Pandora’s Box was all about this, in effect. The apple and the serpent were another version of the box. So this dilemma is as ‘old as the hills’. I’ve done it myself and am fortunate that everything turned out OK in the end. Well, at least for me.
But, I’m watching this woman do the same and know that a probable result will not make her happier. She becomes more intrigued and more determined to find things out, the more her knowledge grows. Or is it that she has the knowledge but not the confirmation? Maybe it’s the confirmation? Either way, I think she should leave well alone.
Our curiosity and/or inability to have faith in someone else leads us to open the box. And, opening the box does not always make us happy.
So, if I had my time over again, would I have opened the box (actually several boxes)? For me, yes, because it led me here. In general, I wouldn’t advise others to do it – unless they are really prepared for the consequences. For certain, if I had not opened those boxes I would not be here now. And, maybe I would have been happier but I can’t see how I could be happier than now.
But, then, as I’ve said many times. I am a very lucky person.
I give you my favourite singer/songwriter who, quite possibly feels the same as me 
Joan Armatrading – I’m Lucky