Thes – Old English for "this", neuter of thes, of West Germanic origin: Mediolanum – old name for Milan: Lif – Old English for "life", of Germanic origin; related to Dutch lijf, German Leib 'body'
We’re still talking about it but it seems the fish is off.
The decision was made by F going and ordering lasagne – a meat ragù lasagne. Also with a little more information that I learnt the other day. He can eat (even likes?) veal. So, following the information about the ordering of the lasagne and the revelation that all meat is NOT a no-go area, as I was shopping last night, I checked, and they do rolled veal – for roasting.
So, I suggested that, if he would like, I could do a sort of English Sunday Roast – but, instead of beef, use veal (since it is the same meat, after all). And, so, unless there is a change of heart, that is going to be our Christmas dinner. I am very happy about that. I am, after all, a meat eating (and loving) person. We will also have Yorkshire Pudding with it. It will be the first time I’ve ever done Yorkshire Pudding for Christmas Day
The discovery of veal being OK also opens up so many more possibilities.
Perhaps, he has just said it for my benefit. I don’t really know. It is a possibility. We shall see if he eats it.
p.s. Yes, I don’t understand why you would pull a face at the mention of goose – and, yet, be more than happy to eat chicken or, worse, veal! Makes absolutely no sense to me and I really do think it’s just stuck in his head. Bless him.
One of my colleagues at work, M, talks to me, daily, about the latest ‘revalations’ regarding the ‘Mafia’ here, in Italy (and here I am using Mafia in the general sense, covering all the different groups). Just the other day, he informed me, Paderno Dugnano was a ‘hotbed’ of Italian Mafia (in this case the Ndrangheta, from Calabria) – who had made it their Lombardy headquarters. It would be similar to them making Romford, in Essex, their British base.
And we have talked of the ‘whys’ – when, so it is said, the police secret service know all the leaders and where they live.
I tried to explain that it is a problem that, in my opinion, is too deeply ingrained into all (well, I mean the majority, of course) Italians. I explained to him about S, my other colleague. She always asks people for someone they know when she is buying anything or having work done. And, she always expects a discount. The discount comes with a price, of course. The price is no receipt. The no receipt not only means no tax to the government but also means the money can go into the ‘black’ – i.e. into the black economy.
Of course, she knows that. We all know that. We know that our few Euro going into the black economy is nothing. But the few Euro for thousands of transactions every day (or, even, every hour) adds up to a considerable sum which can then be used to safely hide dirty money or to pay bribes.
But, she doesn’t think about it like that. She thinks of it as her getting a bargain. And a bargain is important, moreso here than in the UK. Everybody does it. Go to a restaurant and pay without asking for a receipt, in cash, and you will get a discount. And they say that restaurants are one of the main ways that money can filter into the black economy. It is said, apparently, so M tells me, that many restaurants in Milan are owned by the Mafia. I can believe it. You may get a 5 or 10 Euro discount by paying cash – that cash (and the subsequent saving in tax by the restaurant) can add up to a lot in one evening.
The problem is that it cannot be solved easily, if at all. With a very few exceptions that I know of, everyone wants that discount here. Buzz Lightyear (Mr B) continues to ‘infinity and beyond’ as he survives another vote of confidence. Despite the recent Wikileaks cables suggesting a link between him and Mr Putin (another place where, I suspect, the Mafia rules) and money changing hands. Well, why not? After all, he is only doing what S does, albeit on a slightly larger scale? S approves of him. She is a supporter. He is, after all a great businessman here. And we would honestly believe that he hasn’t greased a few palms here along the way? That he hasn’t accepted any kickbacks in a ‘you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’ kind of way? It is, after all, the way that even the ‘little’ people operate here.
Perhaps it also operates like that in the UK and I was just too blind or stupid to see it? Or too naive to know better. I’m not trying to say that Italy is worse than the UK in this respect since I really don’t know. But here it is more obvious ……… and more accepted.
And, therefore, this, with Italians being brought up with this thinking, is too difficult to fight. Too difficult to control. Too difficult to destroy. And this, of course, is one of the reasons that Buzz remains in power since ‘everyone’ is at it, to a greater or lesser degree (I say everyone but I absolutely know of at least one person who insists on receipts for everything and has a good ‘community’ awareness).
And, no, I do not include myself in this list of upstanding people. On Saturday afternoon, a guy is coming to take down my Art Deco lamp in the lounge and take it away to be fixed. I asked my boss for someone that may be able to do this and she suggested him. Any money I pay (and it will be considerably cheaper than getting a proper electrician to come) will not be ‘declared’, of course. And the same in some restaurants. And my dentist. And a load of other people. And me. And I know that I am contributing to this – this malaise that affects Italy. But as I said to M – this is not my fight. I do my thing for the UK – where I really (feel that I) know the ins and outs of the situation. I do it with my posts about the students protests and other things. That I can do. To buck the trend, the way of life, in Italy – given all my other problems with just living here – is too much to ask.
There! Poor excuse it may be but it’s the way it is.
Well, the last two years have been, shall we say, different. First, there was the break-up with V and the Christmas we spent together and not together at the same time. And then there was last year which was the first Christmas with F.
And, so, two years without sending Christmas cards.
But now I am settled. I know where things are. And I am better prepared. And so, this year, I am back to sending Christmas cards – and with the special Italian Christmas stamps for this year as shown below.
5.30pm: With perfect timing an email arrives from Philip Crowley at the state department:
The United States is pleased to announce that it will host Unesco’s World Press Freedom Day event in 2011, from 1-3 May in Washington, DC.
Ironic? Read the next paragraph from the press release:
The theme for next year’s commemoration will be 21st Century Media: New Frontiers, New Barriers. The United States places technology and innovation at the forefront of its diplomatic and development efforts. New media has empowered citizens around the world to report on their circumstances, express opinions on world events, and exchange information in environments sometimes hostile to such exercises of individuals’ right to freedom of expression. At the same time, we are concerned about the determination of some governments to censor and silence individuals, and to restrict the free flow of information. We mark events such as World Press Freedom Day in the context of our enduring commitment to support and expand press freedom and the free flow of information in this digital age.
I have no words that adequately express how I feel about such a thing. From the Guardian
“We could have this?”, he says. This, being a fish pie.
To be honest, I know it doesn’t sound terribly exciting but I’ve never actually made a fish pie in my life. And I’ve been around the block a few times. In fact, I’ve never really cooked fish until I met F. And I find it a bit of a struggle. Born and brought up in the wilds of deepest, darkest Herefordshire, fish wasn’t something that was really ‘local’. When my parents (and I) moved to Gloucestershire, near the river Severn, we sometimes had salmon – provided by the next door neighbour as they were caught up in the water filtration used for the nearby nuclear power station – and, of course, the obligatory (we are British) fish and chips – which I always hated, by the way.
So, fish. Difficult. But with F not eating any meat (except mince, polpette (meat balls) and sausages) it poses a problem for cooking. Lamb chops (my favourite) are a definite no-no. And, here, we were talking about Christmas.
The plan had been to go to Vienna for Christmas. F’s friend had a friend who has offered us their flat for the four of us (us and the two dogs) but with Rufus’ unpredictability with illness (although for the last few days he has been very well), we are thinking not. Not this year anyway.
So, whereas I would choose goose for Christmas, as last year, it is not to be. F’s face, at the mention of it, screws up in disgust with an ‘oh, no!’. To be honest, I’m not sure why. He is a bit fussy as far as food is concerned which is a little galling but not enough to make me not love him – after all, we go out quite a lot and then I can have meat. And I eat meat at work every day. So all is not bad.
However, I thought it would be nice to propose having fish for Christmas lunch. I know that, to those of you in the UK, it will sound very strange but here, fish for Christmas lunch is normal. I know, I know, it doesn’t seem Christmassey to me either but it’s a compromise and I’m happy to make it.
To stat with he suggested that I should do meat and he would just have vegetables. But I really can’t be doing with that – I would feel mean eating meat and him just having veg.
He had suggested lasagna (we can buy it Christmas morning if we pre-order it) and it would be lovely. After some discussion, about what we would have, as we were eating the above mentioned fish pie, he suggested that I do this very dish. And he would do a fish lasagna!
Again, perhaps it’s just me but fish lasagna just doesn’t sound quite right. And, anyway, I was quite looking forward to having a nice meaty lasagna. As I explained to him, eating a course of meat and then a course of fish is really no problem for me. And I am doubly surprised by Italians not going for it – they do have vitello tonnato after all (thin slices of veal covered with a thick tuna based sauce – which, incidentally, I hate – having a fish course followed by meat (or vice versa) is one thing but to mix fish and meat together makes me feel sick.)
Ah well. It’s one of the prices I pay. And it’s not really a great price to pay. It’s not like we shall starve or anything.
On the plus side, he really liked my fish pie (as you may have gathered) so now that’s two fish recipes I can do and that he likes (or, at least, says he does). And I know that he knows that I am making a real effort to make him happy – which I do not because I want him to know but because I’m glad to make him happy in the same way that we have gone to all-meat restaurants because he knows I love meat. It’s just the normal give and take. As you do. Or, rather, as you should do.
The headache was so intense that I actually found some Nurofen and took two. It made it better ….. eventually.
I hate Mondays. The problem is not that it’s a Monday but that I have a lesson that starts at 9 p.m. for an hour and a half. I take the dogs out afterwards. But, instead of being able to go to sleep straight away, I always struggle – thoughts going round in my head, etc. It’s just like if you have been driving for a few hours – you need time to relax.
Of course, it’s made much worse if F is not here. Even if the flat is not so cold, I feel colder without him. I don’t have him to cuddle up to, to be comforted and safe.
And, then, last night all these things (including the blasted headache) were there.
I got to bed about 11.15. I switched on the telly for a bit. Then switched it off – I thought sleep was almost here. But, of course, I was wrong. Sleep was not here. It was somewhere else. It was missing in action. It had escaped like a wayward cat and was not knocking on the door – even if I was so very tired.
I switched the telly back on, went and got the cigarettes from the kitchen (F is not here and so I can smoke in the bedroom if I want – he says, defiantly!) and came back to bed. I surfed through the channels. They’ve just made virtually all the channels digital (at least in Milan) and so there is a veritable feast of channels now available. It doesn’t make the programmes better, of course – a bit like satellite – there are just so many of them, mostly churning out the same pap. It’s the same in the UK except that the type of programme is slightly different.
There is, basically, a choice of two types of programme. There’s the singing programme where, in the main, there are some rather run-of-the-mill singers singing rather run-of-the-mill songs – probably with some half-naked dancing girls thrown in for good measure.
Or there is the interview/discussion panel. Here it allows the Italians to indulge in their favourite pastime (after eating, that is), namely navel gazing.
Apart from the Sara/Sabrina story which continues and is currently gripping this country, the rest is not of much interest – made much worse by the fact that I don’t understand so much, even if my Italian has improved.
I flick through the channels. Rete 4 is showing films. I pause. This looks interesting. It’s in black and white. No, wait. There’s a splash of red. Just one item, coloured red. I recognise this film. The volume is set low – if I manage to fall asleep with it on that’s OK.
Wait! Surely I misheard. It sounded like an English word but not ‘OK’ or ‘relax’ which are used here. Strange, I thought, so listened harder. Yes, they were speaking English. Well, American. It’s not dubbed as all the other films are!
Surely I know this film. The blonde-haired woman being beaten by some older, long-haired lout. He goes to the bathroom. As he’s taking a pee, behind him there is the bath with a closed shower curtain round it.
He shouts out something like “I don’t hear you making those calls”. This is to the blonde woman. We are looking at the back of his head. In the mirror in front of him, we see the curtain go back. Ah, yes, I do know this film. One of my all-time favourites. It is Sin City. I can’t help but watch it, especially as it is in English.
Even as I’m watching I think how stupid this is. I could, at any time, go to the DVD collection and get out the original! I could do this tomorrow and get some sleep now. But, already, I am hooked.
The film finishes (it was less than half-way through) although I keep thinking of a scene that wasn’t there. Or maybe that was a different film. I wonder if they cut it. Maybe.
I don’t turn the telly off although I do turn over and try to sleep. At some point, I do wake up enough to turn it off – without even looking to see what was on.
I sleep the sleep of the dead. It crosses my mind that these bloody headaches are for one of two reasons. Either I am so tired (which I am at the moment) or I am grinding my teeth again. Or both. Or it’s that I spend too much time in front of the computer. Or all of those and something else, like stress or something. Or it’s just in my head, so to speak. So, in fact, not one of two reasons after all!
I hear the alarm go off on my phone. It’s a piece of music that has a name but, I think, was especially composed by someone famous for Blackberry. I am sure that I pick the phone up and put it to snooze for five minutes. It is, after all, 5.40.
After a short while, I think I hear the alarm go again. But I’m not sure, aware, as I am, that the sound could just be playing in my head because I know it so well. I try to ignore it. It is persistent. Ah, well, even if it is not actually going off, I should get up. I reach for the phone. It is going off. I look at the time on the phone. It is 6.23! Not only is it going off but has been doing so for almost three quarters of an hour!
And, come to think of it, maybe I just dreamed that I put it on snooze. I am late. I still have my coffee after taking the dogs out. Rufus being a bit slower today and, possibly, after two days of feeling fine, ill again. Ah well, poor thing.
I have a shower and get ready. On getting to work (only 15 minutes late) I find that I have forgotten to wear a T-shirt under my shirt. And it is colder today. And I must book the flights to Copenhagen. Grrrrr.
No, I hate Mondays. And, so, I leave you with this. I’ve always liked the song.
Well, I’ve now been and it was lovely but, as I’m not from the USA (I guess), it was, more or less, like going to dinner at someone’s house.
I’m talking of Thanksgiving.
I’m talking turkey, mashed potatoes, and a rather glorious stuffing.
To be honest, I thought it was going to be an all-American affair (except for me) but it took on quite an International flavour. 3 Americans, 1 Canadian, 1 Australian, 1 Italian and me. The turkey (which I’ve never been mad keen on) was rather good and well cooked. The stuffing was fantastic. The wine and conversation flowed and we even had a rather difficult conversation with N & S all the way from San Francisco – the ‘difficult’ part being the connection which, unfortunately kept dying.
I got home at about 3.30 a.m. I then spoke to Ag on the telephone. She was in need of someone to talk to. It meant I got to bed about 5.30. I was, unsurprisingly, tired on Saturday. My headache was still here (but that could have been just ‘cos I’m tired).
F phoned me during the day on Saturday. He said that things were going rather well and he was going to be coming home that night so that we can go to a concert. He had booked it before he knew that he would be away and there had always been some doubt about whether he would be there.
He got home in the late afternoon and then we met up and went for a pizza at Liù (see link at side) – except Liù was full so we went to Time Out 2 instead. Then strolled down to Il’s flat and took a taxi with her to see Chiara Civello at Blue Note.
She was fabulous although I was so tired and we went to the second concert of that evening – it started at 11.30! He knows her because his ex, M, from Rome, knows her. After the concert we went backstage and I was introduced to her as ‘my new boyfriend’. I had been similarly introduced to someone who sat with us and was a friend from some time ago. She works for Moschino or somewhere like that. It was then added that I was a ‘real man compared to S’ – which always makes me smile – although I never, ever make any comment, of course.
Anyway, there are a couple of Chiara’s tracks at the bottom. I hope you enjoy them. She was lovely, always smiling and the music is really good.
Yesterday, as F is away, I had promised A that I would do Sunday lunch for him and Fr – you know, the Roast Beef type of Sunday lunch, which F would not enjoy so much.
A had baked some bread which we had with something that was like a light pâté that F had brought back from Germany. There was goose-liver and reindeer – they were delicious and not at all heavy as pâté can be sometimes.
Then we had the roast beef and, with my new cooker, the perfect Yorkshire puddings – YAY! I will do a post with the recipe since it has never, except once, let me down. The only reason it didn’t work before was my old oven, I was sure – and this proved correct when, this time, they were well risen and light – just as they should be. Also, when I had been in France last year, I had bought some red horseradish sauce – and it was quite hot, which I liked.
After that we had Apple and Blackberry Crumble with whipped cream. This was all followed by cheese (including Stilton) and some rather fine port, bought for me by a colleague when he went to Portugal. The problem was that then I just couldn’t stop drinking it. I had to ‘force’ myself to stop, even after A & Fr left.
Anyway, they enjoyed it – as did I.
I spent the rest of the evening washing up :-).
F is back on Wednesday as that is the day that the new shop will open. I will be very happy when he is back, as will Dino. And Rufus who is a LOT better. Thanks for all your kind wishes.
Anyway, enjoy Chiara – these are some of my favourite songs of hers.
A few years ago, now, playing Scrabble with Best Mate and other friends, I put down the word ‘clowny’. OK, I knew it was a bit dodgy but I stood my ground even if P was very miffed that I could get away with it and, although she was almost certain it was a fake, would not risk losing a go in case it was a real word.
It is my desire to make this word ‘real’ one day. The more I mention it the more chance it has of becoming real. Of course, if you Google it (see that’s a made-up verb) you will find hundreds of pages featuring the word. That doesn’t exactly make it real, of course, but it’s certainly heading there.
And today, Pietro gave me another word that I really do like. What’s the opposite of anticipate? Why, posticipate, of course.
Having used it a few times now, I do understand why it was never a real word – it’s a bit of a tongue twister. However, nice word and I really like it.
It’s just annoying. But at least it seems I can post things. Don’t know about accepting comments or replying to them yet as none of you have made any. But I guess I’ll find out.
I have looked into alternative hosters and, unless it’s fixed by tomorrow, I shall be going down that route, I expect.
Which is a shame – but it only really works if you can publish your website and then actually retrieve the website and write new posts!
I seem to be getting busier with the old English teaching lark. And, to be honest, I WANT MY LIFE BACK! I had forgotten how much work it actually takes. A says that I do too much for it. V used to say the same. I can’t do it differently though. I’ve also looked at doing the three kids and decided that I could do it – but I have put forward a price that is a little high. If they don’t want me to do it then that’s fine – after all, teaching kids will be much more work.
Anyway, enough of all this. No time, no time.
To get you a bit more up to date:-
I’ve got the Christmas Stamps! Yay! Now all I have to do is write the cards
Rufus seems a lot better – since Monday, which is good.
F is working from tomorrow through to next Monday and, therefore will be away.
This means that I will have to go to my first-ever Thanksgiving Dinner alone (Friday night)
It means that we might not go to the concert that he booked for Saturday night.
It means that I have invited A (and F) for Sunday Lunch (Roast Beef, Yorkshire Puddings, Stilton Cheese and a very nice bottle of port direct from Portugal) – there being far too much stuff that F doesn’t like in all that.
It means I will miss him
It means I will get some sleep
It means I can write the Christmas Cards
In other news, South Korea and North Korea might be on the brink of war. Some miners died in a mine in New Zealand. The students are revolting (they should wash more hehehehe). Britain is to recognise my birthday by making the day a Bank Holiday.
Apparently there are also some other things happening on that day too, which I’m sure is pure coincidence. Checking, actually nothing much (apart from my birthday and the death of St Catherine of Siena) is going on. Oh, except there may be a wedding. Well, in fact, there may be quite a few. In the UK, I mean. Some woman called Kate and a bloke called Bill. Don’t know if I’m invited yet ‘cos they’ve only just announced it. Can’t go anyway, it will be me and F going to Giacomo, I very much hope. So, just in case you should read this, Bill (You don’t mind if I call you Bill, do you? Only William seems so, well, formal.), I’m really sorry we can’t be there. Anyway, the weather in the UK then is always a bit touch and go, especially on that day. You know, it could be raining, likely as not. Here it should be considerably warmer and sunny (I hope).
More stuff to follow (but maybe tomorrow if it’s all working properly)
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