Category Archives: Italy

Overall thoughts on Italy and things we do

Some things

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I stand in the middle of the car park, my cigarette in my left hand, my eyes closed and facing left and upwards, towards the sun. I have to do it now, at 10, before it gets too hot to be able to do it. The warmth is so nice, filling my body, making me feel happier. I could go to sleep.

Talking of which, I’m sorry that the post below is protected. You will have to email me if you want to see it because it is, ahem, not my usual style of writing and I don’t really want anyone reading it except those people who really want to, knowing the subject and style and all.

I am angry with myself for putting on the tie that, a couple of days ago, I managed to splash with tomato sauce, at lunch time and although I used the special cleaning spray-on stuff they have here, in Italy, it has left a kind of water mark (though it’s not water).

>I wonder why I still wear a tie? I conclude that it’s some sort of hang-up I have. It’s like those of extreme religious belief who do a bit of self-flagellation. I wear a tie only at work; it’s a punishment to myself by myself for being stupid enough to be in this situation of working. It doesn’t hurt me but it reminds me that, whilst I have the tie on, I must suffer the degradation of working, and for what?

I wonder if I got that particular hang-up from my parents or is it just my screwed-up brain that deigns it should be so? I think of one of my other hang-ups. I’m pretty certain I got that one from my mother. I don’t exactly blame them but I wish that I could expunge them, clear my mind of these things that are not important but are so ingrained that I care and I hate the fact that I care – and they’re really just my hang-ups.

>And, I don’t know why, but a little earlier, I thought, briefly of my childhood and I thought:
I was unhappy all the time.

And, then I thought:
But that cannot have been so.< >So I tried to think of a time when I was, really happy.

And, I could not. I mean, there were some times – but only when I was on my own.

Maybe that’s where all my hang-ups come from and why I am less sociable than I should be or why being sociable is such bloody hard work?

Finally, death!

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And, finally, we talked about death. And it seemed fitting as it was the end of the conversation. We had talked about death before – about how he was living in the flat of a woman who had died not twelve months earlier and, whether it was true or not, how he had hoped that she may not have died in her bed – the very bed that he was now sleeping in. We came to the conclusion that it was less likely, these days, as everyone seems to go to hospital or an ‘old people’s home’ to die.

But here we were, at the end of a very pleasant afternoon, saying goodbye, in that stretched out way that one does when, in reality, one doesn’t want it to end but is unsure how one can keep it going, one of us having already said we must get back, as if that were really important, which, of course, it really wasn’t, but how one doesn’t want to ruin something that has been going so well and, in order not to ruin it or run out of conversation or say something that will annoy or upset the other person, although neither of us would have said anything, I’m sure, we cut it short but then linger over this goodbye, by adding some question, which, of course, is normal and innocent enough.

And, it didn’t start off as death at all but rather holidays and then drifted into one of those conversations; a conversation that had been going all afternoon, through life, through love (both now and past), through politics, through everything, in a flow that was not forced or stilted and rambled on, much as this post is doing because we were busy (or, rather I was busy) finding out more about a person that I liked (and here, I thought about the word a lot because, in reality, it was a person that I had fallen in love with, not in a way that I was in love with V but only for the words that we had between us because, until this point, there were only words and, like being in love, I have found, over the time, a strange yearning, like I would have for a lover but, instead of this desire being for the body and a physical thing it was the yearning for more of the words and I eat each one as if I haven’t eaten at the table of literature for many years just like the insatiableness (I don’t even know if that is a real word) one has for a lover’s body and so, in the end, love would be better than like but I didn’t want you (my dear reader) to get the wrong idea) and wanting to say things that I don’t say to others because he knew me but in a way that no one else really does, since he had a perception of me that came only from this, this here, and wanting to explain myself (as if, by explaining myself, he would quickly see the things that I may have missed or, even better, that others may have missed) and the reason I was here and not having enough time and rushing through explanations in a terrible way.

And, holidays led to one thing and another (but quickly so that it wasn’t something deliberate) to death and, in the main, other people’s deaths, or, rather, lingering deaths that, because of the health care and drugs and such-like, is now more common than, perhaps 30 or 50 or, certainly, 100 years ago (see the link above) but, as a conclusion, we decided that a quick death was preferable, like a heart attack or a stroke that was so debilitating that death was swift and, one would hope, less painful. Worst was the death of the mind, since the mind is the person and that is what counts.

And that is what counts.

And, lest you misunderstand this post, the hours we had spent talking and laughing and so on, about the important things and the trivial things was, and I hesitate to use this word as many people consider it over-used, nice but I will as it fits. Again, I thought about the word a lot. I wanted to say wonderful or fabulous and they fit too but, again, it gives the wrong impression when, in reality it was comfortable and made me feel warm and was, well, nice (although I could have added ‘really’ in front of it).

And, even though I know that he will probably read this and may be disappointed that, given all that I said during the afternoon, what I did fail to add, was that I understood (or, at least, I thought I did) the person who was convinced that they were going to die, as I have and have had the same feelings except that, in my case they haven’t yet come true and, perhaps because I don’t have anyone to tell them to, I’ve never mentioned it and, in any case, it seemed crass and presumptive of me to say anything, like someone who knows you’re gay and says things like, oh I have a friend who’s gay, as if that makes it alright and gives them a green ticket to understanding me, which, of course, it doesn’t and is what I hate people doing to me and, therefore, there was no way that I was gong to do it to him.

So, just in case you (my ‘word lover’) read this rubbish that I have written, please don’t think that I was being disingenuous or secretive or closed. It just didn’t seem right. And I didn’t want to spoil an afternoon that I had enjoyed and felt so comfortable with, in a way that I don’t often feel and for which I want to thank you and have found it so difficult to explain using words which is what, after all, we both love.

I’ve been thinking that I don’t really like Telecom Italia very much

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The engineer phones me (about a day late). As my Italian is abysmal, he does try some English. We, more or less, make each other understood.

He thinks it may be necessary to come to the house. To be honest, they should have phoned me yesterday. However, he is very pleasant and tries to be helpful. Apparently they will make an appointment.

I wonder how, in the main, the engineers can be so nice and the call centre people can be so bloody crap. I guess, if they were engineers and had to actually see the people they deal with they would be nicer.

And so, once again, I am without ADSL and, so, no email or internet connection at home.

It all started Sunday night and although it had been working fine about half an hour earlier, when the break came, it was just too late. And I keep forgetting that Telecom Italia are not Infostrada and it will not ‘fix itself’ within an hour.

The next morning the same problem and I thought that if I don’t phone them now it will just continue not to work.

>I phone. It is just after 6 a.m. I have problems conversing in English at that time in the morning, even with the dogs, so Italian was, well, shall we say ‘interesting’. However, I made myself understood and the guy on the line said some stuff of which I probably caught about half. Basically, my understanding was that it was going to be fixed within four hours.

I put the phone down after I thanked him.

Then I reprocessed what he had said and had this horrible feeling that they were going to send an ‘tecnico’ round to the house within four hours! And, forgetting what day it was and that I HAD to be in work today, I toyed with the idea of not going in at all.

And then I remembered there was a reason why I had to wear a suit. We had a visitor and it was important that I was there, even if my presence was, in fact, not strictly necessary since I would sit and do nothing – except, maybe, make pleasantries with this guy, talking about his flight over; the hotel; the weather; and considering that he was someone that I didn’t much like, it all seemed so bloody pointless and not really important after all.

So, I phoned TI again. Again, Italian; again, difficult but possible. Certainly, as it was about 20 minutes later, it was a bit better. I explained that I wasn’t sure if I had understood what the guy had said to me and were they going to send this ‘tecnico’ round to my house because I had to go to work? She assured me that they weren’t. So, that’s OK then.

The annoying thing was that I had written a post and had emailed it to myself at work – it being better to re-read it before posting and do it during the day when I am, probably (hopefully) more cognisant. And, now I couldn’t. Damn.

Ah well, I thought, I could put it onto my USB key and take it to work that way. I recently got a new one as a gift (my old one being small and only working intermittently). But I couldn’t find it. Where the hell is it, I thought? Ah, I remember taking it to work.

I had no time to check at work, really, just a quick scout round my (very) messy desk. Not there. Later I even did a quick search of my desk drawers. It must be at home, somewhere.

I get home. I am excitedly expecting the internet to be obtainable. I am, of course, sadly misguided, this being Italy and the company being Telecom Italia and all. I phone again.

The automatic message says (I think) that the problem will be fixed on or before Wednesday! I’m not sure and I don’t want to believe it anyway. I wait. I get to an operator. She tells me it will be fixed tomorrow but at the very latest by Wednesday. I am incredulous. I want to be able to say that the four-hour promise was obviously pie-in-the-sky and, since they had my mobile number (I had given it to them in call 2, someone could have phoned me and add that it is totally ridiculous that, having come back to them as their customer (albeit without a choice in this) that they had, once again proved that I had been right to move to Infostrada and that, at the earliest opportunity I would return to Infostrada. I wanted to – but my Italian language skills restrict this to :- two more days? (said with the appropriate incredulous tone).

She is sorry (but doesn’t mean it, you can tell) but it is something to do with the central something or other and it is more complicated. And I know, in my heart, that, even when they say they have fixed it, it will not work in my home and they will have to come round and look and then, probably, do something at home or, after five minutes checking, something somewhere else.

I search for my USB memory stick. I remember the box it was in (I have not used it yet). It was quite large and silver in colour. It is nowhere to be found. I am frustrated.

A calls and I agree to go for a quick pasta dish at his house (F is not there because the call was unusual – it being Monday but without F he is looking for company and I am, after all, very obliging and there is only ironing that I must do but, damn it, I can’t pass up food just for that).

After the engineer phones (me knowing that I probably won’t have Internet access much before the weekend, if I am lucky) I check my desk for the umpteenth time for the USB stick. I find a small, not large, box that is more white than silver, under some papers. It is the key! I feel a little happier about the situation.

I still, very much, hate Telecom Italia.

Dog sitting, Flat sitting and watching Wimbledon

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Dog_sitting_Flat_sitting_and_watching_Wimbledon442 pub. Apparently, looking after the dogs will cost me a pint of English beer and a burger. Less than kennels anyway.

On the subject of Wimbledon, let’s hope the great Scottish player, Murray, will make it through. It will make the afternoon so much more fun.

Also a colleague from work and her husband may come. So it might be quite a party (and quite a few good beers!).

A funny thing happened…..

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It was the funniest article I have read for a while. And from a government minister too!

The comments are obviously, mostly, from those right-wing types (snigger). One can tell as they seems to despise the arguments for ID Cards.

But we do need to consider what has been said and, according to this article, still being said.

I remember that ID cards were first touted by Labour (or NuLabour as they are now called by most, if not themselves). It was either soon after 9/11 or maybe 7/7. We were all so shocked about these ‘foreign’ people who were able to come into our lands and do such damage.

Except…..

In the case of 7/7, they were British citizens and, therefore, had ID cards already been ‘normal’, they would have them quite legally. And, I’m sorry, but that would have stopped them carrying out those atrocities in what way, exactly?

In addition, Italy, which has had ID cards from the Fascist era (or thereabouts) wasn’t saved when the Red Brigade start blowing things up here!

Aha, so, if Joe Public won’t fall for that one then we can go for another great public fear. What about all those illegal immigrant people.

Now, the fact that they are illegal implies that the majority of them got here either by sidestepping our Border Control or by over-staying their welcome. Now, if you were required to use your ID Card every day for many minor things (as Italians are), this could pose a problem. Or, of course, not. Since the illegal immigrants will probably be a) working for cash and b) not doing things that require an ID card (like paying by credit card, etc.), it seems unlikely that it would cause them too much distress.

Alternatively, having probably paid a small fortune to be brought here, I’m sure, for a few pounds more, there would be people making the ID card to order, for them. And, unless the Police or other powers-that-be check the database, the fraudulent ID cards would probably never be found.

Having worked out that most people realised that ID cards would, in fact, only be useful for controlling legal immigrants or citizens, it seems they are trying the latest scare tactic.

Identity Theft/Fraud! That’s what is now proposed as the reason for ID cards. I’m sorry but these people are crazy.

If you really want to step up security then do what the Italians do. Make it really difficult to buy anything (such as domain name (where you need to fax proof of yourself and owning a domain name via just the internet is just not possible); buying a second-hand car (where you need to physically visit the registration office); changing your bank account for your mobile phone (where you must go and get a form from the bank which must be stamped and signed and then take that (or, maybe, fax it) to the provider). In each case, everything must be ‘backed-up’ by a personal visit or a fax! Of course, in this fast-moving world, it does tend to make many things a lot slower and more difficult but, at least, it gives a load of people a job, thereby ensuring that unemployment is lower and the economy is much better. Doesn’t it?

And then, the article uses unsubstantiated claims of the number of people hit by identity theft/fraud; assumes that the arguments in favour of ID cards have been made and done and dusted and that, overwhelmingly, the ‘evidence’ points to them as being our saviour in all things!

A funny thing has happened in this world, don’t you think?  If one argument fails, use another.  If that fails, use yet another.  Keep going until people agree or forget what the purpose was in any event.  Make sure that each argument used is totally different from the last but make sure that each addresses a fear that the populace has!

I actually laughed out loud at this article.

p.s. Read the comments as well.

A couple of nights in Milan, anyone? Only a couple of strings attached!

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I have to go away to another Northern country.  I really didn’t come to Italy to be travelling outside all the time (OK, it’s not true but right now that’s how it feels).

V moves out on Saturday.  This is good – but, of course, it does mean that there is no one to take the boys whilst I am away!  Damn!

I immediately thought of the kennels.  I rang the shop to see what time they open.  10.30 a.m.  Hmm, no way to make Malpensa airport in about 5 minutes so no good at all.

V did offer to have the key to the flat but I’m really not keen on letting him have the run of the place.  It’s my place and I want it to stay that way.  If he comes here (without me being here) then, somehow, that makes it different – at least, in my head!

FfI offered the other day, so I might try her, tomorrow. Else there are a couple of other people or I could get someone to take them to the kennels on Monday night and I pick them up Wednesday morning.

Or, of course, you could come and stay here.  Near the heart of downtown Milan.  Beautiful (if unfinished) flat in a wonderful street!  Sounds tempting, eh?

The strings are a) you have to look after the dogs and b) you must be here by about 8 a.m. on Monday morning!

I’m waiting………(hopefully)……….

The crazy, criminal, mixed-up land in which I live

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I stayed away from the recent controversy with the Italian’s ‘beloved’ leader (and he’s still beloved, it would seem, at least by most). He seems to have been a very busy boy, what with giving money to (ex-?) husbands of UK politicians (not that giving the money was bribing, it was only taking it that seems to be a crime); dalliances with a young girl that his wife, for some reason, took exception to; using government money to have people fly to parties at his residence on Sardinia and, of course, the latest, the payment for young ladies of the night for services rendered – all of which, he denies, blaming all of these “rumours” on those ‘left-wing-communist types’.

We can also, perhaps, overlook the way that he said that the people from L’Aquila, made homeless by the earthquake, should make the most of living in tents, it being just like a holiday and all!

At least he made up for it by agreeing to huge (can’t remember how much and can’t be bothered to look it up) amounts of dosh to rebuild the town (although it seems it may not be quite as was first reported) and, of course, deciding to hold the G8 summit in the town in order that it gets a boost.

Now, I read about the latest development (see, still reading the Guardian rather than using the BBC site) and the President’s call to back off Berlusconi’s (ahem) ‘problems‘ so as not to embarrass Italy when, about half way down, I read this:

the prime minister assured the media that his illustrious guests would nevertheless be received in style at a large revenue guard barracks hastily converted for the occasion. He said the site would soon have 121,000 square metres of gardens with 6,850 bushes and extensive lawns.

Now, given the current economic crisis in the world and the recent death and destruction in the town in which this converted barracks is situated and in spite of not knowing how much will be spent doing this conversion (but I’m guessing not just a few Euro), etc., it struck me that this kind of thing is just crass and obscene in the extreme.

This puts those politicians (from the G8) on the same par with Madoff and (possibly) Stanford – i.e. criminals who are taking us for a ride – since they are benefiting from the outrageous spending that is being done just to show off to each other!

It’s a crazy, crazy world in which we live.

The sun shouldn’t be the only one with his hat on!

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For my friends in the UK, I see you’re in the middle of an “official” heatwave. How nice that must be although I suspect there are lot of people complaining that it is too hot. And there seems to be a consensus that people will die or that hospitals should be prepared for an influx of people suffering from heatstroke!

And the temperatures causing this panic and fear? Why, up to 33 degrees!! Wow! We get to that (or close to it) most days at the moment.

However, to be fair, there is a difference, as I have said before.

Now, here, I look for the shade most of the time. When I was in the UK, such is the rarity of such sunny days, people (and I was one of them) would prefer to stay in the sun, however hot or uncomfortable it was.

I still get brown, of course. But, then, I tan very easily. I can assure you it is not because I sunbathe (since I find that boring) nor because I stay out in the sun (which, at over 30 degrees is ridiculous, unless you are forced to) it is just the ‘bits in between’ the shade that cause this.

So, the trick is to stay in the shade and not expect this to be the last sunny day ever. Anyway, with what used to be called Global Warming (now Climate Change – otherwise people don’t understand why the winters are longer, colder and wetter), there’s likely to be plenty more of it…….

And, whilst we’re on the subject of lethargy…..

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Sometimes (sh)it just happens!

So, I go to the shop last night and get the adapter I need. I get home and try it out. Boy, that Dyson has some sucking power! I clean the kitchen and the hallway and then, because it’s so hot, I have a drink and answer some emails. This not being Sweden, it is getting dark.

I decide to iron some shirts. Unfortunately the light in the lounge isn’t working. At first, I think it is the timer that’s a problem but, even plugged in (almost) directly, the lamp doesn’t work.

I try the lamp in a different socket. No good.

I try the bulb in a different lamp.

It’s the bulb. In a different time and a different place (namely, with V) I would have become frustrated and slightly angry with the injustice of all things that seem to conspire against me trying to keep the flat clean and tidy (which, in any case, is not working) but the time and place is different and I shrug my shoulders.

Although I remain disappointed, I know that there is no point in fighting such things. What is, is. I cannot, at this moment, do anything about it. The process to change bulbs, leaving some other area of the flat in darkness is just too difficult.

Of course, I should get off my ass and get some more lamps; get the lights that need fitting, fitted; do SOMETHING!

My lethargy in all things (except the dogs, eating and drinking) is really starting to annoy me and yet everything else WILL wait until tomorrow, let’s be honest.

And this includes the ironing, whilst I get a bulb (they are bayonet types since this is an Art Deco lamp from the UK and bayonet bulbs are simply not sold here in the usual shops) but, even then, tonight I am going to sort out the start of the ‘other’ work that really must move on.

Ho hum.

I wonder…….?

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I’m not sure what it says about me (and I CERTAINLY don’t mean the picture which is a random one anyway) or if, indeed, this post is worth the bother of writing but, anyway, here goes….

I cannot remember when it started or, even, why but, from a very early age I had this desire to live outside the UK.

For some reason, Sweden was the place I wanted to go (and this was before Abba even sang about Waterloo, maybe, probably, before Waterloo had ever been thought of). In particular, I wanted to live in Stockholm.

For many, many years, it was understood, by me, in my inner brain, that I would, someday, be living there.

Instead, I came to Milan and never went anywhere near Sweden until after I came here. And now, finally, I have been there.

I was not disappointed. It is a beautiful place, the weather was superb; the food wonderful; the modernity, outside the old part of Stockholm, well, modern; the people were nice and friendly (although nowhere near as attractive as one would imagine – think Benny and Bjorn rather then Agnetha and Anni-Frid – all-in-all as good as one could expect.

Of course, the sunshine and warmth puts the whole thing in a good light and the reality is that, for most of the year the weather would probably be worse, or at least as bad, as the UK.

But, I wonder, how would my life be now if I had gone to that place that I dreamed of being in for so many years……?