Today is the Saint’s Day for Saint Biagio. I learnt about this because, apparently, in order to protect yourself from problems with your throat, one should eat some panettone from Christmas.
I am far too old for this. Since Wednesday, out every night and not back until 1 or 2 in the morning, or, even later. What am I thinking of? As I normally get up at 5.45, I find that I cannot really sleep in past about 7 whatever time I arrive back home the night before.
Dinners with friends; dinners at friends; parties at friends; just out with friends. And, come about 11 I get so tired. I mention that I shall go home and I get the response of – “Really?” or “Stay a little longer”.
It has to stop but not for tonight or Tuesday night and, probably not Monday night either since I need to ask someone for help.
The idea of coming home after work and just sitting down with a glass of wine and watching a film is such a pleasurable thought, almost like paradise. Not that I don’t enjoy being out with friends, of course. It is impossible to say “no” even though I should. I don’t want to disappoint friends and I enjoy their company – it is fun. And life is too short to miss out on “life”. And friends are what makes life worth living, in my opinion. The joy of being in the company of like-minded people or people who are fun and talking or laughing is what is so good.
And now the boys are pressing to be taken out. They do not see the snow that is falling (enough of winter!) nor would Dino care. So, whilst they wait, they play or, rather, Dino winds Rufus up by walking round him with the occasional lick or nudge or, worse, trying to mount him. As they are now separated when we are not here and at night (because of the barking problem) it’s the ritual they go through each morning and evening. After Dino has brought out, one by one, his toys for me to throw or, again, to try and wind Rufus up.
Then, for a short while, one of them lies on his back whilst the other attacks at the throat and, if it’s Rufus doing the “attacking”, the way that he kneels down, his paws tucked underneath him, to stop Dino going for the feet – until one of them barks or yelps too loudly and they get shouted at.
The ritual of checking who’s boss, of course. I think it’s still Rufus but Dino gets stronger and bolder and more clever every day.
So now it is a shower and out for the long walk we always have at the weekend even if we are not able to have that during the week (depending upon time).
The number of visitors I get for the ‘new’ (well, it’s not so new, really) blog is higher than the old one (a little). But it’s not that that is the surprise. It’s where the people come from.
As you may know, I use the BBC website to check the news. One of the things that I believe you don’t get in the UK is the adverts.
They don’t really bother me. Some sit on the side advertising computers or cars or whatever. Some, however, are like an advert on TV in that they show just before the video clip you want to watch. It’s not really a problem. Most are for hotel groups or airlines and, to be honest, I take little notice.
Except for the latest one which I find really annoying.
It’s for the film “Revolutionary Road”. This in itself is not annoying. What IS bloody annoying is that, because I am in Italy, it’s in Italian and dubbed movies are never usually so good. So, instead of hearing Leonardo’s or Kate’s voice, I hear some Italian person and the voice is all wrong. Made worse by the fact that I don’t understand it all.
I mean, if I’m looking at the BBC site in English, don’t play adverts in Italian!
So, today, another first. Well, that’s not strictly true but it has been so long since the last time that it felt like a first. I think that last time was about 18 or 19 years ago.
And it was quite stressful. I never really liked doing it all those years ago. There was a short time when it was good but, overall, it seems invasive (even though it isn’t) and too personal. Strange, isn’t it? After all that’s only in my head and not reality.
Well, today I had to bite the bullet, which I did. I should have gone last night, really, but, as my regular readers will know, given the weather and because I was cold, I chose to leave it until this morning.
First I went to a place to check the Italian word I needed as I had seen their window display and knew the word was there. Then I went to one place but it was shut for a 3 hour lunch. So I went to the place at the back of our house. I had to wait as his wife told me he had gone to get something to eat but would be back in 5 to 10 minutes. So I waited.
He was good. And quick. And, I have to say, I am pleased with the result. He certainly seemed to take a pride in what he did.
But it was like stepping back in time. A real old-fashioned place like I remember from when I was a kid. The colours were from the 50s. Red and cream. The “instruments” were a mix of old-fashioned and modern. The mirrors were huge (although, when I took my glasses off the mirrors were a bit pointless). It took less than half an hour and left my pocket lighter by €15. Still, it means I am OK for next week now.
And, in the end, it wasn’t as bad as I thought. Mind you, it never is. I must admit that the haircut seems a little shorter than usual but at least I won’t have to go back for another 6 weeks or so.
There are points in your life when you should fight. There are points when you should accept. It can be difficult to accept certain things. No one likes change, especially when change will mean stepping off the cliff, blindfolded – and you don’t even know if the wings will work or the parachute will open.
For some strange reason, this morning, I had this desire to have porridge. To be more precise, ReadyBrek which, I know, is not porridge.
Maybe it’s because it is cold.
I don’t even remember if it was a thought this morning or part of a dream during the night.
Funnily enough, we had polenta for lunch today. This has the consistency of porridge with none of the taste. More exactly – no taste. As I said to one of my colleagues, after they had asked me if I had ever cooked polenta at home and I had replied ‘no’ – it has no taste at all so why? It’s one of those foods that is there to fill you up, I guess. Anyway, she could not answer.
On the plus side, Gina (the cook) had make some small fairy cakes (plain and chocolate sponge) and she slipped on of those onto my tray. It’s always the right thing to do to get on with the people who provide food!!!
Barack Obama. I have noticed that the recurring word used for him is ‘hope’. The other one should be ‘trust’. And he must prove himself to be trustworthy. I just hope that those people who have this hope in him do not find their hope misplaced but I have a feeling that their expectations of him and from him are far greater than can be achieved – by him or anyone else. I hope that I am wrong.
For the last few days, for some strange reason, I have had this hankering for a pizza. I will be having ‘pizza’ in our canteen at work today, but a pizza cooked in a proper oven is really what I’m talking about.
S & I agreed last night, you’ve got to try else what is the point?
So, we are both trying. It may get worse; it may get better; it may stay the same.
For me, it seems the dogs are a bit of a problem but not insurmountable. Come the end of January, I shall ask everyone I know in case they can help me. I don’t often ask for help as I am fiercely independent ever since I first left home at 18.
Actually, that was not the first time I left home. I left home several times. I had a small suitcase, brown and battered. I don’t think I ever had it from new but I have no idea where it came from unless it had been bought new when we went to Guernsey when I was about 5. I can imagine it was bought for that trip.
Anyway, the suitcase had been well used. I packed the suitcase with important items – a pair of trousers, a jumper, some biscuits and some orange squash. After all, I didn’t know how long I would be gone and I knew I would need sustenance and a change of clothes. I packed though the tears were rolling down my face; I packed with determination; I packed with courage – and fear, of course.
I left the house without saying goodbye, more like a thief than someone who lived there. I didn’t want any hysterics at my going – they would find out soon enough. I didn’t want any tears, except my own as I was the one who was hurting, not them.
We lived in the countryside, in a small village. I walked down the driveway and onto the road, turning right. The hill seemed very steep and very long. I don’t remember looking back as I climbed that hill but I probably did, fearing that someone would come after me – hoping that someone would come after me so that I could prove to them that I did not need them.
I reached the top of the hill and must have looked back before turning the corner.
Soon after I came to the crossroads – to the left was the road to the church, the right to the main road, straight on was unknown.
Fearful of the consequences of continuing what I was doing; angry at the world for treating me like this; determined that, one day, ‘it would all be different’, I turned round and went home. I was about 7. I was quite a stubborn barsteward even then!