Category Archives: Outside Italy

Things that happen when we travel outside of this Bel Paese

Once upon a time……

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“Don’t wake up or Father Christmas won’t come and leave any presents”, so I was told.

That was until I saw my mother creeping in one night with the stockings to put at the bottom of the bed, causing me to get up, wake up my sister and by 4 o’clock in the morning we were in our parents’ bedroom ‘having fun’ – although I never did let on that I knew about Father Christmas – just in case the presents stopped!

Don’t do that or the bogey-man will get you.  The fairy tales which were, in reality, scary tales – giving both a moral and a warning about the bad things that existed in this world to make sure that you were ‘good’.

But, of course, when you grow up, there is no need of these stories for you are adult and don’t need to be kept ‘good’ – that you do all by yourself.

Well, almost.  One wonders if the fairy stories for adults; aren’t manufactured for exactly that purpose.  Keeping us ‘good’.  Making sure we ‘toe the line’. As is pointed out in the article, to tell us that there is a ‘severe threat’ means nothing if you don’t then advise what we are supposed to be doing about it – otherwise, over time, people just ignore it. And, after all, if after some time of a ‘severe threat’ nothing actually happens, aren’t we quite right to become complacent?

As one of the comments points out (maybe a little cynically), perhaps it’s all just a wheeze to stop us thinking about the ‘economic crisis’ or, perhaps, it’s the work of what is now big business – i.e. the security industry.

And then I go back to airport security. Travelling through different countries (but within the EU) as I have done, it is quite remarkable that, for some countries some things are fine whilst for others they are absolutely prohibited.

And, I’m sorry, but I refuse to look at every brown skinned person as if they were a potential bomber. The guys who sell flowers at the stall outside my house, for example, who say ‘Ciao, capo’ to me every morning deserve a smile not a look of suspicion or, worse, hatred!

I’m with the author of the article and think that it is, in the main, all made up. I suspect I’m more likely to die in a car accident or through some health issue than be blown up by terrorists and I suspect that you are too – whatever the level of alert at the time.

Still, fairy stories have their uses.

Is it connected or just coincidence?

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The place’s entrance is on the outside of a curve in the fast main road. The road runs along the top of a large hill but dips down towards the entrance of the place to rise again afterwards. The entrance is large, as is the car park that surrounds the place – too big for the place itself and one wonders how the car park was ever filled.

I go in with friends, as yet undefined. The car has a problem. We need somewhere to stay the night and this looks like a pub/hotel. But, apparently, it’s not. However, there is a hotel, within walking distance (since the car won’t go any more) further down the main road. We go for a quick drink in one of the many bars. This particular bar is to the left (as you look at the pub) and is, almost a separate building which has its own entrance.

A few days or weeks later I am back.

I am with a woman, younger than me. We stop at the pub for something to eat and drink. We get two rooms for the night. We each go to our rooms after dinner but then I remember that this place is not a hotel and has no rooms. I go back to the bar. I ask if it isn’t possible to stay in the rooms we are already in. Apparently not, since this is not a hotel. I go back to my room to pack. I pass the girl’s room which has a window (very large and with a rounded top) onto the corridor. I go in to tell her that we do have to pack and leave after all.

She is sitting in the hallway of her room, her back to the large window, kneeling on the floor. She is making what appears to be circles with her right elbow on the lino in front of the window.

“What are you doing?”, I ask.

“I’m clearing these lines away”

I bend down to see and, sure enough there are lines made as when you drag furniture along the floor – a sort of grey. As I look, her elbow does, indeed, clear these lines.

“OK”, I say, “we have to pack and go to this other place which is a hotel”. I add, “I’ve been before, it’s not far”.

“I’m glad you came”, she said, in a slightly strange, flat voice and yet, filled with some emotion that I could not guess at. “I need you to help me”.

“I need you to help me get away from this thing at my back”.

I look and see that there is a swirling, white, whirlpool of light behind her that appears to be pulling her into the window. I grab hold of her and pull. I pull her away from the light. The light wants her for itself. I pull harder. Even when she is free I can feel the light pulling her back, as if they are attached by rope. Once she is away, we stand and I hold her, cuddling her. My head rests on her shoulder. I look down her back and see that, although the white whirlpool of light is back at the window, she now has white light in the small of her back. I say nothing. I am scared, mainly for her.

____________________________________________________________________________________

I woke, of course, but returned to sleep quickly, as I was very tired.

The next morning I couldn’t get the girl out of my mind. Who was she? At first, I thought it was my sister, even if she looked nothing like her. Then I thought it was Best Mate, even though, again, it looked nothing like her.

I became convinced it was Best Mate.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

I phone. I wait whilst some unknown, unnamed person goes and gets her.

“How are you?”, I ask. She answers that she is ‘fine, thanks’ in a bright and over-cheerful voice. There’s something wrong, I know it. I ask. She explains that she now has someone with her. All the time. I guess what it is and why it is. I admonish her for it but in reality just feel frightened for her.

I tell her of the dream. The dream was two days ago. She says ‘Oh, how interesting’ in the fake, light voice that is required in order to get the ‘minder’ taken away. I can’t bring myself to ask if the dream and her actions were at all connected. But I am left wondering.

____________________________________________________________________________________

He tells me, over dinner what he would do.

“I would go and tell her like it is. Say that it’s her life and she can do what she wants but if she really wants to be better, she has to understand that it’s inside her and only she can stop it. Drugs and other things aren’t required. There are so many people who have real problems whereas hers are all in her head. If she was my friend, I would be hard on her. You should take a week from work and go over and talk to her”.

I want to. But I don’t want to make a mistake. He is right but it is easy for us to say. He thinks she is weak (not that he doesn’t like her) and she needs to be strong and, most of all, like herself. This is true. One must like oneself above everything, otherwise how can you like others or life or anything else?

But I’m not sure I am strong enough to do this. He tells me that if it was his best friend, this is what he would do. But, at least, I’m thinking about it!

If they put the price up, the people who will pay more will be those that buy the product.

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I was reading this article about imposing a minimum price for alcohol in the UK which, as with most research, seems a lot of money to pay for what is, in reality, common sense.

I can quite believe that the ‘winners’, should they fix a minimum price for booze in the UK, would be the supermarket chains. Of course they would be the winners!

But, I really couldn’t believe this line:

Researchers also suggested minimum pricing would have the greatest impact on households which consume the most alcohol.

Ummmm. Yes, I would think so. And I wonder why it was only a suggestion? That’s like saying that the people who smoke are going to be the most affected by an increase in the price of cigarettes or that people who drive a long way are likely to be those that suffer if there is a hike in the fuel price.

Well. Doh!

And I would like a few thousand for my statement in the title if any of you researchers are thinking of using it in any report you write. Please.

The mist spills over the mountain top

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The mist spills over the top of the mountain as if it is a waterfall. The mountain is not black but, rather, dark grey. The sky, over there, a long way away, is bright and white. Here it is raining. The heating is turned up in the car – at least, in the car, I have heating!

Autumn is here with a vengeance!

Friday night was rain, Saturday rain for half the day, Sunday sun and warmth and this morning rain again and cold. Nope, I like summer (and spring if it’s warm enough and not like this year).

There are a ton of half-finished posts – I just couldn’t get my head round them to finish them. Maybe this will be another. I did do lots of little odd jobs around the house (as F was working), which was good. It was only little things – but it makes a difference and makes me happier. Still a lot to do though.

Things have happened that, really I should have mentioned before; that I did mention in those half-finished posts but of which you, of course, know nothing. So let’s tell you something, at least.

R&Al, with whom we went out for a meal (or, rather, R, whilst we were having a cigarette, outside Baia Chia) told me that, in all the time they have known F, he has never spent so much time in Carrara! I thought, at the time he told me, of how lovely that was. Since then (and, in particular, this morning), I’ve been thinking that, perhaps there is another reason. My own paranoia stepping in and leading me to doubt the motives. I force myself to put those thoughts aside since it is highly unlikely that they have any basis in fact.

A few days ago (or maybe a week or two, now), F said that he would ‘like to go away for Christmas, just you, me and the bambini’. Obviously, the holiday was even better than I thought it was. It was very relaxing and he would like the same thing for Christmas, except ……. before this statement …….

Well, it seems (according to R) that he used to spend nearly every Christmas in Vienna (his favourite city). As such, his friend, Fi, phoned and he agreed that we would go there this Christmas (after he had checked with me) and, so, Fi found us a flat in the centre for us to stay with the dogs. To be honest, even if it will be cold, it should be lovely. And it is his favourite city and one to which I have never been, so it’s time. In addition, Fi is a very good friend of his (who I have not yet met) and is married to a guy who is a chef by trade – so just imagine how spectacular Christmas lunch/Christmas Eve dinner would be! Yes, I said, of course I would love to go. And, if there is snow………for Christmas……..how wonderful that would be!

But, we shall see what happens. However, we have been talking about how we should spend our 1st anniversary. I know, a whole year! Hahahaha. This time last year, we had only chatted online. The restaurant we choose (for it will be celebrated over dinner, of course) will be one of our favourites. Probably Giacomo’s. It won’t be L’Assassino, which is where we were on Saturday night, even if it is a lovely restaurant with 1st-class service. In the end, it is similar to Giacomo’s and the real cost was €154 for the two of us – anitpasto, secondo, dolce, l’aqua e vino – but I had a voucher meaning that, on Saturday night, we paid €54! Of course, the voucher (for €100) cost me €50 about three months ago via City Deal.

I did wonder if it would really work. The basic concept is this. A company (restaurant, hotel, gym, etc.) offer a deal – in this case – €100 voucher for €50. If you want to go for it (you have to be signed up to do this), you click on the appropriate button within the 24 hours that the ‘deal’ is active (each deal is available for only 24 hours). However, that doesn’t mean you get the voucher. The company have set the minimum number of people that must take up the offer before it is effected. If, at the end of the 24 hours, enough people have signed up for the deal then they email you the voucher which you print out.

In this case (and another that I have for another restaurant), you book the restaurant, go and eat and then, when you ask for the bill, show them the voucher. I did expect a bit of a fight and half-expected that I would be told that ‘you had to tell us at the time you booked, sir!” but no, none of that. Just a ‘Ah, you have a voucher’, then the bill with the explanation as to how much we were to pay and that was that.

It worked fabulously. Next is a restaurant near my flat and one which I have wanted to go to for ages. Unfortunately, it is a meat restaurant and so the intention is to go with A, later this week. I’ll let you know.

One downside to this City Deal is that you get two emails per day with offers (it used to be one) – each one lasting until 23.59 of that day, so no chance to go and see first, if you see what I mean. However, it was a really good first experience of both City Deal and L’Assassino.

And now we have entered the ‘stressful period’. Last week was Milan Fashion Week, with the Showroom Sales in full swing (hence the working all weekend). Towards the end of this week is a two-day trip near Venice, followed almost immediately by Friday and the weekend in London. And then, in November (for he plans his stresses in advance), he will be away every week.

On the plus side, as we were walking back through the centre of Milan, past the Duomo and up Corso Vittorio Emanuele II, we passed the Zara shop and we looked in the windows (as it’s part of his job, he can never resist) and he saw a cardigan that he said he really liked. So that sorts the anniversary present, then :-) and that I can get on Saturday, whilst he’s away – and, maybe, go to IKEA and get some cupboards for the bathroom so I can tidy up a bit more of the flat – I have a goal, after all!

Religion costs, apparently!

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19th August, 2010

When we were in the UK (really? Was it almost a month ago?), I took F to Hereford Cathedral. It is, after all, one of the main tourist attractions of Hereford, along with the ‘Black and White House’ in the centre (which was closed when we were there).

Of course, when I was a child, as I explained to him, and a pupil at the school that, in only three years, had such a profound effect on my life, the Cathedral was a haven. It was a haven, not in a religious sense, however much, at the time, I needed something to ‘save me’, but a haven from the cold in winter. Although the Cathedral could never be heated properly, they had these great big radiators/boilers at intervals and round those we could, at least, keep from becoming solid blocks of ice. I say ‘we’ but, actually, I don’t remember who ‘we’ were, that whole three years being almost a blank, save for a couple of people and some very important ‘learning’ that took place.

There was one other thing I remember from the Cathedral – the Mappa Mundi. All those years ago, relegated to some side aisle of the Cathedral, I don’t even remember if it had a light (but I think it did), operated by a switch which automatically turned off after a short, set time.

Now, of course, things are different. Then, a visit to the famous Chained Library was by appointment (and I’m pretty certain that I never went) – now it’s by payment. The same payment allows you to see the permanently illuminated and better explained Mappa Mundi. It was, if my memory serves me well, £9. But for me this is OK. I mean to say that it does not detract, in any way, from the ‘religiousness’ of the Cathedral proper. It was all discreetly done, at one side of the Cathedral.

Yesterday, we went to Orvieto. A very pretty (though typical), hill-top, Umbrian city, more catered to tourists than, say, Todi where we had visited just before.

The Duomo at Orvieto is quite beautiful. In a way (in that it’s made of layers of black and white marble(?)) it reminded me of the Duomo in Florence but with a front façade that is truly wonderful with decorated frescoes or mosaics (I’m not sure which).

We took it in turns to go in (F is just beginning to learn that the dogs should not come ‘everywhere’). I went first. It required an entrance fee of €2. I paid and went in. The people who didn’t want to pay were stuck, right by the entrance door, in what I can only describe as a ‘pen’. They had, to my mind, successfully turned the Duomo from a place of worship into a museum. There were no pews in the main aisle, just a few plastic chairs where those who had paid, could sit.

A service, held in one of the side chapels and accessed (for free) from a side door but fenced off so that if you went to the service you could not, then access the rest of the Duomo, seemed to be out of context. I walked down the one side of the main aisle. there was another side chapel and I could see it had rather splendid painted vaulted ceilings and walls. A girl was there – she asked to see my ticket. “No”, she said, wagging her finger at me as Italians do when something is not permitted. There was no “I’m sorry” and, until asked, no explanation.

As a result of the rather indifferent and, for me, rather rude girl, I decided I wouldn’t go and pay the extra Euro. And I also felt no reverence in this building. No desire to be especially quiet (although, being on my own, I was). The whole idea of paying, just to get inside a place of worship, owned, as it is, by one of the richest organisations in the world, left a distaste in my mouth which is a shame as it was a beautiful Cathedral.

I know that €2 is nothing and an extra Euro (which I advised F to pay – and which he did) is even less but the way it has been done devalued the experience, whereas, in Hereford, it did not

Apparently, religion costs!

Too fast? Too slow, more like

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“It’s all too fast”, he states.

“Not for me, it isn’t”, I reply.

“At our age you have to take things more slowly”.

“Really? Why?”

And I mean it. Really? Why? Why does one have to take it slowly? Surely, one should take it slowly when you’re very young – when there really IS enough time. Now, we should be rushing and going as fast as possible.

He suggests it is because of experience but concedes that that’s not in my experience – so outside my knowledge. Later, I think that I should have said that, more or less, when I was his age, I started a relationship with the guy I just spent over 20 years with – and, if I had my life over again, I would do exactly the same.

“But it’s been over nine months”, I attempt to justify to him. He has this habit of not looking at me. Of moving his head in such a way as to appear blind – like blind people do – looking into the air and moving their head from left to right – see Stevie Wonder, for example.

He doesn’t look at me when he says, “C’mon Andrew, 9 months is very short”.

I won’t argue with him. He doesn’t understand. To be, possibly, meeting the family after 9 months together is not fast. It’s slightly more than snail’s pace.

But then, as I pointed out to him, no one in the UK at the age of 30+ (or, even 20+) would consider spending the two/three weeks of their holiday at their parent’s house. Christmas, probably. Easter, maybe. But your summer holiday? Going home and spending all that time with your parents? Are you crazy?

So we may look the same but, mentally, we’re very, very different.

Even in little things. We got to the bar and there were empty tables at the far end, outside. I sat with my back to a huge fan they had going. A sat opposite me. The fan turned and, at one point in its cycle, the air blew, quite strongly, on to my back and the the back of my neck.

“I can’t sit here”, he says. “The fan will mean that I will get a [stiff] neck”, he says, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, the part not being affected by the wind from the fan. Still, he got the waiter to adjust it, all the same. I’ve only ever really seen that here. No one in the UK gets that bothered by a bit of air movement. How can we? It’s so windy so often!

And, talking of the UK, I’m wondering what to take F to see and what to avoid. Should I go to my parent’s house (just to look where it is, not for any other reason); or just stick to Worcester – walk round a bit – Hereford we can do after the wedding. I will go to my Grandfather’s grave – just for a few moments – he was/is still my hero.

But, I want him to see where I’ve ‘come from’, so to speak. I don’t know why. But it might be boring. I have to be careful. We shall, hopefully, meet up with the bride and groom the day before and some other friends just afterwards and then, I hope, providing she can do it, go and stay with Best Mate for a few days.

I would like to go and see V’s Dad – but probably won’t get the chance. I would like to see Corrine but, again, it might be a bit much for F.

Or, perhaps, we should just suck it and see?

What is wrong with some people? Will they never be happy?

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Let’s be honest people are strange.

Take V, for instance. When we first got together, he had a thing about his birthday. We used to go to his parents. He would arrive, expecting presents by the barrow-load. One time, we arrived about 11 a.m. No one was home. He got so angry. Why weren’t they there to celebrate his birthday? How dare they just go out! We left and went home, I think – although maybe we didn’t. All I remember is the anger. I tried to explain that as he hadn’t told them when he was coming, how were they to know to be there at that time. But there was really no placating him.

When we had the computer business, there was this woman, A, who worked closely with him. She was married to L. Every year, it didn’t matter what L tried to do, birthdays, Christmases and anniversaries were fraught with danger. For him it must have felt like going over the top at the Western Front!

Every time was the same. He would try and surprise her with something and every time he would be rebuffed as it wasn’t what she wanted or was too cheap or something. And, amazingly (because I would have given up after a couple of years), he went to some great lengths to try to please her.

But, whatever he did it simply wasn’t good enough. V & I (for he had got over his thing by then) would gasp at the whole thing.

And now I have S, my colleague. Actually, in many ways, she reminds me of A. The ‘show’ is the thing not the substance.

And, so, tomorrow, is her birthday. It’s quite an important one and it’s quite obvious that this is a milestone she doesn’t want to be at. For a few weeks there have been odd murmurings from her about how it’s going to be terrible. Her husband, she thought, was trying to pull off a surprise party. She was complaining about the people he would probably invite and she spoke to him several times about who she didn’t want at the party.

Eventually, last week, it was agreed that they would go out for a meal – just the two of them. But she’s not happy with that either. I think that, secretly, she wanted a surprise party but was preparing herself to complain about was there and who wasn’t there.

And the present has been an issue too, apparently with him suggesting that she goes choose some shoes – which is obviously not good enough since shoes do not last forever – or even a couple of seasons!

ut, then, she tells me this morning that her birthday is always like this and her husband is always wanting to do something and it’s always a disaster. Last year was some restaurant with some friends but it was a terrible restaurant and the food was not good, etc.

And her husband always wants to do something on her birthday because his is in the first week of August – and they are away at the seaside then, in France, where they have a house. And so, he can’t celebrate his birthday in the way he would like and tries to muscle in on hers. It’s been like this for over 20 years, she says.

Now he has some people coming round on Thursday night. Apparently she told him that she wasn’t cooking and he said that it was not necessary because they would have cake. She asked him who was invited and, apparently it is some friends of his and some people from the block of flats. So she asked if a certain person was coming and he said no and she said that they were the only people that she really got on with and if he was going to invite people from the block then she would invite them and he didn’t think this was a good idea and she said that she is having nothing to do with it and she was going to make it quite plain that this is NOT a birthday party and certainly NOT a birthday party for HER.

And there are times when she just needs a good slap to get her to come to her senses.

After all, what’s wrong with sharing the birthday with him? They will be in France when it’s his and this, being Italy, probably means he has always missed out on birthdays with friends because it’s always in the holidays – the same way as F did/does.

And I know that she will never be happy. Everything will always be wrong – even if this year is worse because of the impending five-zero.

But, like I used to feel sorry for L, I feel sorry for him. In a way. To be honest, this should have been knocked on the head from the start. This kind of crap you don’t need when you’re trying to do your best for someone.

It just annoys me!

Life, the play starring Me (and You, of course)

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Well, I guess it had to happen sooner or later.

And now what?

We live in a huge social network experiment. We (OK, maybe not YOU, my lovely reader but certainly me), even knowing the fact, continue to be part of this experiment. It’s an experiment simply because we really don’t know the implications of it all.

Facebook. A wonderful tool for keeping in touch with friends who live some distance from you. I chat (either on Facebook or Skype) with people that, normally, I would not stay in touch with. Take A, just the other day. I saw she was online in FB and started chatting with her. It was lovely to reconnect as we haven’t ‘spoken’ for quite some time. I made her laugh (apparently) which is, it seems, just what she needed right at that moment.

I have, of course, checked out my sister on the site. I get a feel for what she is doing; where she is; who she is with. It satisfies my curiosity. She, of course, has the connection with my brothers and my nephews and niece. It’s enough for me and just about as close as I want to get.

As far as I know, she is not in touch with any other friends of mine. Certainly, none of them are friends on FB. And my name is, thank goodness, so common that there are thousands of me. I have no picture on my profile that is of me but, rather, my dogs. Even if you came across me by accident you couldn’t know, for certain, that I am who I am.

But, I guess, some people are determined.

And now I have a friend request from a very close friend of hers. I know they are still friends (via FB) and they still keep in touch in a way that only women seem to do. Or, maybe, that’s everyone except me seems to do.

I wonder how she found me? I wonder if she trawled through the site until she saw a likely me? I wonder how many other people she contacted with friend requests? Or was she just lucky?

And, now, what to do?

I am a great believer in ‘everything is for a reason’. People come into and go out of your life at different times to serve or having served a purpose or for you to serve or having served a purpose. Nothing is accidental – improbable, maybe, accidental, no. Each contact brings more out of us or teaches us things about others and ourselves. We play a role, a lead role, in this play called life. Everyone we come into contact is also a lead role but maybe in a different version of the play called life.

But, I cannot deny, I am apprehensive. This could open up a lot of old wounds. Is the right thing to do to accept the friend request or ignore it? Is there a sinister reason for it? Or, is it just like it says on the tin – a friend request? After all, we were once friends (even if that was through my sister).

The problem with this one, of course, is that it then opens the door to the rest of them. Starting, of course, with my sister.

Then, again, it could be an interesting door to open. After all, my name is not Alice and there is no Wonderland the other side but perhaps there’s something, something interesting, perhaps? Something wonderful? Unlikely. Something sinister? Maybe. Certainly something or, of course, perhaps, nothing!

The only question in my head is – once open, can I close the door if I choose, or will someone put there foot there? Ah, well, there’s only one way to find out!

Missing me; Tuscany, maybe?; Weather in Italy – when to have a holiday; In hot water; This blog

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“Looking forward to seeing you and the babies”

It hasn’t been that long.

“We are still in the restaurant, eating outside. I imagine our holidays – with the babies”

I take them out of order and, probably out of context. It’s my blog and I can do what I want.

In fact, it is only since 5.45 this morning when I got up and left him to wake up more slowly. But he was getting up at 6 anyway. He was going to the store near Venice.

It is hot and sunny there and cooler and more rainy here. But the rain will pass. And, for our holidays, I hope it is not like other years and remains hot and sunny, even if it is the third week in August – not the best week for being on holiday here, in my experience.

In fact, if you wanted my advice, holidays in the Northern part of Italy should be taken in July for the hottest, sunniest weather, with June and September cooler (but still hot) but more risky for rainy days. August, around the 15th, is almost guaranteed rain!

But I did notice that, in the message I put at the start, I was mentioned first. I also realised that he is, really, really looking forward to going away with the dogs (and me).

He has an idea for Tuscany (this is NOT the holiday). The problem is the dogs (or the babies, as you will). His parents place means that we sleep in two very small rooms and he is concerned because they go to bed early (and are up early – which all sounds good to me) but (and I more than agree with him) it’s not so easy with the dogs. The flat, which he shares with his brother, is currently being used by some cousin or something.

I don’t know how many times I have to say that I was only joking (even if the reality was that I was only half-joking). His plan is that he goes down on the Friday and I follow Saturday afternoon. Then I stay Saturday night and I (or, maybe we) come back on Sunday.

“I want you to come to C”, he says. And I really think he does. And I don’t want to take the dogs to his parents. at least, not until they know me better or something. Gentle introductions are required here, I think. Even if they will never know who I really am and are unlikely to with the language barrier.

However, he is thinking of doing this in the next couple of weeks. Let’s see. With him, I can’t get too excited lest it doesn’t happen. His mind is still unfathomable to me. I know he thinks about things a lot but what actually goes on in his head is just impossible and I can’t follow his logic (if there is any) (and that’s after my advice to Lola earlier this afternoon hahahaha).

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We expect things to work and we certainly take things for granted. Yesterday, in my head, I was looking forward to the shower I was going to have.

Except after nearly three hours, the three men went away, leaving me with a brand, spanking, new boiler …………. which didn’t work!

Another guy came today to fix it. It took him a while but he has done it. It was a blockage!!  As I said to someone at work, today.  I had one guy to carry things, one guy to fit the boiler and one guy to watch them do it.  Now, I could add – and one guy to make it actually work!

So I went to lie down for a bit and then I heard the sound of someone coming in. It was my cleaner guy. Since he had to leave early yesterday (no water) he was going to add hours next Wednesday. Instead, he chose to come and do the ironing today.

So, tonight I have a long, hot shower AND I have all my shirts ironed.

Cool, if you see what I mean.

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Today, I was recounting the story of how F & I met. The girl, A, thought it was a lovely story. Of course, my blog allows me to recount the circumstances in more detail than I would ever remember and for which I am grateful. She also wanted to know how it was to be gay; when did I know?; what about girls?, etc. I explained. I have nothing to hide. She was a bit shocked but then, in this country, there is an unawareness about it all that still surprises me. I wondered if this is what it is like in most of the world. I am truly grateful that I was born and brought up in the UK.

But back to the blog. I’m not sure that I always say all of the really important things but I think I was, mostly, faithful with my recounting the story, since it was written at the time. It makes me wonder, if, in a few years time, some of the essence of the whole thing will be gone from the blog. It’s not really a diary, is it? It’s more a collection of random thoughts and random happenings in my life. Some things are deliberately missed (for various reasons); some things omitted by accident.

Outside my family.

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I phone Mum to wish her happy birthday.

It’s not my Mum, obviously, and I feel slightly strange calling her Mum. I always felt like this. But I know it will please her (both to call her Mum and to phone her to wish her happy birthday). I send my love to Dad and ask how he is. We continue for a short while on the phone. I’ve never really had long conversations with them. Not least because I couldn’t always understand what they said so well.

I don’t want to get into deep conversation with her. I know that she will start crying and I’m not good with that. She’s not crying ‘cos we’ve split but just because Dad is so ill. She holds off crying but, towards the end of the conversation I can hear it in her voice. I end the call. I can’t make things better for her or Dad (again, obviously not my real Dad).

I promise to try and get over to see them this year. She thanks me for calling and I believe she was really happy that I called even if the circumstances are difficult.

But I don’t know what V has said about us or, rather, about the ‘no longer us’. I know that he told C, his sister, that I am with F now. When I spoke to C about it she seemed really happy for me. But, then she would. That’s the way she is and why I love her still, even if she is not really my sister. It was over 20 years I was part of that family. Longer than I was with my blood family and so they remain ‘my family’ still, I guess. I have no other family to replace them, not that I’m looking for one to replace them.

There will be difficult situations ahead, that much I know. What with Dad being ill. Even if they are ‘my family’, I always feel a little bit of an outsider – and not just because of the colour of our skin. But I worry about them and think about them often.