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Just keep your mouth shut, Andy! Trattoria Righini

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It’s 3.22 a.m.

Not really a great advert for a restaurant, you would think. After all it is the restaurant that we went to at lunchtime that’s keeping me up. I’m still digesting the food!

However, it’s BECAUSE the food was so good that I’m still digesting it. I simply ate far too much. My stomach feels fit to bursting. Still.

Oh it was good.

The restaurant is the Trattoria Righini. It’s in a little place called Monteleone, right next to a small place called Inverno and Monteleone (Winter and Lion Mountain). Even the name of it makes you want to go there. There is nothing in the village except this restaurant (and some houses, of course).

The restaurant at night

Trattoria Righini at night

It’s nothing to look at from the outside – in fact, if you didn’t know about it, you would drive straight past it. It was a holiday here, yesterday, so like a Sunday.

Inside, there are about four different rooms. The biggest room is the first which also houses the ‘bar’. You don’t pick different times to eat – there is one sitting.

To start with, you can stand at this bar and they serve plates of Lardo and plates of the thinnest shavings of a special Parmesan cheese (it is very young) that you eat with your hands or, in the case of the Lardo, with breadsticks. And you have a choice of white or red wine. Of one brand which I guess is either theirs or a friend’s.

Then we went to our table which was moved (by our friends A & P) into this first room. They serve another plate of this Lardo with a pile of Parmesan shavings on top. There’s a plate of pickled red pepper (very sweet) and pickled onions as well. Then there was some salami delivered. Just two slices. Then some small meat balls (about 4 each), then some cottechino, then some sort of piece of omelet thing, then some other cold meat, then something else, then something else. All tiny portions. All served separately. All leaving you wanting more – which you could have if you asked ……. but if you go here, resist the temptation to have more. That would be a mistake and would lead you to be up at 3.22 in the morning following.

Then we had pasta. A couple of pieces of ravioli. Then a couple of pieces of different ravioli. Then some risotto.

Then there was polenta – with Gorgonzola or mushrooms, or figs done in wine or something else that I’ve forgotten now.

I had something of everything.

Then there was the main course. s. First there was some veal or some guinea fowl pieces. Or you could have both. And, if you’re really lucky, like me, your partner will give you some of his in addition.

The owner serving sweet, I think

This is how they dish out the food

So, that’s it, you thought. But no. Then they had a couple of slices of Roast Beef Inglese – which was the best I’ve ever tasted. By now I was refusing second helpings.

Then there was sweet – This was a sort of large cake, sliced into small portions with a kind of white custard, some ice-cream and chocolate sauce. Or you could have some fruit with the custard, ice-cream and chocolate sauce.

Or you could ask for and get both of the above.

Which is what I did.

Because I am stupid, I guess.

Then there was coffee.

During the meal we got through three bottles of the ‘house’ red wine and one of the house white we had drunk with the Lardo and Parmesan shavings (the last being for F – who drank the whole bottle to himself).

Then we had a glass of grappa.

The waitresses and the people who owned it were some of the most pleasant people. Smiles and kindness abounded. It was all very efficient, with only short waits between the ‘courses’. And, in the end it cost less than €40 per head. We went into the restaurant at about 12.20 and came out about 5. It was like being at an Italian wedding but with really glorious food.

It’s about an hour (or less) south of Milan, driving. Without a car you couldn’t get there. It’s closed most of the time (like all of January and August) – Monday and Tuesday all day, Wednesday evening, Thursday and Friday mornings and Sunday evening. Oh, yes, and they only take cash. No credit cards.

But it was wonderful. And I am now suffering because of my inability to say no in the face of good food or even just keeping my mouth shut from asking for a bit more, please?

Everything’s golden.

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He told me that I needn’t but I couldn’t really go there with nothing, could I?

And, so, last Saturday I went hunting.

Before that, I asked him, “What are you going to get them?”

I’m glad I asked – a bottle of grappa for his Dad with a gold top or something and a gold picture frame for his Mum. Damn because the gold frame was what I had thought of.

“What were you thinking of?”, he asked me back. Quick thinking got me to say, “Maybe some gold coffee cups since they drink coffee every day”. Good idea, I told myself.

However, I found that gold coffee cups are NOT that easy to find. I did find some on my foray in the morning – but they didn’t have handles and looked rather cheap. Well, they were rather cheap so maybe that’s why.

But I had a brainwave in the afternoon and trotted off to La Rinascente (a huge department store by the Duomo). They had a section for fine china and the thing about fine china is that often it includes gold decoration.

And, even if they’ve changed it so that resembles more of an up-market market, I did find some. They are Wedgewood (so an English company, which makes sense) and they are simple, white cups and saucers with a rather fine pattern in …. GOLD! Hurrah!

OK, so they weren’t exactly cheap but on the basis that I get fed and looked after when I’m there, it seems (and is) a very small price to pay.

F said they were really nice. He’s going to wrap them, obviously, being so neat as he is.

And so I am set for our trip down there to the Tuscan coast. We leave on Thursday (probably) and come back on the Tuesday ……… unless, of course, Piero is born and we can go and see him. In which case F wants to go and see him – so we might either delay the visit by a day or come back a day early.

And, on the Sunday, which coincides with my birthday, we shall be having the Golden Wedding Anniversary lunch at some rustic restaurant in the foothills, on the veranda, overlooking olive groves, etc. All the family and cousins and so on will be there. And me :-)

It should be a nice few days away.

It’s like a party out there …… and here.

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There are plenty of taxis – just none that are free for hire.

For that matter, there are plenty of cars too.

And there are plenty of people. In fact, in this street, normally fairly dead at this time of night. In spite of the fact that there are some nice hotels on the road, mostly it is shops, and the shops are closed.

And there aren’t any people, normally, since the road doesn’t really lead to anywhere to which people would want to go.

But not tonight. Or, rather, last night. Last night it was ‘buzzing’, in spite of the rain.

It is, of course, the week of the Furniture Fair – Salone Internazionali Del Mobili. Apart from the fashion weeks, one of the most important times for Milan (or maybe bigger than the fashion weeks), showcasing all that is good and great about Italian design.

Now, the main exhibition is at the Rho Fiera (the big, new exhibition centre) outside Milan.

And whilst, when it first moved, Milan became a bit dead, now there are many smaller exhibitions and parties and things around the centre of Milan. And so it was last night, the third (I think) night of the Furniture Fair.

F’s shop had a book launch and so there was a small party, of sorts. Of course, now, I must go. I like to watch him schmoozing the customers – and he is very, very good. Full of charm and jokes.

I know some people, of course, and get introduced to more by F, permitting F to go off and see other people. I chat a bit but I do find it more difficult. I’ve never really been that good at small talk. Still, I do my best and the party is nice.

I step outside sometimes for a cigarette – watching the taxis and cars and people in this unusually crowded street. Feeling kind of odd. I mean, I don’t feel like I really fit in but it seems nice and I want to fit in; to be part of this ‘world’ of art and design and ideas.

But it’s OK. I have a glass of prosecco in my hand and, after several, I’m more relaxed. I meet people that I recognise but can’t place. One is an author; another a buyer or something for Prada; some English woman who is a buyer for some shops out of Milan. But I am crap with names and crap remembering. Somehow I manage to get by, sometimes having to ask F quietly, who it was I have been talking to.

I mention the dog; the new puppy – but they all already know and most have seen the photographs. “Yes, I have seen you in the photographs with the dogs”. Of course they have. I say to one, “I don’t know whether he’s with me because of me or because of the dogs”, laughing as I do. In fact, both are true.

And I am tired. His colleague from Paris has gone (and she is really lovely) and two nights of going out, eating, getting back at half-past midnight have taken their toll. Tonight I would have preferred to go to bed immediately but it can’t be so. It’s part of the deal of a relationship. One does things for the other. And, anyway, F enjoys introducing me as his ‘fidanzato’, especially to people who have never met me. They always think I’m something in fashion or design and he delights in telling them that I’m not. It’s his thing.

We walk home, since there are no taxis. It’s not late but both of us are so tired it feels like it’s midnight anyway.

In the middle of the night, we both stir for some reason and, for no apparent reason at all, as he turns, he lifts himself up on his elbows and kisses my face. He doesn’t really show affection as such but sometimes I feel happy that I know he loves me.

Not a walking holiday, as such.

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Even now, when I get up to walk somewhere, there is a twinge. Just at the side of my right calf.

Yesterday, it was my whole leg. I sometimes thought that my legs would give up on me as I got up :-D

It’s ‘cos we walked. And walked. And walked.

The weekend was wonderful. Dino was so tired at the end of it all that, by the time we arrived home, he hardly moved, staying in the kitchen for several hours.

We ate and drank and walked. Did I mention that walking bit?

The weather was, overall, kind although the wind was strong and cold on Sunday. Even if we sat outside to eat, R struggled a bit with the coldness of it – she being worse than me for hating the cold.

Still, the weekend was relaxing if tiring; fun if normal for when we go there. Sunday night we even sat watching Some Like It Hot on DVD! A great film with a simple story yet it ages so well.

3 days in a different environment with good friends and, wonderfully, Morgan who has to be the cutest dog in the world. His curly hair making his eyes look like those black, button eyes that you get with a soft toy dog and with a face that is both querying and antagonistic. He would make me want one of the same breed but for the stories I’ve heard – which are very amusing when he’s not your dog!

Even though I slept well each night I do feel like a weekend of sleeping would be perfect, right now.

It’s definitely cooler today, in Milan, but the forecast says it will pick up tomorrow or Thursday. I’m hoping it will be nice for our weekend away at the end of this month. We’re entering a busy period now.

All growed up?

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Of course, it could just be me but he does seem different.

A bit quieter. I mean to say, he still has his mad moments, still plays with the toys (always picking out the newest toys – carefully selecting them from the huge basket that, since F has been with us, is almost overflowing – and by ‘selecting’, he really does choose which one, taking a few moments to pick out one of the latest even if they are not on the top), still getting overexcited when F walks through the door, etc., etc.

But definitely a bit quieter. We were at the cafe this morning for breakfast. F had taken him for his morning walk and we met up there. Sure, he was pleased to see me but sat once I had sat. Watched for F as he went in to get breakfast and then remained sitting whilst we ate and drank.

Other dogs now are not necessarily so interesting unless they are female in which case his nose is often pressed right on their behind so that they look like two dogs joined together. Not all females. Just some. A suggests that this is because he is an Italian dog. I think it’s because he is a dog. But I can’t argue with A because that would just annoy me since logic is not his forte, even if he is an engineer – at least when it comes to things Italian.

No, it’s as if he is all grown up.

For me it’s not only his age but also because, now that Rufus has gone, he is not the little puppy anymore.

Or maybe it’s both.

But he has turned out, as I predicted, to be the best dog I’ve ever had. Not quite perfectly behaved all the time but, dammit, near enough and the only things he does wrong now (like his tendency to jump up) are because F encourages him to do it.

Yep, he is all growed up now.

Walking through the city that I love.

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I must admit, it didn’t seem quite right. Of course, it had crossed my mind earlier, before I set out. And, so, I should have checked, I suppose. Still, I had mentioned ‘showroom’ and nothing was said to make me think otherwise.

In fact, when I had asked, earlier, if he would like to come with us for a walk, I had assumed he would be going that way anyway. He had said ‘no’ since he had many things to do. In a way, that was a shame, in that I would have found out that he wasn’t going to the showroom after all!

Unfortunately, I was a little late setting out. And there wasn’t a bus coming. But I knew that, if I walked, I could be there by about 7.30, so that was only half an hour after it started and that was OK. I walked. Eventually, at one of the stops I saw that the bus was coming and waited. Three stops later and I was off.

I don’t particularly like that part of town. It always seems so dark, so dead. I got to the gates – painted especially mimicking something that a graffiti artist would do, thereby making graffiti pointless. It works. Also it is quite stylish.

The gates were closed. I rang the bell. As I rang the bell, I thought that, quite obviously, I was at the wrong place. For certain, with something this important, the gate would be open and I would hear sounds of partying or, at least, sounds of people, etc.

I text him, asking if it was at the shop but not really expecting an answer since it would be unlikely he would have his phone on or with him. Still, if it were to be at the shop, then I would be very late and, maybe, he would check his phone and see where I was. Or where I had been.

I ring the bell a second time. There seem to be lights on, from what I can make out over the hight wall and gates – but, still, I am sure I am at the wrong place.

Now this is nowhere near the shop. The shop will take a while to get to. I think about a taxi but decide I can’t really justify the expense. If it had not been for him, at this point I would have just gone home. But I can’t let him down and I know he wanted me there.

Luckily, I have a general map of Milan in my head, including most public transport. I can get to the Duomo (cathedral), I think and from there I can walk – it’s not so far.

But first I need to walk back the way that I came – the other side of the park that Dino and I had been playing in a few hours before.

At first I was going to walk straight up the road then I realised it would be quicker to go diagonally, through the park. Well, when I say quicker, easier to catch a tram. I thought I would take a number 12 or 27 as I was sure they were the ones. They didn’t take me to the centre but it would do. It would have to do. It wasn’t so far to walk to the centre. Then I remembered that I could change and take a tram number 23 which would take me to a delightful little square just behind the Duomo. The park that I’m walking through is quite nice in the darkness (although there is no real darkness since we are in the city. So it is more shadows of darkness, some darker than others). There are few people about. A couple of couples, intertwined as young lovers often are in Italy – after all, they seem to have nowhere else to go! A few people walking their dogs. A group of three young lads one of whom is holding the lead to a rather small white fluffy dog which takes away from their swagger as it’s more of a lap dog. I smile. To myself, obviously.

But it’s beautiful in the park with its shades of darkness. It makes me think of Twilight (even if I’ve never seen the thing). It makes me think of summer (even if it’s not as warm so as to be wearing just a T-shirt). It’s that kind of smoky darkness you get at twilight in the summer. It’s why it’s also called dusk, I guess. Dusky.

I got to the stop. Earlier, when Dino and I were coming back from the park, there had been an accident. A tram had run into a car. I had heard the bang from the park and thought it must have been an accident. It doesn’t happen that often and still amazes me when it does. I don’t believe that the tram ran into the stationary car but that the car had tried to turn left, crossing in front of the tram, thinking that he could ‘get away with’ the manoeuvre – except he didn’t. Stupid.

Now there was no sign of the accident. I get to the tram stop and walk a little further down to check on the trams or buses that stop here. I am in luck! A number 73 bus, from Linate airport also stops here. I had forgotten about that option. This takes me right to San Babila and so is a much better choice.

And even more lucky! The bus is nearly here. The bus is packed as it always is, coming from the airport. I can’t believe it has taken them so long to make a metro from Linate. Well, it’s still not finished but at least now it’s under construction!

As we near San Babila, I look out of the window of the bus and see, above the buildings, the Duomo, there, in all it’s glory, floodlit and beautiful (well, if you take the plastic wrapping off the tower that holds the larger-than-life, golden Madonna). I catch my breath. It can still do that to me!

I get off the bus and walk over the square in San Babila. I think about V and how much we loved this city and realise that I still do. It fills me with an excitement that is impossible to describe. It has a beauty and a liveliness that I have found only in one other city, Istanbul (even San Babila with its modern buildings all around – its shops). There are people with bags – bags from designer shops, there are people making their way to dinner, or the cinema, or the theatre, or home, of course. The city is alive and I like it a lot.

I walk down Via Montenapoleone (one of the main designer shopping streets in Milan). I notice windows more now, given that it’s F’s job. I like the window in Louis Vuitton. They have large arrows as if on a target, in a circle, around a bag. The fletches are the same colour for each window, but a different colour between windows. I don’t know what it’s supposed to mean, as such, but it’s pretty and inspiring at the same time. Like a work of art.

I notice that some of the other shops are no longer impressive to me, with their window displays. I am affected (or should that be infected) by F and what he does. I am less interested in the actual clothes or bags than I am in the displays! I pause in front of Iceberg. They were my favourite designers. I quite like a jacket there. Sometimes, I wish I had the money to shop there like I used to but that’s just a fleeting thought. Clothes, after all, are not that important, it’s how you wear them that’s the key.

The street is not full but the people there are mostly tourists. Maybe they’re too frightened to come there during the day? Frightened they will be made to purchase something that’s too expensive or that they will look out of place walking down there when the shops are open?

Still, I enjoy walking down the street. I want to tell them that I live here, that this place is my home. I am happy to live here. No, even proud! I imagine their envy, even if it’s not for everyone (even for most Italians). Still, it’s a city that I love and I like to be reminded that I love it – and not just because I’m with F. And it does feel like home (which it is) even if I would happily live in the country again. But I may only have this short time here, in this city, so I have to savour every moment.

At the end of the street, I turn right and reach the shop. Even if F has not replied to my text, it is obviously right. Whilst all the shops are now closed, there are people outside this one, having a fag, talking, etc.

It’s a special thing to launch a range of spectacle and sunglasses frames. Of course, I know a lot of people there. Well, the people that work for the company. They are all, of course, very nice to me. F is pleased to see me and I explain what happened.

It’s like an upmarket cocktail party. There are drinks (prosecco and wine) and nibbles, being served around the shop by waiters. Finger food, aperitivo food. When I try some, eventually, it’s nice. As I would expect, really.

I wander about a bit, not wanting to be in F’s way as he is, or should be, working. Saying hello and chatting with clients many of whom he knows, of course.

Someone comments on the jumper he’s wearing. It’s a simple grey v-neck. He tells them it’s from Zara and that I had bought it for Christmas. This is true but I only recognise it now, when he’s said it. He did seem particularly pleased with it and, obviously, he really is. That makes me happy. Also, I am happy that, even if I’m not in this business, I can do something so right.

He finds me a little later. He puts frames on me. He favours one that is a pale grey. I prefer one that is a dark blue. He says that the lighter one suits me. This time, I think, I shall listen to advice since I am always better pleased later.

But since I like the darker frames, later still, with a group of colleagues around me, we have the frames put on me again and people nodding their heads or shaking it giving their sage advice as to what looks best.

Apart from me and one other person, they side with F. I guess my next pair will be light grey frames then?

The party finishes and most people leave. F had told me that he has to re-do the shop for tomorrow. It has to be done now because tomorrow (today as I write this) he is in Germany for a week. I thought it was going to take a long time but before 10 he is finished and we go home.

As soon as I got home, I took off my shoes since my feet were killing me. I had done a lot of walking in shoes that I don’t wear so much now. Still, the walk both through the park and the city itself were worth it, reaffirming as it did, my feeling for this city. And I’m not even a city person!

What’s love got to do with it?

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As I have mentioned in some other post or posts, there is a prostitute who ‘works’ a corner just near where I live.

She always say ‘Hi, puppy!’ when we go past. (BTW, she’s talking to Dino at that point, not me :-D ). We say Hi to each other and I mumble something about the weather (especially recently as it’s been so cold, poor thing). I don’t know where’s she’s from. She is very tall and has legs right up to her bum. But I don’t really know much about her except that she is, undoubtedly, a prostitute.

I don’t have a big problem with it, in as much as I’m not interested and I do feel kinda sorry for her in that, as a career choice (if she has any choice), it wouldn’t rate as a fabulous choice imho.

But this is a profession that’s very, very old and, at least, it’s direct and to the point. I.e. you want sex, you pay for it.

Whereas, this, apparently, is most definitely NOT!

Obviously.

I mean, even where there are men saying they’ll fork out thousands of dollars a month, the terms and conditions explicitly state:

Please take note that we prohibit anyone from promoting illegal activities (such as prostitution) or commercial activities of any kind in their profile or in messages sent on the site and if such conduct comes to our attention we reserve the right to, amongst other things, remove you from our website and ban you permanently.

So, there you are. Not prostitution. Nor anything like it. Obviously.

Perhaps I should write down the url and give it to my lady friend from the corner?

In the meantime, I met this next lady once, in the street, in Milan. And she smiled at me. But she’s really tiny and not a prostitute, unlike my lady-from-the-corner friend.


(Tina Turner – What’s Love Got To Do With It?)

Before the party

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I admit to being a little apprehensive.

Amongst other reasons it’s the flying. I mean I love to fly – I just don’t like all the security and time-wasting crap that goes on, as I have mentioned before. It makes me anxious. Really it’s about the most horrible people doing all this. I mean to say, sometimes they are nice but often they are not nice and sometimes downright rude.

Then there is the going to the UK. I find myself disappointed, usually, these days. Disappointed with the people, the weather, the food, even the coffee. Of course, it’s not ‘home’ any more, which, for certain is part of it.

Then there is the meeting with people who I haven’t seen for at least four years – some even more than that. It’s not that being with them again is the problem it’s the different circumstances. I relied on V to remind me who all these people were. This time, I will have to rely on my own memory.

Not for all of the people, of course.

Then there is the ‘what to say’ thing.

Indeed, what to say?

I will be asked how I am. For some, it won’t be enough for me to say ‘Fine, thanks’. But, how far to go? I don’t know that they want to hear ‘Fantastic! Never been better’, or some such thing. But it will be difficult to keep it in check.

And, then, of course, there is V. Since I have no idea (well, very little) on the reality of his situation, I guess that much of what he will say will be bullshit. And, even if it weren’t to be bullshit, I would think it were so, which is a great shame.

Still, there is the slight concern that he will want to get back together again. And I don’t want to be cruel or hurtful but, quite obviously, there would be no chance of that, even if I weren’t with F now.

So, although I am looking forward to the party, I am very much looking forward to Saturday evening, when I will be back home and it will all be over and all the things that have worried me will be in the past.

Yes, I am a little anxious. But I guess it will all be OK really.

I’m lucky.

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I have a piece of advice.

Don’t go and open the box unless you’re sure you want to know. Sometimes (often), once open, the box can never be closed.

And I’m not talking about the box on the table in my lounge, here.

This piece of advice has come to mind a few times over the last few days. It first (in my memory) applied to a friend who was thinking about embarking on an affair. I suggested that it wasn’t a wise thing to do. I said that, once he had done it, there was no going back and that he would stand a chance of dying a lonely, unhappy old man.

He opened the box anyway. He’s still with his wife but, so he has said, unhappy. I predict that he will, whilst not ‘lonely’ in terms of having no people round him, die a lonely, unhappy old man with the regret that he did, in fact, open the box.

V did the same, imagining that the thing inside the box was fabulous. Of course, there is always a chance that the thing inside IS fabulous! I hope it is for him.

And there is another person who desperately wants to open the box. She’s been married for many, many years. She recently went with her husband and some friends to a big bar/club where older people, of between 30 – 60, go when they are single, to find that perfect someone to love. She said it was sad but wants to go again – and go to another. The friends she was with had met at this place and the woman confided in her that she misses the place and comes back when she can. I said that it was dangerous for her to go, given other circumstances surrounding her age and her marriage (although I didn’t add that bit).

This is just like I told her it was dangerous to go sniffing around on Facebook. Instead, she got an account and went sniffing anyway. Unfortunately, having not been able to find what she wanted, it has not taken any of the distress away, since she thinks (and possibly rightly so) that it is there but she is not been able to check because of security settings on people’s accounts.

This morning, she had a row with her husband. After staying awake all night (thinking about it all). I don’t know the details but I know (from a conversation she had with someone else) that it has to do with Facebook and something that has been happening for a year (they were both 50 last year and that was a cause for a mid-life crisis for both of them).

But, sometimes, in life, it’s better to turn a blind eye and not open the box. Knowledge is not, necessarily, a good thing. Sometimes less knowledge is better.

I tried to ignore my knowledge but during the last four years with V it became more and more difficult and, eventually, impossible.

This is, of course, not a new thing. Pandora’s Box was all about this, in effect. The apple and the serpent were another version of the box. So this dilemma is as ‘old as the hills’. I’ve done it myself and am fortunate that everything turned out OK in the end. Well, at least for me.

But, I’m watching this woman do the same and know that a probable result will not make her happier. She becomes more intrigued and more determined to find things out, the more her knowledge grows. Or is it that she has the knowledge but not the confirmation? Maybe it’s the confirmation? Either way, I think she should leave well alone.

Our curiosity and/or inability to have faith in someone else leads us to open the box. And, opening the box does not always make us happy.

So, if I had my time over again, would I have opened the box (actually several boxes)? For me, yes, because it led me here. In general, I wouldn’t advise others to do it – unless they are really prepared for the consequences. For certain, if I had not opened those boxes I would not be here now. And, maybe I would have been happier but I can’t see how I could be happier than now.

But, then, as I’ve said many times. I am a very lucky person.

I give you my favourite singer/songwriter who, quite possibly feels the same as me :-)


Joan Armatrading – I’m Lucky

The Chritsmas Spirit; Friends from across the water.

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“Did you like the thing on the table in the lounge?”; he grins as he asks this of me.

“What thing?”, I ask back. Of course, I knew he had been there, dropping off some jars of antipasto stuff for Christmas day lunch. But they had been in the kitchen. Although I had put some washing out to dry in the lounge I had, as normal, failed to look at anything. I am a man. It’s not an excuse – just a fact.

He is obviously excited about it. In fact, he seems very excited about Christmas all round. Which is lovely.

I go back home and look on the table. There is a festive table centrepiece. All green and gold and red. I tell him it is lovely – which it is – but more for the fact that he is making such an effort with everything this year. Not that it is really effort – at least, I think he’s doing it because he’s really looking forward to it.

The previous morning, we had gone for breakfast and, on the way back, we popped into the Chinese shop round the corner from me. He had decided that he didn’t like the lights round the doorways in the lounge. They were not the right shade of white. He bought two more sets of lights that were the right shade of white.

In the evening we went to Baia Chia – the Sardinian restaurant. A colleague (of mine from 18 years ago, he said – and it was probably true) and his wife (whom I had never met) are over in Milan and we had agreed to go out. Also, Stef was over from the US. An also joined us and so we were six.

We had a fabulous meal. I miss Stef and Nicole quite a lot so it was particularly good to see him. He has gone very American though and all the good work I had put into teaching him British English has been for nothing. Obviously, it’s OK but it was funny to hear him speak with an American accent and use words live ‘beverages’ when he meant ‘drinks’.

We also had a lot to drink. Indeed, between the six of us we must have had the best part of two bottles of Mirto after all the wine! F was a little drunk. When we arrived home, he started trying to put up the new lights. I told him not to do it because he was drunk. He did one but left the other until the morning, thank goodness.

And now the flat is nearly ready. The only room which has not had the full ‘spring clean’ is the bedroom – to be done on Christmas Eve.

And, unusually for me, I did some Christmas shopping on Sunday! This just shows how much I am into the Christmas spirit this year. This could be the very best Christmas ever :-D