Monthly Archives: May 2009

Not just the British complain about the weather.

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This morning, as I drive to work, it is already 20 degrees! Over an hour earlier, before most people were even awake or, at least, before they were out and about, I was walking the dogs.

It is warm enough not to wear a coat and wear light clothes. I do not quite trust it enough to be wearing sandals but, another week of this and maybe I will.

Two weeks ago the Italians (and I) were complaining that there was too much rain and that it was far too cold. “It’s too cold for May” or “There’s too much rain”, they say (me too!).

Now the Italians (but NOT me) are complaining that it is too hot! “It’s too hot for May”, they say! I say “For me, if it were like this every day I would be very, very happy”.

Nothing in life is for free; I am no DIYer

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It is true. Nothing in life is for free. This weekend was as busy as it could be. Saturday trawling around Junk Shops (often called Antique markets in the UK) looking for suitable furniture and Sunday, well, Sunday was a few things.

I had been ‘given’ a tall cupboard for the kitchen. Of course, it needed to be disassembled and then transported to my flat.

I am told that the man with the drills and screwdrivers will be there at 3 p.m.

Siamo in Italia – I plan to get there at 4. I arrive. The man with the tools has been and gone – gone to go home and get the tools. We wait in a virtually empty flat. And we wait. The man with the tools is helping move the final items as the cheap mover my friend chose has broken/sprained his wrist. Except the man with the tools cannot actually lift or carry anything as he hurt his back. If I had known he wasn’t going to be there with tools I would have brought my own screwdrivers. Bah!

He arrives and is let into the building. After 15 minutes he has not arrived at the flat (which is on the first floor).

I suggest that I go down to help. He is kneeling on the floor, just inside the entrance, trying to close the toolbox lid (I’m not sure why it was open anyway).

I go and help. He seems to be having problems closing the lid but sorts it just before I arrive. I offer to carry the box. He warns me it is very heavy. Now, I am not Mr Universe, in fact, quite the opposite. I wouldn’t want to carry it for 5 miles but it really isn’t that heavy.

I walk up to the first floor.

He starts to take down the cupboard. After unscrewing one screw, I take over. In fact, I then do most of it myself.

I start to carry it, piece by piece, to the car. I realise the sides and door will not fit in the car and allow me to close the boot. I curse my stupidity for not bringing rope/string.

The man with the tools suggests we try it in his car. It has the same length as mine so will be the same problem.

I put everything in my car. The man with the tools lent me some of those stretchy things to tie down the boot.

I drive home slowly – very slowly.

I know that my friend will be very angry that I did not stay to help with the other boxes – but I am now running very late and cannot stop. I make the excuse that my car is open and cannot leave it like that. Anyway, I’ve kind of lost patience with her. She expects everything for nothing. But I am a gay man and unaffected by her charms towards straight men. They simply do not work on me. And, I have already done enough for her to deserve the ‘free’ cupboard.

When I get home I curse the fact that a) I live on the third floor, b) the things will not fit in the lift and c) I live on my own with no one to help. But, I get the stuff into the flat and rush to have a shower before going out to dinner, as had been planned.

Earlier, I had to do some DIY. DIY is not my strong point, although, apart from some cooking, what is, I wonder?

However, DIY in any shape or form is not in my list of things I do. Let’s be honest, V did almost all the DIY; all the fixing of the house to make it right. I did the cleaning of drains, the garden, etc.

I need to put up the curtain poles I bought the day before. I start with the lounge. First I must go round to the old flat to borrow the drill from V.

I trundle round and he tells me what I need. I carry it home (along with a barrel of beer that really needs drinking – but not now, of course!).

I have to extend the ladders to their fullest. I don’t do heights either – but I have no choice unless I have bought the rods for nothing and will have no curtains.

I climb up the ladder with the drill. I drill. I try to fit in the rawl plug. I realise I have the wrong size drill bit. I climb down and fit a larger one. I climb up and re-drill. The rawl plug won’t go all the way in. But the way is blocked by a lintel or something.

The fixing ‘screw’ has a screw on the one side for fixing in the wall and a different screw on the other for screwing in the pole support – so that no fixing will be visible. So that you don’t ruin the thread for the pole support, there is a little cap that is screwed on to create a kind of screw head. I screw in the screw thing.

I find I cannot unscrew the head from the screw. I only have on pair of pliers so cannot do it.

I go back round to V’s to get another pair of pliers.

With two pairs of pliers it does the trick. Also, on the way back home I realised that my ‘super scissors’ would trim the rawl plug flush to the wall.

I have success! I fit the other one (which is much quicker, of course), fit the pole and the curtains. At last! I now have to fit the tie-backs and do the same thing for the bedroom!

The whole thing has taken several hours! Just for a curtain pole! I look at the mess and realise I must go to pick up the cupboard (see above).

I review the mess every time I go to the bedroom. I will be busy tonight!

I had forgotten……

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……just how bad Telecom Italia were.

I am reminded this morning. No Internet. I phone the line. They ask if the ADSL light is on. It is. They do a check. They inform me that it will, definitely, be fixed before Thursday.

Someone (and I forget who) was surprised that Infostrada/Wind were so much better. But it is true. I think, in the 2 years (or whatever) I was with Infostrada, I only had to phone them once (and I’m not even certain that I had to do that!).

Whereas, with Telecom Italia, I had to phone them quite often.

They are, as I said before Teminally Ill – and crap with it.

I HATE TELECOM ITALIA! May they and all they arrogant, supercilious employees, rot in hell.

I remain, slightly, angry, in case you hadn’t guessed.

I slip on a pair of old jeans

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Fashion. Like modern art, I like what I like. The problem for me is that, when I like something, I like it a lot and for much longer than I probably should. So, I tend to keep things even if they don’t really fit or are just “out of fashion”.

Some things, of course, are beyond the fashion of any particular time. They have an elegance and style that may never have been the height of fashion but, in any event, will never really be out of style – ever.

I have some things like that. In the “good old days” when we had money, they were expensive but have proved to have been worth every penny, since they have been worn time and time again, in different guises, and have been made so well that they still look as if they were bought more recently.

Some years ago, with my first foray into Iceberg (one of my favourite labels), I found a pair of jeans in Harvey Nichols in London that I just had to have. Unfortunately, they only seemed to have bought one size of each pair and my true size had already gone but the size down were there, being tried on by some guy. We waited as he umm’d and ah’d about whether he really liked them or whether they really fitted him.

Eventually, he put them back on the shelf and it was all I could do to not snatch them up before they had actually touched the shelf. I tried them on and, although they felt more like a second skin, took them anyway.

After about a year of living here I found I had gained a little weight until, unfortunately, they were just too tight to do up the top button.

And then you bring love and break-up into it, for certainly, when you are in the first stages of love it seems (or has done for me) that it sheds pounds although I do not feel that I eat less. This is true for break-ups.

And so, after the move, I find these pair of jeans, ironed and ready to wear and tonight, as I am off out with friends for a pizza I thought I would try them on.

They fit perfectly and as they remain my favourite pair of jeans ever and they still look as if I bought them this season (apart from the fact that there are no jeans this season that are like them – to be honest, even when I bought them I never did see anyone else wearing them either in the UK or in Milan), I am wearing them as I wait for my friends to call to say they have arrived. I guess I’ll be wearing them a lot this summer. I am so happy about that as they look really good with a T-shirt and sandals!

I can even call them “vintage” jeans now! Whoah, yes!

They’re back!

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It rained overnight and I guess that’s why they’re back. It’s to be expected of course. But it doesn’t stop it being very annoying.

I woke up with the alarm and, for the first time for absolutely ages, decided to hit the snooze button. But sleep was not to come. The droning started almost immediately.

First close and then further away – but always present. It sounds like one of those unmanned aircraft. But when it’s close it is quite loud. Instead of going back to sleep, my elbow feels itchy. I scratch it. Maybe it’s psychological, only, maybe not.

>And then it lands but in this case, although the droning has stopped, there is no ‘Thank Goodness’ from me.

That’s because it’s on my face and, in my half-asleep condition, I have no skill to kill it properly. I slap my face but know that it has already left – I can hear the drone in the distance.  I get up, before the alarm sounds again, after all, what’s the point, it’s not going away any time soon!

Of course, one swallow doesn’t make a summer – and so, one zanzare (or is it zanzara if it’s only one – anyway, they’re mosquitoes to you!)) doesn’t mean that, immediately the infestation will start. It may not be today; it may not be tomorrow but someday, soon, they will be filling the flat to destroy my night’s sleep or worse, creating large, red, lumps, over my body.

Worse still, after the first few ‘bites’ will I have the usual swelling of my arm, as most other years? I hope not. Not that it’s painful but it’s not pleasant.

Still, come July or August and they will be gone. Maybe, this year, the local councils will spray to get rid of them which, at least, reduces their number? Let’s hope so.

The Final Conclusion or The Final Betrayal; Travelling and Quandaries; Not as Gay as I was?

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The Final Answer to The Final Question has been confirmed in the affirmative. This has made V very happy despite it being too late in certain respects.

Of course, The Final Answer is not the end of it. There will either be The Final Conclusion or The Final Betrayal. At this stage, obviously, I don’t know which. I have been promised The Final Conclusion but, if you’ve been reading this blog over the last few months, you will have some idea as to my uncertainty regarding things concerning V.

This last few weeks have been somewhat busy at work, hence my lack of posting. And, when I get home, there is, now, less time to sit at the computer and ‘mess around’ than there was.

And, it is almost certain (I shall know on Friday, definitely), I shall be going to the UK for a few days for work. Whilst I am there, I shall stay on a few days to renew my passport. It seems, from the website, that I shall be able to get it all done in 1 day (at extra cost, of course). This is slightly imperative on the basis that I shall only have one day to do it before needing to travel back to Milan! I shall let you know how it goes, for all of you ex-pats.

The alternative was a month to wait whilst it went through the consulate in Rome.

And then there will be Paris in June.

And the reason for writing this is the dogs, for I absolutely MUST do something with them and I cannot take them with me. So what to do? I can put them in kennels of course. Or I could get someone to look after them. Or I could ask V but asking V means that I have to rely on him. It’s a quandary. In addition, the day I come back will be the day that used to be our anniversary. I don’t know that I want to go and pick the dogs up on that day. However, since it is only two weeks before the first trip I do need to do something pretty sharpish.

Finally, as you will have read in an earlier post, it seems I may not be quite as gay as I thought I might be, in spite of using hand cream. And by that I mean that I lost the cream (it fell from my pocket whilst walking to the car) and I didn’t notice for two days!

To be fair, my hands, or rather, the part of my hands that were particularly bad, are much better. But there is still a stubborn area of hard skin. So I bought some new hand cream and have started using it once or twice a day. I’m not sure I can stand any more than that!

But, as soon as they are back to normal I shall stop using the stuff and be back, once more, to being the straight gay guy that I have always been. Hurrah!

Or let’s go for a walking or, if it’s terrific rain, let’s not!

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I just can’t get him out of the habit. My friend A will call, as he did on Friday night, and say things like, ‘We were thinking of going for a walking later and would be pleased if you could join us’.

I’m certain that I have corrected him a number of times – but you can’t do it every time, can you?

But it’s the same with our Engineering Manager here. His level of English is very good but there are couple of things that, at this advanced stage, are difficult for him to shake.

>One is the use of ‘or’ and ‘or’. Whereas we use ‘either one thing or the other’ in Italian they actually use ‘o one thing o the other’ – ‘o’ standing for ‘or’.

Unsurprisingly, then, he will use ‘or one thing or the other’. I have corrected it a couple of times but this one is deeply ingrained.

Similarly, his use of the word ‘terrific’. When he uses it he means awful or terrible. This one is, almost, funny because he will start a sentence with something like ‘It will be terrific when something happens….’ and then follows it with the details of why it will, in fact, be close to a disaster! It makes me smile, inwardly. I’m not sure I have corrected him on this one and because he uses it quite often, he might find it ‘terrific’ (using his interpretation) if he knew that all this time he’s been using the wrong word!

Mrs Dentist was wrong, apparently.

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Even the dentist agrees that something was definitely wrong.

I should not have been in that> much pain receiving the anaesthetic. And, he doesn’t agree that his wife (for they are husband and wife) is right about the pain being caused by the broken tooth (and I concur with him).

They have phoned S, earlier, to ask if I will go back, after work, for him to have another look. He wants to do an x-ray higher up, to include the jaw bone.

Looking at the new x-ray he decides that the far back one will, unfortunately, have to come out and the next one has a particular problem that was not apparent before.

I go back next Tuesday after the antibiotics have done their thing.

I wish I could say that I was looking forward to it…….

I go to the dentist (and once was enough) – an update from the previous post

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S phones her husband – who owns the dental practice where I now go. I can go in at 12.30.

I arrive. I am lucky (?) to have both dentists at my disposal. I explain what has happened and that I think it is infected (abscess). I need some antibiotics.

They take a look. They see that the tooth has a bit broken off. They think this is the cause of the pain. I try to explain that the tooth broke about 2 or 3 months ago and the pain started happening 2 or 3 days ago. In my mind there was no correlation.

They still think it is a result of the break.

The woman dentist injects my gum and, a few minutes later starts the treatment. The cold air hits my painful bit and I almost jump out of the chair. They think this is strange. They decide to inject the roof of my mouth. At first this is OK. After a few seconds it feels like she is sticking the needle into the painful area without any anesthetic.

I attempt to rise from the chair like she is a magician doing that levitation trick. At the same time, I make garbled shrieks. I have never felt this much pain in a dentist’s chair.

She stops but then says she must continue to sort it out. She continues. I scream. She then blows a little, faint stream of cold air into the area. She asks if it hurts and yes, it bloody well does.  I mean, I know I’m a bloke and we’re not so good with pain, but never, never can I remember so much pain.  She might as well have been sticking a needle into an area of my body that was the most sensitive!

They decide that, maybe, there is some small infection. I have a prescription to get some antibiotics.

I go back on Tuesday. The man dentist says it’s OK to take Synflex whilst taking the antibiotics.

This is a good thing as, on the drive back to work, the pain comes back like it was at 3 this morning. I have taken two more tablets. Almost 2 hours later I find the pain is now almost bearable.

I never did like dentists that much. I like S’s husband – but he is not a dentist, only the owner/dental technician. He made my new teeth and on which he did a fantastic job. I still don’t like actual dentists that much.

I take a trip to the chemist (twice)

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I decide I must go the chemist after all. It’s 3 and I decide to drive, walking will take too long and I can’t use public transport.

I get in the car and start the drive. I know which chemist I am going to. The traffic is light – well, almost non-existent. That is because this is just after 3 in the bloody morning! I got home at midnight with my tooth aching as it has done, on and off, for about 2 days. I know what the problem is – it is infected (again). I had, sort of, hoped it would go away but it hasn’t and now, instead of the pain lasting for an hour or so, it has lasted for several hours and has now woken me up at this ungodly hour.

I am in so much pain (and, being a man, this is tripled or quadrupled, of course) that I cannot do anything. When I got home at midnight the pain was bad. So much so that I texted V to ask if the chemist was till open in Corso Buenos Aires (it used to be an all-night one) and what I should get as I don’t usually do pills so really have no idea.

He says that he thinks the chemist is open and that I should ask for Synflex 550.

So, at just after midnight I trot off to the chemist – to find it no longer did the overnight opening but had a sign to say that it was now open from 8 a.m. To 8 p.m. Damn! I look for the nearest one open at this time from the list they have posted. I know where the nearest one is but it’s just too far to go, I have been out and had a few drinks and I want the pain to stop now.

I phone V. Does he have something? He says that he does but it’s not very strong. I say that that is OK by me. I go to the old flat. He has the pills ready and a glass of water. I take them, gratefully.

I go home. I go to bed. I go to sleep. Then I am up again at three and this time the pain is worse. I cannot stand the dogs who think it is time to go for a walk. I dismiss them and then feel sorry for them because it is not their fault but rather the pain’s.

I leave them to take the drive to the chemist that I am almost certain will be open.

I park, across tram lines, knowing that there will be no trams at this hour. I go to the chemist door. They are not open as such but I am invited, by a sign, to ring the bell. I ring, almost jumping up and down with the pain by now. I wait. This is taking too long. I ring again.

A bleary-eyed man arrives at the door. There is a small metal cover which he can open. He asks what I want. I tell him. Normally, at the chemist, when you ask for this stuff, they question you as to what you want it for; have you ever taken it before; before grudgingly going to get the packet.

He just asks for €10. I guess that, if you’re coming out here at this time to get this you know why you want it and have used it before. I give him 20 through the metal door that he has now opened, slightly.

He goes away. He returns quite quickly. He hands me the box and the change through the metal door. I thank him. It is as much as I can do not to tear open the box there and then and take a whole load of them.

I get in the car and drive back. In the 30 minutes or so that this whole exercise has taken, my parking place has been taken. I curse Italians and Italian drivers in particular. I drive round and find one space in a residential zone. I now live out of the zone for which I have the permit. I don’t care. I need to take the pills. I park, reasoning that between now and 7.15 when I shall leave, there won’t be anyone calling the police to have my car towed away for being parked in a wrong place.

I get back to the flat and once again, cannot greet the dogs who are happy to see me as if I have just got home from work.

I take the pills. I know that they will take effect – but, obviously, not within one second.

I wait for them to take hold. At 4.30 I go back to bed. I don’t really sleep but need to so much.

At 5.45 the alarm goes off and I find that I have slept, thank goodness.

Still, I am grateful for all-night chemists and grateful, in this case, that I live somewhere where it is possible to get to the chemist without having to travel for half an hour.

I am, unsurprisingly, very tired today.

I go to my dentist at 12.30. He will give me antibiotics and everything will be fine within a day, I know. I very much hope that I will be able to sleep tonight.