Sardinian restaurant; V update and advice; my wine shop

Italians, as I have said before and as you would expect, have a thing about food. And, unlike the UK, it’s all very regional – however, I live in Milan and, here, we have restaurants from all over Italy. Last night we went to a Sardinian restaurant (Baia Chia – Vai Bazzini, 37).

It has, mostly fish (I guess because Sardinia is an island) although there are a few meat dishes. However, I decided on grilled Sea Bass for the main course and some raw tuna mixed thing for antipasto – this I shared with F who had chosen some prawn thing.

I have to say it was all delightful. When they came with the Mirto at the end of the meal it was, truly, the best Mirto I’ve had.

Not a big restaurant but well worth a visit – even if it is a little off the beaten track.

F admired the jumper some woman was wearing and said he wanted it…….so, partly as a joke and partly because it’s me….I went over and found out where she had bought it and gave the info to F – he seemed pleased but it may have been just because I had the nerve to ask in the first place :-)

AfL was lovely. F paid for the whole meal which annoyed both of us – but what was done was done…….it just means I have to be better at spotting what he is doing.

We walked part of the way back together and then I left them and went home.


Earlier, I had texted V to wish him well for Monday when he said he was going to go back to work. He said he wasn’t going back as he had had some results from the tests.

I phoned him. It seems he has a problem with some nerves in his wrist, which is why his arm keeps going numb and they have also found a problem with one of the valves in his heart!

I don’t know whether it’s serious or not. He would probably never tell me. We chatted for a bit, easily with many laughs.

I told him about the problem with the kid. He told me that, perhaps, I shouldn’t be my usual self and should be a bit more like him…..letting the guy down very, very gently. His opinion is that Italian men are about 10 years less mature than British men…..which would make the kid 20! Scary!!

I got him to promise that, in future, he would keep me up to date about his tests and health and joked that I would need to know so that I could come over and put post-it notes on the furniture I wanted!

He won’t keep me up to date, of course. I know him better than that.


Later. I go to the wine shop. We are supposed to be going to his friends’ place for the meal tonight. I ask the guy for a really good bottle of dry white and a good bottle of sweet white. He has some expensive wines in the shop. By expensive I mean €60 plus. He points me to one costing €28 and says that is particularly good. More or less the same with the desert wine. It’s why I keep going back. And his choice is almost always perfect.

He tells me that he has some more Macallan 7-year-old whisky (I had bought for a colleague once) and would knock something off the price.

Really, this guy is good. Of course, it’s all in Italian and I don’t understand everything he says but I can rely on him. If you tell him exactly what food you’re going to eat he will pick the wine to accompany it. Love it.

Then F phones to say that we are now going to a restaurant anyway. Well, it’s not as if the wine will go off, so there’ll be another time.

The royal “we”?

He calls. “Ciao Bambino”, he says.

He tells me that he has had lunch with the potential future landlady and has decided to take the flat. I tell him I am really pleased and hope he is pleased too. He says he is, although there is a hint in his voice that he is not. He signs the contract at the end of November.

“And we will be close to each other”, he says, excitedly, the smile in his voice apparent. Yes, we shall be 10 minutes walk away from each other. I don’t say so, but I think that is 10 minutes walk too far. But, for him, he needs this space. For me it is not necessary.

He is not dog sitting after all. The woman is not going away as her one son is ill. However, AfL is still supposed to be there “Unless she says she is going back to London”, he says. “I will phone you later and tell you where we are going with AfL”, he adds.

Now, in case you have missed the important choice of words, I will spell them out.

Before it has been he and AfL going somewhere and me tagging along. Now it is “us”, the royal “we” that are going somewhere and “we” are taking AfL out!

Of course, I must remember – “LOST IN TRANSLATION” – and, therefore, it may be of no significance, however, it’s nice to think like that, for me.

And this in spite of the post below!

Neck Height and still digging!

Sooner or later I really should tell F about this blog.  I mean, it’s not good to keep secrets from each other, is it?  And this is a big part of who I am, possibly, probably.  Which makes this post more dangerous than others because, not only is this blog not known to him but neither is this other problem – which wasn’t a problem – until last night!

And I ummmed and ahhhed about this and whether I should post this but, since I had decided this blog would detail all of the ups and downs of life after V, I feel I owe it to you, dear reader, to tell all – well, almost all.

The question is – how to post this without sounding a bad person when really, it’s not because I’m bad, it’s because I am too soft.  And I know that you will have opinions and have advice over this.  Don’t think, for a moment, that I haven’t already been through all this in my head already.  I know what I should do.  I know what is the right thing to do but………

The problem came only last night.  Before that it was controlled and controllable and no problem, since it was only chat and nothing else.  And the problem with last night was that the three magic words were uttered and now I feel a cad – and, yet, it’s really not my fault, even as it is entirely my fault.

I am a bastard but a kind and loving bastard, albeit a bastard all the same.

And so, you need to know the story.  On this one site, where I was meeting some men, there was this kid (and I say kid though he is 30 and at that age I had a company and a new boyfriend (V) and the start of a 20-year relationship).  We had chatted a lot.  Some of it of a sexual nature, him liking certain things that I also like.  But not always about sex, in fact, often not.  You may remember, if you were reading at that time, he had a boyfriend in Spain.  He kept on promising to meet me but never did.  He also has other problems and, being the person I am, I felt that I might be able to help him.  And so we chatted.

Then he came over one night but only because he was in Milan anyway for some friends dinner and we had like 20 minutes.  And then there was F.  And so, with all the other men and the forthcoming arrangements I had made, I sent a standard chat message to say that I couldn’t really see them any more as I had started a relationship.

See, I was being good and not hedging my bets – after all, F was the ‘one’.

Except this one.  I don’t know why (and it’s not that I find him particularly attractive or anything and nor that I thought we had any future (the boyfriend in Spain being a major part of that thinking)) but I felt that I should tell him face-to-face; to break it more gently; not to dismiss him without him seeing that I was sorry it could not be more even if it was destined not to be more in any event.

And so, for a week or so we hardly chatted.  And then, over the last few days, we chatted some more.  The day before yesterday no sex chat as he was feeling really down, then yesterday afternoon, the sex chat as before, which does nothing for me but seems to do quite a lot for him.

And, yes, I know – I should not have replied, or kept it off sex or something – but it’s harmless, right?  I mean, it’s not like we shall meet any time soon, right?  And even if we did I would be strong and make sure that nothing happened, right?


And then, at the end, he wrote those three words.  And I thought: ‘Oh shit’.

It was unexpected.  I couldn’t reply for almost an hour.  I mean, we’ve had chats and seen each other for 20 minutes.  I replied that he didn’t even know me.  He said he knew that.  I was at a loss for words at that point.  I thought: ‘If only I had told him like the others'; ‘If only I had done this or that’.

But I didn’t.  And I thought of those three words and the fact that I had said them to F and that it had made him scared.  I don’t feel scared by having them written to me – only………

Only what?  Only something. I don’t want this guy to be hurt and I know by my failure to tell him the real circumstances originally, when I should have; when I told everyone else, I WILL hurt him.  But I cannot just leave him hanging…….after those words…….

I am a bastard.  And now?  What am I to do about it?  He is young enough to be my son and, kind of, I wanted to help him that way, but this thing is blurred by the fact that this thing was not clear at the beginning, became less clear as time went on and is now so unclear as to leave him in complete darkness.  And to tell him?  With the shit that he is going through anyway?  This will make it worse?

And so, I have dug this hole and I am in it up to my neck and, it seems, I am digging deeper.  I have to find a way out.  Seriously!

You may judge me if you want; you may comment if you want; I will put them through although I may not reply.  I have to sort this thing out – I want to sort this thing out.  I want it to be ‘right’.

To be honest, I have been saying all the way along that he should just move to Spain.  To be with the boyfriend who, apparently, loves him like crazy.  Before those three words were written last night, there was nothing, really.  But now?

I am a stupid bastard.

Oh, yes, and in case you were thinking that this was the problem I mentioned in the post before last….it isn’t.  I am a stupid, seriously fucked-up bastard.

But, it wasn’t meant to be like this.

I am learning but it seems a long lesson

It was misty.  Not misty so that it made everything wet but a ‘high mist’ that just made the skies particularly grey and half-hid the tall tower blocks, like they had had a thin veil draped over them.  I hate this period – you know it only leads to winter and cold and wet and unpleasant and that you have to go through all that to get to February and March when things get brighter and warmer (and less dark).

The guy was sitting there with a piece of paper, seemingly engrossed with its contents.  I cannot tell you what he looked like nor how old he was.  I sensed he was not Italian and I cannot tell you why.  I was standing next to him, eyes bleary, the contact lenses grating on my eyes, which were watering anyway.  I really should have taken them out on previous nights – it’s not good to leave them in whilst you sleep.

I glanced at the page.  It looked like some sort of poem, almost.  There were 15 lines, I counted them.  And a post-it note on the bottom of the page, the page having been torn out of one of those exercise books.  This page being from one of those commonly used to do graphs.  The writing was capitalised and neat – but, still, Italian, which I find difficult to read anyway – and I was looking over his shoulder; and my eyes were not at their best – so I just counted the lines.  Actually it wasn’t that difficult although it took me a few moments to realise that.  They were grouped in sets of four lines, just like a poem.  The last group only being three and yet, in my half-awake state, I started counting from the top before realising it was four times four less one!  I felt slightly stupid, even if there were good reasons.  I was only on the metro for about 10 minutes but, in that time, he studied the page as if it were some long and difficult thing.  Even with my poor Italian, it would not have taken more than 1 minute to read – and so, why?

I guessed that, either he was learning Italian and knew less than me or that it was just a ploy so as not to look at anyone else.  The ploy I use is to keep my eyes looking at the floor being, as I am, dressed as if I’m going for an evening out; with hair that has obviously not been through a shower or, even, combed; with eyes that still have the traces of sleep and, because of the conjunctivitis (a result of not taking out my lenses in the previous 6 nights away) look like shit, the bags deep enough to put a weeks shopping in them.

Yes, I look like shit.  I am grateful, in some way, that F didn’t really wake up and that, when I kissed him goodbye about 10 minutes earlier, the room was dark and he could not see me.

I wish there was some way of getting home without having to see people – well, there is but to try and find somewhere to park and then drive home and look for somewhere to park again would probably double the time of my journey home – and I am already getting up almost an hour later than I should although F doesn’t realise this.

I decide that I can’t continue this much longer.  I’m just too old for it.  I need more sleep.


I had told him that A wanted to go to the outlet on Sunday – for shoes.  He didn’t know where this outlet was.  He said it was dangerous as he spent money.  I thought of V.  And not in a good way.  The difference is that, although we are a couple, I am not responsible for him……yet!  And so there is none of the worry.  But, I wonder: would it be the same?  I’m not sure I could go there again and yet, it seems I attract and am attracted to these type of men.  Boh!

The outlet trip depends on what AfL wants to do and ensuring that we get back on time for the dog.

He asks if I would like to go out tomorrow (that is now today) when AfL arrives – almost certainly they will go out and he wants me to come – if I want to come, that is!  There really is no need to ask.  With or without AfL, I would be there. He will call me.

So, it will be every day that we shall see each other except, maybe, Sunday, when I will go to the outlet with A, whether F and AfL come or not.

I worry about how F and A will get on.  I want to explain to F that, although A can be a bit, shall we say, abrupt, he has a heart of gold and is, really, really, a nice guy.  I want A to like him anyway.  Which he will.  Or, at least, he will say he does; only now is he saying that he hopes F is easier to talk to than V, who he found a little difficult!  Who knew?

We cannot be late back (if F and AfL come) as F is dog sitting, remember?  And so he must be back for the dog.  Who sleeps on the bed – did I mention that?  F will be putting a sheet over the top of the bed to keep the dog from getting ‘dirt’ on the actual bedclothes.

I also have a problem.  I can’t talk about it yet.  I need to sort it out and then, maybe, I can talk about it.  I sometimes think a brain transplant would be an excellent idea!

But, last night was wonderful.  I had missed him so much and yet, I cannot continue like this.  It is wearing me out.  I’m not 30 years old now; it’s not my own business; there are too many difficulties.  It would be much easier if we lived together.

Today F goes to sort out his flat.  I wished him good luck this morning as I left.  This morning he didn’t tell me he was like porcelain.  Perhaps, because, last night, I called him on it, saying I had seen the smirk the other morning.  He grinned and said but he was like porcelain in the morning.  I said that, perhaps, it wasn’t quite true.  We hugged and kissed.

I am learning but it seems a long lesson.

From the first kiss, he was all mine


Well, here goes.  The meeting of the important people.

We spoke several times, on the phone, yesterday.

A came over and we went for a pizza at Time Out 2 in Via Eustachi.  A liked the pizzas and I was very pleased about that.  After all, he’s Italian and I really get so nervous about recommending anywhere to Italians.  The pizzas are cheap and, it being A, we ended up with one and a half pizzas each.  And a bottle of wine.  A said that he shouldn’t be drinking at all and was going to have just a glass of wine but they don’t do wine by the glass and he didn’t want the house wine (and I don’t really blame him as it’s not that good) so chose a bottle of wine – and then, instead of having a glass, had half the bottle.  I’m really a bad influence!

He’s going through a bit of a tough time at the moment.  We talked crap and about him and his F, about me and my F and so on.  It was a nice evening and, ever since that time when he was unexpectedly so supportive, I really have a lot of time for him.  In fact, here, in Italy, I would say he’s my best friend.  He doesn’t get along with everybody but that’s OK, my best friends aren’t your usual people – they suit me and that’s all that counts.

I rang F after I had taken the dogs for a walk but he was in the restaurant.  He phoned me back when he had finished and then phoned me again when he got back to his hotel.

We talked about Thursday.  He hopes to be back by about 8.  I will probably go over about 9.30, if that’s the case.  We shall see.

Then he asked that, if I had no plans for Saturday, we had been invited to go out with his ‘friends’ – the ones from the last post – and AfL.  Apparently they ‘really want to meet me’.  I bet they do!  I said, of course, that would be fine.  I joked that they would be wanting to ‘check me out'; ‘to see if I was good enough for their F’.

He got a little defensive but he knows it’s true.  It’s true of all friends, not just them.  My friends want to do the same.  They are intrigued by how someone can be so important in such a short time.  They want to see if the attraction is valid; see if they can detect the feelings are genuine.  I understand.

So, Saturday night will be important.  I said that I would be on my best behaviour, which I will.  I must select the right things to wear and be able to come up with good conversation.  I will use V’s technique – be interested in them and get them to talk about themselves – it works a treat.

I am so looking forward to tonight.  This will be our last night together until at least early next week.

A is still amazed by how I went about all this.  How I was so selective and treating it like a purchase or selection of something else.  That’s true except that, when it came down to it, F doesn’t have all the things I would have chosen; is not the perfect person, perhaps, but it just felt (and still feels), so right at the time.  From the first kiss onwards and ATN.

Yeah, from the first kiss, he was all mine!


Friends are both good and bad.  They are good in that a) we need some, even if it’s only one and b) they support us in our time of need; but they can be bad in that a) we look to them for advice and they are not professionals and b) they may have their own agendas.

The trouble is that, in spite of their advice to us, it may not actually be in our best, long-term (or, even short-term) interest to follow that advice.

Sure I ask for advice but my friends know that, really, all they can offer me is advice and that I will do my own thing, whatever.  If it coincides with their advice then that’s fine, if it doesn’t then that’s fine too, even if, secretly, when/if it all goes pear-shaped, they can gloat that ‘I told you so’.

And, as a friend to others, I can give advice but, if it’s not taken I understand.  In the end, no one can really see inside another’s head and the talk that’s made is only one side and, worse, may not be all of the one side.

And, so, he has talked to his friends.  As a result something that should have happened won’t.  I mean to say, I knew it wouldn’t happen anyway but now it most certainly won’t happen.  And this is because of his friends’ advice.  I know who they are even if I don’t know them, if you see what I mean.  I guess I will meet them soon.

The worst friends are gay friends.  They always think they know best.  But they almost certainly have another agenda – their own agenda which, in my past experience seems to be – we don’t want you to be as happy as us.  This is made worse by the fact that what most of them seek they rarely find and so they remain unhappy – whoever coined the word ‘gay’ for homosexuals was having some sort of laugh!

Everyone of them wants the ‘thing’ but won’t work at it to make it happen.  It just so fucking annoys me.  What the hell do they expect?

I will, when I meet them, be charming and polite and ‘like’ them, even if I don’t.  Of course, perhaps it’s not them……but I’m pretty sure it is.

Last night, after almost a week of spending each night together, we slept in our own homes.  This was good but bad.  I miss him.  I miss being able to snuggle up to him; to wake in the morning and kiss him and hold him.  It seemed to take me ages to get to sleep and I so wanted to be with him.  But, for once, I was strong in the evening too, which is good.

We spoke.  He asked when we would see each other.  I said I didn’t know but not tomorrow (that will be tonight as I post this as, his trip delayed by one day, he is away tonight).  He said he knew that (as it was obvious) – then he said ‘What about Thursday?  We could see each other on Thursday’.  I said OK.  Then he said that he had to be home Thursday to pick up the dog and AfL will be coming on Friday.  He then said that, perhaps, we could go out for a beer or a pizza on Friday as well (you see what I mean about wanting to see me every day?).  I said that we would see, but that yes, that seemed fine.

I am holding back.  I am frightened.

I am pathetic.

Hold my hand, I will take you there.

There’s a place for us,
A time and place for us.
Hold my hand and we’re halfway there
Hold my hand and I’ll take you there,
Somehow, someday, somewhere.

West Side Story – Somewhere

[Written 27th October]

We text.  I had waited and he texted first.  I wasn’t sure….after last night.  OK, so this morning was the same but, you know…..

The texts were the same.  It is the same as if the conversation had never happened.

I don’t know what he wants from me.

I think I know exactly what he wants from me.

I am certain I am right with at least one of those statements.

Everything is the new normal.

I shall not call.  I will wait for his call.  He wants the same, doesn’t he?  He feels the same, doesn’t he?  Even if he says he is not sure.

Or is this like the chat?  Say one thing, think another.  Reality blurred by the fact the chat or the text is, somewhat, impersonal.  And yet, even the chats seemed different, before I met him, before he came over to kiss me (which, I will remind you, he said he never did with other men), before F.

There was a BF.  Now there is ATN (After That Night), the night that almost never happened.  He had, he said, been phoned by another friend and may have gone there but told the friend that he had this guy coming round but would cancel it if it was necessary.  But, he didn’t cancel.  And now we are here, ATN.

It reminds me of the time V & I first met and how that should never have been.  But it did happen and, because of that event, over 21 years ago, I am here, in this place, at this time, A   T   N

I hate Italian men……except him, of course.  And some others who are friends.  But other than those exceptions, I hate them all.  Even him.  It’s not that I hate them, I hate the way they think…and what they do….

Other than that, they’re fine.  If only they weren’t so screwed up.  If only I wasn’t so screwed up.  I only I could see properly.

He complained that it was going too fast but later said that, if he didn’t want to see me, he would have said.  He would have said no.  But he never did say no.  He kept asking at first and then, if I asked, he said yes.

So, he wants to see me every day but doesn’t want it to go too fast.  See, this is the kind of mixed up crap that I don’t get.  I have mentioned before (some time ago and, again with apologies to The Store Manager) that I think I may have a mild form of autism.  This is based on the fact that I do find relationships (this includes friendships) difficult to get.  It’s like I miss some signals.  But, tell me, what signals am I missing here?  The signals are mixed.

I told him I need help with this but, to be honest (and this time apologies to the ladies who read this), this is almost like being with a woman.  I am supposed to guess what he is thinking?  I am supposed to respond in the ‘right’ way without knowing what the question I am responding to is in the first place?

All too fucking difficult.

And, yet, I am sure that he wants me to continue, wants us to continue.  Wants it to be the ‘real’ thing.

Yes, I’m sure.

I don’t understand why he won’t hold my hand.  I will take him there.  Of that, he can be sure.

In the mornings I am stronger

I say the words.  I knew I shouldn’t.  It’s not the first time but, this time, he replies.  Before, he hasn’t, even if he did hear them, although sometimes I just say them when I know he is asleep.

Now he says that I scare him.  Of course, I don’t really understand and have to ask.  We have a conversation.  This is not the best time but the only ‘right’ time to have this conversation.

We have a different point of view.  We knew this from the beginning.  He says that he is scared for me not scared for himself.  I think he is scared for himself.  Even now, as I write this, in the morning.

But, then, I try to explain that I’m not always there, in spite of the fact that he says I am.  He had rung earlier to ask if I fancied going for an aperitivo but I had already made arrangements to meet K and (not his wife, after all) girlfriend M.  I said he could join us if he wanted.  But it was in the centre of town.  He didn’t want to.  I didn’t expect him to.

We said we would talk later.  Actually, K&M wanted to eat so we went for a pizza at the usual place in Piazza Santo Stefano, just off the centre.  Not massively expensive and OK.  Better than the tourist crap that is close to the centre or the really expensive restaurants that are good ….. but expensive.

I texted and asked if I could go round.  He said yes but we would have to go to bed (for sleep).  I said OK as that was what I wanted as well.

But, instead, we talked.  OK these things needed saying.  We still don’t really understand each other, I know that and yet…….

The mornings are best for me and worst for me.  It’s as if, after I have rested for some hours, I think differently, clearly.  Yesterday, as an example, in the morning I was certain that I would not see him.  I needed sleep.  Then, as the day wore on, I worked out how to get the sleep without missing out on seeing him.  Then it changed when K phoned, late in the afternoon but by then I had already set everything up in my mind to see him and I missed him and so, instead of sleep, I got to see him and hold him and we had ‘the talk’.

And, when I was there I wasn’t so tired.  And now I feel like crap.  And, as I was walking home, I knew he was right and I decided wouldn’t see him on Wednesday when he comes back.  I would spend the evening at home, with the dogs, go to sleep early and get some real rest (I am out either at the cinema or for a meal tonight).

And I knew that I would do that and I kept telling myself to be strong and not to give in; not become weak.

But it’s two days and one night away.  If he asks on Wednesday night I will fail; I will give in; I will succumb to the whole “being with him thing”.  And that’s the bit he doesn’t get.  But what of his thinking?  It’s not like he’s turned me away nor has he not suggested it.  I scare him, he says but I’m not so sure.  It’s like the smirk when he says he is porcelain.  I think he scares himself too.

And so, what to do?  I want him to miss me too but I don’t want to take the risk that he won’t miss me.  You understand?  And, after a few hours away from him my brain turns to mush and I become weak and all I want to do is see him, hold him, be with him.

This morning he stays in bed.  I dress and come back into the bedroom.  He reminds me he is porcelain, I tell him that I know that already and kiss him gently, several times.  He calls me his bambino, as usual.  I’m sure he feels the same as me and is just scared for himself.  It’s the afternoons and evenings where I lose it.

But, in the mornings, I am stronger.

Shocked and Horrified!


And the weather is so good right now, here.  Low to mid twenties, clear blue skies.  Saturday, I took the dogs for a walk in the park and got too hot with a winter coat on.  Sunday, no coat but T-shirt and top – still too hot, well, warm, anyway.

Today, stunningly beautiful and it’s the last week in October!  But, if only this was the worst that a Milan winter had to offer!

Tonight, F goes for the trial lesson for Tango dancing.  He gets home about 10, probably.  I’m not sure what to do.  After all, I want to see him (with him being away tomorrow) and I like that he is there in the morning (as porcelain or not) but…..I am so tired that, I feel, if I get to his place at 10, I shall almost certainly just want to go to sleep straight away.

Of course, I could do what I did when I first met V.  I used to go to sleep for an hour or two immediately I came home from work.  This allowed me to stay up when he got home (about 11.30) for a couple of hours.  It’s not perfect but perfectly feasible.

I expect that my desire to see F will outweigh the need for a good night’s sleep and I shall try to sleep for an hour or so before going round to his place.  Then have a shower, then take the dogs out.

Tomorrow, he is away so I shall try to get to bed very early and catch up on some sleep.

I wonder, idly, at what point I stop considering this as ‘dating’ and really consider it as a real relationship?  I try to phone him but his phone is either switched off or he is somewhere with no signal.  I decide that I will take a couple of hours sleep before seeing him tonight, probably.  He had said on Saturday that 4 nights was enough.  I jokingly said, last night, after the pizza, that obviously I was going home as he didn’t want me that night.  This, of course, was not true although with me going to sleep so quickly, maybe it would have been a good idea?

Ah, well, a couple of hours when I get home would be enough to keep me going, I know.  So, now, when we spoke, I asked if I was coming round.  He said he would phone me after the lesson – about 10.30 – so plenty of time to have a sleep and shower and take the dogs out!

And, if he says no, then that’s OK because then I go to sleep again.  If I go round then that’s OK too.  I suspect he will say I can go round if I would like to.  That’ll be ‘yes’ then.  If not, then I won’t take it badly.  In fact, there will be a little relief in that.

Of course, I could suggest he comes round to me but tonight would be difficult as tomorrow he’s getting up late and I have no spare key to give him.  Which reminds me to get a couple of spare key sets.  One for guests and one for the lady across the way, who has promised to take Dino out for walks during the day, if I get a key for her.

And, so, the one for guests could be for F, if he likes.  Although I may have painted the picture of the flat in a rather ‘black’ way, which may not be a good thing.  Still, one would hope that, when he eventually comes over, he will be pleasantly surprised rather than shocked and horrified!

Later:-  K phones.  He is in Milan with his wife (who is Italian).  K is an old work colleague from the UK.  We are meeting later for a drink and, maybe, something to eat.  I phone V who, although he knew about it now seems shocked.  He has to change some plans.  I wish I didn’t have to say this but it’s fairly typical.  Anyway, I said it’s not so important and he should let me know later.  I’m no longer responsible for him in any way!

So, no sleep after all.  however, I’m sure I can manage until tomorrow night, can’t I?