Monthly Archives: November 2009

Tuscan and Chinese eating

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What I didn’t mention was the restaurants over the first couple of nights this week.  And I should.  And so:

Monday night we tried to go the Mexican but it was closed.  So I told them there was the new Milanese restaurant in the parallel street that did great food (even if the service could have been better).  Unfortunately, Monday is obviously not a good day for restaurants as that was closed too.

However, next door was a smallish Tuscan restaurant.  FfI’s sort-of-boyfriend, O suggested we go there and I was quite up for it.

Trattoria della Zia (Aunt’s Trattoria) was fairly nondescript from the outside.  It looked like it had been there for a while.  We went in anyway.  Really we had a main course only (although we did share a portion of Crostini as an antipasto).  It was Fiorentina which, if it is good meat, is truly fabulous although, to be honest, the best one I had was in Florence about 12 years ago.

However, this one was, probably, the best one that I have had in Milan.  The meat was perfectly cooked and with very little sinew which, considering it is blue, is kind of important.  We had some potatoes (a kind of roast potato) and some grilled vegetables and some white beans.

Truly delicious.  Afterwards we had some Mirto and O suggested I try Chino Martini, which I did and had a couple of glasses of those.  Hence my post about the note to myself.

The night before last was with V and we ended up at the Chinese – Imperiale, on via Plinio….again.

Nice, as usual.  It had been some time since V had been there now that he lives across town.  And I only stuck to one Sambuca afterwards – essential for a clear head in the morning!

But, for me, so far, the Trattoria della Zia is the best Tuscan restaurant I’ve been to in Milan, certainly for the Fiorentina steak anyway.

I’m sorry I made you cry

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When it’s broken it’s broken.

The alarm said 3.  It actually said 3.55 which meant nearly four but my eyes only really saw the 3.  Three whole hours (and a bit) of sleep would I be getting this night.  This really isn’t quite working out as I had planned.

Earlier:
I heard the three words again.  Seems there’s a lot of it about.  Maybe, on that drunken night, a long time ago now, it seems, I didn’t say everything that I could have.  Or, at least, he didn’t remember.  But, then, things, reasons, excuses, have also changed in time and are not the same as they were before.  They are different but no less untrue for all that.

And there’s the heart of it.  The centre of it all.  And still, even confronted with the evidence, with what must be suspected, still there is a reluctance to admit anything, as if, by admitting, everything will be destroyed forever.

But, everything is already destroyed and was, really, all those years ago.  It just took me a long time to realise it and a long time to come to terms with it; me, hanging on to what I thought was real, even if I knew it was not.

Eventually, I got an admission – of sorts.  Not much of one, true, and probably not the whole truth or, even, a tiny portion of it – but something.

I just want to scream ‘Stop fucking lying to me!’ and yet I know that it will continue.  I told him about Karl.  About what happened.  Well, not all but some.  I needed him to understand that, even if he still thought he held a flame for me, it could never be again.

I really want him to be happy, just not with me, in spite of anything he might think that he wants.  I don’t want him to make the same mistake he made with me and it hurts me to see that he is doing it again.  Already.

I guess it must be like some sort of drug.

Earlier he said that I was too honest.  It was true, in a way.  I cannot hide how I feel or what I think very well, except, perhaps, in business.  But not with friends or lovers or, even, ex-lovers.

I fail to understand why people lie.  What’s the point?  OK, so saying someone looks nice even if you don’t think they do is one thing.  I’m talking about important things here.

There were tears but I think the tears were for himself and what could have been…..but isn’t.  And, yet, I still felt guilty.  As if it were my fault, which I know it is not.  Oh, yes, I must shoulder some of the blame for it all, certainly, but it’s not my fault.

This may give a wrong impression.  An impression that the evening was crap or not enjoyable.  And yet it wasn’t those things.  It was good and nice and pleasant and fun, for the most part.  A little like the whole 20-odd years.

Still, I’m sorry I made you cry.

Last night, we made a start

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There was, of course, the trip to Ikea and other ‘out of town’ stores for looking at furniture.  Mainly for his new flat but also a wardrobe for mine.

He had the car from work.  He wanted to be there for about 9.30 a.m.  We stayed at his place.  I woke at about 7.30 first but dozed until it got to about 8 or 8.30.  I would have preferred to sleep in and, in fact, he said at one point, that, perhaps, we should go tomorrow.  I replied that if we didn’t do it today we might miss tomorrow and then, next Saturday, he would still be in Germany and really we should get up.  Even if I didn’t want that.

We got up, had coffee and then went to do the dogs.  Once the dogs had been walked, he drove to the first store.

Now, I should remind you that he is not so tall, slightly built and so very sweet, never really getting angry.  Well, that’s not quite true but almost.  He does have very strong opinions about certain things.  Take the Chinese family living next door to him.  He has threatened to kill them several times now.  Last night, with the children screaming and crying and much shouting going on, he finally snapped and went to get a shoe to bang on the wall.  It had the desired effect.

However, generally he is sweet and without real anger.  Until Saturday morning, however.

I have driven with Italians before.  Italians drive in a particular way.  Cutting each other up; Signalling left when they subsequently go right; Stopping suddenly to ‘park’ (we would say double park); Pulling out from a side road in front of you, etc.  It means you really have to pay attention to the traffic and expect the unexpected.  I do use my horn more often than I would in the UK but that’s because it is really one of the only ways you will survive here.

However, generally, I don’t swear and shout at other drivers.  Why would I? What’s the point?  It’s not like they can hear you and it’s not like it would change their driving habits either.  So I remain quite calm.

Other Italians, when I’m in the car, do tend to be more demonstrative when they are driving, both verbally and physically.  However, Saturday was a little different.  F became a different person from the one I knew.  It didn’t scare me or anything like that and he is quite a good driver but, in the half hour or so it took us to get to the first store, I probably heard all the Italian swearwords (and, in fact, a few more that I didn’t know before) and more than once.

As I pointed out to him, it’s a bloody good thing that our first ‘date’ wasn’t him driving me somewhere otherwise I would have thought him a very aggressive and uncontrollable animal.

As it was, because I know that he is only like this when behind the wheel, I found it somewhat amusing.  What amuses me further is that he is a little like this even when I’m driving!  However, not nearly as bad.

Saturday night we were meeting my friend G and going to the Brasserie Bruxelles on Viale Abruzzi.  A & F2 were coming too.

They have a rather excellent selection of beers.  Once again, F proved to be so good, chatting to A & F2 whilst G & I were able to catch up.  G saying that F didn’t really seem like an Italian – a little more Anglicised – and not only because he drank beer like any good Englishman.  G had phoned me to say he had arrived at the station and I told him what bus to get.  The F phoned to say that he was at the station (the car was being taken by another colleague) and could pick G up.  Of course, neither of them had each other’s number so there were a couple of phone calls with me in the middle.  However, F found G, even if they had never met before and then they got to the bar by car

Then we went for a pizza at Al Basilico, just a block down from the bar.

A & F2 were then going home but G wanted us (F & I) to meet R, the new girl in his life and so we went to this bar/restaurant/club place called Shanghai.

G is going back to the UK.  He hates the mentality of the Italians and the fact that it is so difficult to get things done here – every step halted by a wall that always seems impenetrable.  He hates the fact that the Italians are too busy (well, maybe this is particular to the Milanese) looking the part without the substance (which is also how F feels, certainly about Milan).  He’s been here for 10 years.  I explained that, being here for so long, there’s no way that he can go back and live in the UK.  For all that Italy and the Italians may drive you crazy, there are things that will happen in the UK where he will suddenly think how much he misses Italy (and the Italians).

But back to Shanghai.  I hate and loath these places with passion.  A huge hanger-like place.  Far too full of people; all busy being the best there.  We were going for a drink (but really to meet R).  She was very sweet and very, very pretty.  But neither F nor I were really happy about being in that place.  I mean, it’s a place for people that neither of us really like and exactly one of the reasons why G was going back to the UK ….. but he was there only for R, of course!

If I never get to go back to Shanghai again, it will be too soon.

We go home.  His home.  He wants to spend the night at his place because he has to get ready for his trip and because he wants to have Sunday breakfast at the café.  So, maybe, it’s his ‘thing’ too, after all?

We get up late(ish) and go to have breakfast which, as you know, I love doing.

I go and do the dogs, some washing, etc.  He gets ready for the trip.

I get back later and he does dinner.  I have brought wine and moved the car to nearby his place.

We don’t have dinner immediately.  When I arrive, he is getting ready for a bath, having spent some time doing his ‘beauty’ treatment stuff.  He is in his white underpants.  He is incredibly sexy.  I wonder, at one point, why I think he’s incredibly sexy and why does he turn me on so.  I don’t know.  There are things about him, his body, that, ordinarily, I would not find a turn-on and yet, here he is and every single part of him is so sexy.  Even his feet, which I think are beautiful!  I find myself looking at him and wanting him – all the time.  I sit and chat to him as he has a bath, concentrating on the chat to hide the fact that I just want to look at him.

After dinner he does his Farmville thing.  He sits on the chair with his legs crossed under him, without socks.  I sit next to him and stroke his feet.  I have never had any sort of foot fetish but, with him, I think I could!

I go home later to walk the dogs and come back just after 9.  We go to bed early as we are getting up at 5.30 – I’m taking them to the airport.

Neither of us can sleep.  Not because we aren’t tired.  We talk a little.  I tell him that I get paranoid when I’m not with him (about the lack of things in common) and I worry about that because this will be the longest time we’ve been apart.  I tell him that I know it is stupid and he agrees and says there is so much we can learn from each other.  And I know that is true, still, I think he’s starting to understand me and he is more affectionate than normal.  He tells me of the things going on in his head – the reasons he can’t sleep – work, the new flat, the lack of time to do everything.  I tell him not to worry and that everything will be OK and I will help him if he asks and that, at the very worst, he can stay at mine if everything is not ready.  He knows that and says so and says thanks and means it.  And we talk a little more about his actual work and why this trip is important both for him and the company.  And I have a better understanding of why he is where he is within the company.  He had said over the weekend that he will be introducing me to the big boss as his new boyfriend – and I think that he is proud to do so.  And that makes me happy.

He is having the test soon and is worried about that.  I ask him if he wants me to have the test too.  He doesn’t really say but I know that he does.  I tell him that I will do it.  I know it will make him happy.  He asks when I last had the test and I tell him that it was about 22 years ago.  He is shocked but I explain that there was no need.  I was only with V.  He asks if I wasn’t worried that V was with someone else and I said that no, I wasn’t.  And that was true.  at least it was true for the most of it.  Still, I know it will make him happy and he says it would make a big difference (and you can work that out for yourselves).

The Chinese people next door don’t help.

This morning, he says we’ll just have 5 minutes of cuddling before getting up.  Then another five minutes.  Then we get up.

He says he is so appreciative of me taking him to the airport.  I explain that it means extra time with him.  He doesn’t seem to get it – every second with him is like some sort of bonus.  He has said that I should not come and pick him up but agrees to it as I leave them at the airport.

And so, I shall pick him up on Saturday and be glad to do so.

And, in the space of the weekend, he has become even more demonstrably affectionate, as if he is understanding that I am true.  And, even if there is so much more to discuss, at least, last night, we have made a start.

Yes, it’s OK, I know I’m crazy

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As I have dyed my hair since I was about 25, almost all the time, I make no secret of it. Hence, when I started getting grey hair, it was no problem to use the dyes that cover the grey. Since, when I met Victor, I used to dye it jet black, I tended to go for a darker colour than was natural and, should anyone ask me, I would confirm that I dyed it. Why not?

And so, every time I had my hair cut, I would also dye it.

F asked me on our first meeting if I dyed my hair and I confirmed that. He said I should leave it grey as that would be nice and he thought it was sexy. I promised that, the next time I had my hair cut I would let him see it before I dyed it, so he could understand why I dyed it!

And so, Friday night, I had the haircut. I have it cut short now as it is also getting so thin. He liked it both short and grey. He said it really looks good. So I haven’t dyed it this time. I was going to do it yesterday but ended up without time as we spent nearly all day together. Last night G came up and we went to the Brasserie Bruxelles. We were joined by A & F2 (and, of course, my F). G said that I looked younger (I’m sure it’s really that I look happier); F2 said it looked better without dye.

So, maybe, I shall leave it after all. It felt a bit strange until last night, really, not having it very dark brown. Let’s see what it’s like when I go into work.

After all, it’s a little thing, really, and if F likes it, then, maybe, I should just leave it as it is. I think it makes me look much older – but then the wrinkles and the lack of sleep don’t really help. In a strange way, I’m quite looking forward to next week……..but I’m sure that will change after one night without him!

And, of course, there will be the paranoia that will set in when I’m not with him. The one where I think that I’m too old for him; that we have nothing in common, etc.

Humph. Even as I don’t think this now, I know that’s what will happen after a day apart.

Yes, it’s OK, I know I’m crazy

I mentioned the blog

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It seems that S (F’s ex) wants to meet me.  I joked and said that he wanted to check me out, making sure I was ‘suitable’.  F said that he had only introduced one other guy to S and that was the someone that lasted 6 months.  So I guess F is trying to tell me something.

I mentioned that I had written, before I met him, that, for some reason, the meeting with F seemed more important than the rest [of the meetings] but that I had no idea why [it seemed more nor why I wrote that].  I mentioned the ‘blog’.  That is – this blog.

There was a look on his face that I couldn’t quite discern.  I was ready for the questioning, ready for some surprise or some interest or something.  There was nothing.  It is entirely possible, since this is Italy, that he has no real idea of what I was talking about.

I am sure it will come up again later.

Last night was an English night.  I explained to him, prior to going out that I would be speaking English all night; that I must speak English all night.  I said I would explain later.  I did.

We went to the Imperiale in Via Plinio.  N suggested it and as A wanted to go out too I suggested that he come, which he did.  Great night.  F was, as usual, in great form.  Whilst F & A were talking sometimes, N & I discussed various things.  I told her that I adore him.  Which I do.  Sometimes, when we’re out, I look at him and I am so pleased to be with him that I just want to hug him there and then.  Instead, as usual, I rest my arm on the back of his chair and stroke his back with my thumb; the touching of him being enough to satisfy my for that time, in that public place.  And although our backs were to the rest of the restaurant, I just didn’t care.  Even at one point where I realised this.

Actually, this is almost exactly how I felt when V & I were together and out.

Next week, he will be in Germany all week.  He leaves early on Monday morning.  I have offered to drive them to the airport, of course.  He comes back on Saturday either late afternoon or evening.

I know I will miss him already but, at least, I can try to catch up on my sleep!

…..it’s just too effing hard! (Tu sei un bastardo!)

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“But why aren’t you speaking Italian?”, he asks.  “Have you forgotten last night?”

“Oh no”, I wail, using my pathetic, feel-sorry-for-me voice, “but it’s too difficult on the phone”.

“No it isn’t” he states, adding “it’s easier.  So, are you going to do it or not?”

Of course, he is speaking in almost perfect English.  I want to say ‘but it isn’t fair’, but I don’t.  I can’t tell if he is slightly angry or frustrated with it or it’s just put on but I don’t want to take the risk.  I want him to come round tonight.  I miss him.  I want him badly enough that I say, albeit reluctantly and with a heavy voice, just in case he hasn’t got the message, “Va bene”.

Then we start the conversation again.  “How has your day been?” he asks.  He’s wrong, it really is difficult for reasons I will explain in a moment – and, so, he gets a one word answer “Male”.

“Why?” he asks.  I burst into laughter.  “Bastardo” I say through the laughter.  As I say it I realise it should have been “Tu sei un bastardo” but it’s not important, he knows what he’s doing and he knows that he is!

“I clienti” I add.  And then he says something in Italian that I didn’t catch.  He says he will phone me later.  I say OK.  I love that Italians use English words, thank goodness!

But it is difficult.  I have to really concentrate to speak Italian and there are too many distractions here.  Plus, there is no way that I want my colleagues to know I speak Italian.  I lose my advantage that way, even if some of them do know this (Pietro!) and I need all the advantage I can get!

But now, it seems, he wants me to speak Italian all the time?  I have to have some breaks from it…….it’s just too effing hard!

Speaking, of course, is a different thing; I feel quite stupid when I talk

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Speaking_of_course_is_a_different_thing_I_feel_quite_stupid_when_I_talk

We were on the phone for a while.  I rang because I needed some help which he was great about.  Then we talked about Ig and him.  And he was saying that he has very strong feeling for Ig and doesn’t want him to go but that he wants his freedom ‘cos he feels that he needs that more now.  I told him to be careful because he could lose Ig on the way and why doesn’t he try it first…..he can always split if it didn’t work out.

And then he was saying that, although they talk a lot and have the same sort of ideas, they have nothing in common and I reminded him that neither did we when we first got together but then we had lots of things in common by the end – the things in common happen because you either like to do the same things or you compromise and do the same things anyway, even if you don’t particularly like them or they do nothing for you.

I told him not to worry about that.

But then it got me to thinking (and I’ve already told him that he shouldn’t do too much thinking about it, lest he becomes Italian), we, that is F & I, don’t seem to have so much in common – and then I started to worry about that and worry about the fact that, maybe, there is nothing there other than the physical side and continue to thinking about how it would be in 6 months or a year when we run out of things to say……

And that’s exactly why I gave him the advice I did and why I must take the same advice.

And then I went round last night and all that worry disappeared for I was so glad to see him and hold him and kiss him again and just be with him.  And I knew that I was right in what I had said to V. These things in common become the things you have in common as you do things together.  And I knew it to be true.

For various reasons, he had not eaten at lunchtime and so he was hungry.  Anyway it was our meseversary (lol)!

And so we went to the Sardinian restaurant (Baia Chia on Via Bazzini), again.  This is because he goes there often, they know him, and he really likes the food and service.  And, I have to be honest, so do I and, in particular, their Mirto (after dinner liqueur) which is so much nicer than the stuff you can buy in the shops.

The waitress, who loved S (his ex) seems also quite taken with me.  She said that she likes that I ‘speak sweetly’ to him.  I chose an starter but she suggested something else.  I accepted her choice.  It was lovely.  We drank wine, we talked about Christmas about his work about us about many things.  The conversation was good.  He told me that I must speak Italian to him.  I am scared of this.  I cannot express myself very well in Italian since the words I know are limited in number.  My grammar is crap (but I’m not worried about that because I can learn that as we go along) – but it’s the lack of words that is the problem.

I talked about the first time we met and how I didn’t think anything would happen.

We drank the mirto at the end (they put the bottle on the table – something that would never happen in the UK (and, I guess, the USA) and we had several glasses.  F went to pay.  He gets a big discount.  A few moments after he came back, the waitress came up with a bottle of Mirto for me to take as a present.  They would not take payment for it.

They love him, of course.  What’s not to love?  And, after the comment about me talking sweetly to him, we discussed the fact that people must be able to ‘see’ how we feel about each other.

We walked home (well, to his home) and, after a couple of cigarettes, went to bed and I know that it is ‘right’ and good and that he is the man for me.

This morning, I am walking home and it is just about 6 a.m. so no metro or buses.  I am so happy in spite of the cold and that feeling remains even now.

This morning I changed the writing language on my mobile phone to that of Italian and so, now, I write messages in Italian.  It’s a start, I know.  Speaking, of course, is a different thing; I feel quite stupid when I talk.

- and I quote -

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Before we actually met – the day of the meeting, actually (10/10/2009)…..

“This one actually seems important but will, in all probability, end up like the rest.”

“because I had moaned at F (via chat) about Italian men and how difficult it was for me to handle them, I am now preparing to go to his flat as I write this”

Taken from I don’t know what to give as a title

The day after we met (11/10/2009)…………..

“I cannot explain how different I feel about him”

“At one point, as he is refilling my glass, he comes over and kisses me”

Taken from What really counts….< And V and I were chatting last night…………..and, yes, this scares me too.  After all, it’s only been a month!

We’re all looking for the same thing really

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“OK, now I’ll put the animals in order”

Of course, as soon as he had said “I’ll”, he realised his ‘mistake’ and said “we’ll” but that was too late and I was already laughing, since it was my “farm” and not his that we were looking at. He then added “No, I don’t want to be bossy”.  This just made me laugh harder still.

But he is, in a particular way, that could be, of course, potentially annoying but now and for some time to come I expect, very endearing. And with me being a little laid back about this kind of thing, I can, happily, let him do it, without it being any sort of deal for me.  In fact, if he wants to come do that in my house, I really wouldn’t stop him!

And so that you might understand what it was all about, there is this game on Facebook called Farmville. I am playing it because he wanted me to play it. And he loves it. And, like everything else in his life, it is all in perfect order – well, everything in his life except me, of course.

I explained to someone over the weekend that he was not V and that, quite frankly, I didn’t want V. V was then; F is now. But there are some things that are the same or, at least, similar. He likes to spend money. I hope, very much, that that is not ‘over spend’ but it is too early to say that right now. We have not discovered that far. Also, I learnt, yesterday morning that, when he is playing games, he likes to win. I said that he was like V in that respect. But it isn’t just like to win…..it’s almost must win!

So, the dinner. I expect you may be slightly interested in how it went. You have to bear in mind that he is, essentially, superb at customer relations, remembers all sorts of things and can hold a conversation so well.

He admitted to me that he was very nervous about it, before we went. I do understand. These things are important. If you’re together, as a couple, it’s essential that you like the friends and even more, they like you. But I knew they would like him.

So, there was, in the end, FfI (of course, she was the host and did all the cooking), FfCC and CwS. V2 was coming later. So, three women to start with. He had made a CD for FfI. She was delighted. He was, as always, chatty and pleasant and attentive and, well, bloody perfect.  I think they liked him.  Probably, even if they didn’t, they wouldn’t tell me but, you know, obviously, I can’t see how they wouldn’t adore him.

The conversation flowed.  It was easy and pleasant.  V2 arrived.  He is gay and an airline steward with one of the airlines of this country.  He brought wine (even though he doesn’t drink) and chocolate.  Of course, people asked where F was from.  This place is quite famous in Tuscany – or, at least, famous in Italy.  Anyway, during the conversation, he turned to me and said that we will go there in the summer!  So, now we have ‘plans’ for next year!  As long as he is taking it all slowly, that is fine.

All in all a lovely evening.  FfI, when we Skyped the next day, was a little concerned that they were too much for him.  But, hell, he works in the fashion industry and I really doubt that he couldn’t have experienced worse!  The only thing is that he really does know some quite famous people.  It’s coming out, bit by bit.  But, for me it’s like, OK, wow, and that’s it.  I guess I may meet some from time to time but that’s no big deal, really.  After all, they are just people.  I doubt if it would be as important to me as something like meeting Maya Angelou.  That was more important a meeting for me than anything else.  And, anyway, apart from the clothes, I don’t know what these people are like.  It’s not like writers.

Anyway, back to the story.  So, it all went well.  FfI thought he was really sweet, which he is.

We spent, more or less, the whole weekend together.  Saturday we went to A’s place, really to meet F, who I shall now call Fr so as not to get confused with my F.  A had done fish as a main course, which was lovely.  He was nervous because it was his first time doing fish.  He was doing fish because F doesn’t like anything that looks like pieces of meat!  And then, F says, as he did the night before, that he eats everything!  Which he doesn’t but he will if people have done it for him.  But I love him for that too.

So, Friday night was my place, Saturday his which meant that we had breakfast downstairs again.  “Our thing”, remember?  Although, really only ‘our thing’ for me, of course, since he is Italian and it’s quite normal for him.

Over the weekend we watched some films and generally had a lazy time.  I introduced him to Wallace and Gromit, which he instantly loved  We watched some more on Sunday when I brought the other DVD over from my place.

Then Sunday evening we were invited out with his friends, R&Al, who were going to a pizzeria with some other friends.  In fact, it was to celebrate one of the guy’s birthday.  So, there were 9 of us in the end. F turned to me and said this was why he didn’t want to come out like this.  Gay people are really not his cup of tea (and, yes, he used those exact words).  I agree with him.  R&Al are really nice though.  Then, later in the conversation, they were all talking about relationships and whether they should be ‘open’ or not.  And faithfulness and whether that was important or not.  F has very strong views on this, as I knew from the very first time I met him.  Luckily they completely correspond with my views.  That was one of the reasons that I liked him, even that first hour (although I had liked him before, anyway).

I must point out that, this pizzeria sucked. It is Donnarumma.  I had Diavola.  I think I have only tasted one other so bad in all the time I have been in Italy.  It was as if they had used the oldest salami in existence and it almost tasted off.  F had warned me that it wasn’t so good and he was right!  We both agreed that we shouldn’t go there again – but it is one of R&Al’s favourite as it is near their house and they like the food.  Boh!

During the evening he mentioned ‘we’ several times.  R&Al took the pith a little but softly and in a friendly way.  When R & I went out for a cigarette at one point, R was asking me how it was going.  I told him that it was going very well and that F really did make me so happy and that I understood F’s reasons for wanting to take it slowly, even if it is not really slowly.  I also explained to R that I didn’t have the experience that F has had and so, for me, it’s like ‘do it now’.  I think R understood my reasoning.  I hope so.  R did say ‘but you’re seeing each other almost every day!’.  Which is true, of course.  I hope they can see how much I love him.  Still, the ‘trust thing’ takes time and I still have to prove that.

And I know that you may think it’s not so slow, but it is.  There are many things we have yet to discuss and, like on Saturday night, he learnt that I make deserts and, of course, real English Trifle (not the Zuppa Inglese that Italians think is English Trifle – a bit like Roast Beef Inglese which any English person would be, quite frankly shocked to see, since, other than it being beef and roasted, is absolutely nothing like we would consider as Roast Beef).

And this morning, we both had to get up early.  So we were up at 6.  F made me coffee whilst I did Farmville.  It’s nice.  It’s domestic.

>On Friday night, after we left, V2 apparently said that what we appeared to have was exactly what he wanted and was asking why he wasn’t able to find it.  And the making of the coffee in the morning is what we are really talking about.  The little things that you do for each other.  The things that you do because you love the person (even if F hasn’t said that yet – I know it’s the same for him – it’s like he doesn’t want to take the risk of breaking the spell and me walking away); the little things that make a relationship.

But as FfI was explaining this to me, I said yes, but it’s like F had said to me on the chat, before we met, ‘we’re all looking for the same thing, really’