Monthly Archives: December 2009

The spare set of keys (II)

Posted on by
8

Europe has winter.  And, as we’re in Europe, so do we.  Snow has fallen (but mostly gone from Milan city, itself) but more snow is forecast this afternoon and tomorrow.  I hate it.

Regular readers to my blog will know that I’m only really happy when the sun is shining and the temperature is above about 25°C.  So that would be about 30° higher than this.  You can, therefore, imagine how I feel about it.  Still, I know we’ve only got another month or month and a half before we should see some improvement.

‘I will be spending more time at your house’, he says, over a pizza last night.  He is still trying to do his flat.  I said that it makes it easier for me.  But this doesn’t mean moving in.  He added that ‘when I’ve moved in it will be much easier because when you stay at my house, you can go and walk the dogs and then come back to mine’.  Hmm.  It will be much easier but then the incentive for him to stay with me will, somewhat, be lost, so we shall see.

‘Can I get Dino’s hair cut’, he says, unexpectedly, adding ‘I would like to see him with short hair, like Rufus’.  He’s good, I have to say that for him.  What he really wants is that Dino should have a wash.  I know that.  He had asked a day or two earlier if it was possible for ‘us’ to wash him.  I said it was difficult with only a shower. And Dino does smell a bit doggy.  My sense of smell is not so good so I don’t notice so much.  His sense of smell is good.  I replied that we could get Dino’s hair cut.  I don’t have a choice really and it would make life a little easier.

Today he has his Christmas parties at work.  Lunchtime is one for the showroom and this evening is the shop event.  He may go to both.  Last night he was saying that I could go to his place.  The logistics of it were more difficult.  I was about to say that he should call me when he was leaving the ‘do’ and I would make my way to his house.

Before I had chance to do this he suggested that, when I take him home this morning, he would nip in and give me the spare set of keys so that I could go up whenever I like.

Of course, I will give them back to him tonight.  He hasn’t said that I should keep them and, anyway, he won’t be there for more than a month longer.  I wonder what will happen with the new flat?

But, still, it is the spare set of keys!

I love the fact that he loves me too.

Posted on by
2

It read -3°.  This was nearly mid-day.  WTF?

I was going out because I had promised.  And because it would be nice to see L before Christmas and because it was a park I hadn’t been to before.  When I texted, some 15 minutes after we were supposed to meet I had been half hoping that she would say it was too cold or too much to take the cars or whatever.

She didn’t.  I realised I had forgotten to put on my thermal socks and knew I would suffer as a result.

The park was lovely.  We had had a few centimetres of snow and the trees and ground had that festive feel.  I just felt cold, even if it was pretty.  We walked and talked.  We don’t seem to run out of conversation and, yet, I never feel as if she will be one of my best friends.  I wonder why that is?  Maybe because we met at her friend’s party in the summer, also L (although different – so L2) and L2 and I, introduced through N, never really hit it off.  I mean, we are cordial to each other but there’s this thing between us.  I think we both realise that we don’t like each other, not that there’s a good reason why, but we both know to avoid each other after the required greetings.

However, L & I did hit it off.  We have dogs in common.  But, also, for some reason, we don’t run out of things to say.  So, here we are, in the park, which, being slightly on the edge of Milan is probably around -5°, talking and walking the dogs – my two and the two that really belong to her boyfriend, D.

I ask her about the ‘not moving in together’ thing.  They have good reason as children are involved but we both also know it is an Italian thing.  But, at least I’ve told someone here, other than F himself.  And she understood me, her being American.

We spoke about carols (see the previous post) and she agreed with me. In fact, D had never heard of them until he met her. She said she had toyed with asking me to the Milan Anglican Church Christmas Carol Service last Sunday. I wish she had. It would have been nice for a change.

By the end of the walk, my feet (and most everything else but particularly my feet) felt like they are made of ice.  My mouth had stopped working properly, being unable to correctly form the words I’m trying to say.  Although it had been a nice walk there is nowhere to go for coffee and it means driving somewhere back into town and then there are the dogs and what to do with them and so we decide to skip it.

I get back home and spend a few minutes trying to thaw out.  When F left this morning to go to the new flat to carry on with the painting, I had agreed to bring him a panino later after going back to his flat to switch on the heating.  And, now, as L and I had left late and walked longer than I had thought we would, I am rushing.  Rushing to go to his flat to turn on the heat (rushing so much that I left my flat and had locked the door before I realised that I didn’t have the bag I was taking back for him nor, in fact, the keys to get in), taking the metro to Porta Venezia to get cigarettes for both of us, going to the supermarket to buy essential stuff together with a pack of four Ferrero Rocher, because I know he likes them.  It’s another food thing we have in common (and because we have so little in common with regards to food, each one is important, to me anyway).

I took a tram back home, dumped the stuff I had bought and went round to the café on the corner.  I got 2 panini – one cheese (for him) and one ham and cheese (for me).  I wasn’t originally going to have one but changed my mind.  I got them hot, as is normal here, in Italy.  Today they would need to be hot.  I regretted, for a moment, that he doesn’t really eat meat because a hot pork roll with stuffing and apple sauce would have been perfect – not that they do them here either, so although I hankered after one, it wouldn’t have happened in any case.

I went to pay.  The girl on the till didn’t understand a word of what I said.  For her, it might have been a foreign language.  The problem with my mouth not working properly meant that I couldn’t even get the words out in badly pronounced Italian!

I went to the new flat.  He stopped work whilst we had the sandwiches.  Nice crusty bread and still warm.  Then we had one of the chocolates each.  He asked if the babies (as he calls them) enjoyed the walk, which I affirmed that they did.  I told him about L and the fact that she was going to Vienna for Christmas because that is where her mother and grandmother live and all the family will be there.  He said it was really nice and he loved the place (he was there for a few years when he worked for Helmut Lang).  I said that L had said that they do great Christmas markets and he confirmed that it is really Christmassy there.

He added, ‘Next year, we’ll go to Vienna for Christmas, yes?’.  Yes, I agreed, thinking how nice it was to be talking about being together this time next year too.  And I looked at him with flecks of paint on his nose and hands, in a striped top, showing a little below the neck, the hair from his chest just visible, with his newly cut hair, sitting, crossed-legged on the floor and, really I wanted to go over and hug him and kiss him and tell him just how much I loved him and how much I loved the fact that he loves me too.

So I may not have Christmas carols everywhere but at least I shall have Doris and Bing!

Posted on by
2

It’s funny, really.  I only thought about it today but I know what’s different.

Christmas Carols.  There aren’t any.  Sure, we have the same kind of piped music in the shops.  Maria Carey with her greatest Christmas Hits, blaring out, not so subtly, for example.  But what I don’t see (although maybe it’s just Milan, or, even Milan centre) is groups of people singing Christmas Carols.

What we do have at this time of year is street vendors selling chestnuts, which is nice; flashing lights round people’s balconies or windows (thank God that the fad for Santas climbing up ladders seems to have almost gone); decorated trees or some sort of modern version in most shops; beautiful Christmas lights down the main streets or the little ‘centres’ that are outside the centre of Milan but are their own little community, like on a section of Via Stoppani, for example.

We also have (or have had) the local priest coming round to bless the ‘house’ although, being at work, I always miss it, which is, probably, just as well.

And last night, as I walked into F’s flat, there were Christmas songs being played.  Now I should point out that, for the last 20 years, on the dot of the 1st December, out came the Christmas CDs.  Some of which I didn’t have a problem with.  However, after the hundredth hearing of Maria Carey’s (breathy) Ultra-Special Christmas Album, I’d had enough.  So by about the 10th December I didn’t want to hear any Christmas songs again!

The difference, which was refreshing, was that last night it was all the sort of stuff I like – Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Perry Como and, even, Doris Day!  All the kind of stuff that I really do like at Christmas. But what he doesn’t seem to have is an Italian singer’s Christmas album (I shall, of course, check now).

So I may not have Christmas carols everywhere but at least I shall have Doris and Bing!

Kill those damned homosexuals!

Posted on by
2

That’s not the headline, exactly. Let’s be honest, I have some special interest in this. Not that I’m planning (or was planning) to go and spend some time in Uganda but perhaps now would not be quite the right time, even if I was/had been?  This piece, in the Guardian, effectively opens the same debate but with the twist of the readers being able to openly criticise the BBC.

It’s the reactions that get me the most.  Both on the Have Your Say site (but only the ones I saw quoted) and on the Guardian site.

I find it amusing that some people are so ignorant that they post things that suggest that, if all gay people were forced onto an island, the ‘race’ of gays would die out.  Hmmm, what a splendid idea!  Shame that the person shows up how stupid they are.  Do they think that my parents were gay?  OK, so it seems to have turned out that my sister is gay too and a 50% rate (there were four of us) does seem a little higher than the average but, unless my parents (or one of them) weren’t entirely honest, it is just a coincidence.

And, then, on the Guardian site there are some people suggesting that the BBC should not have asked the question.  OK, I can understand that you think people should not be allowed to say this sort of thing and incite hatred (opposition to which seems to be the latest ‘craze’ in the UK) but I, for one, would rather know the kind of people out there.  Not talking about it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist in peoples’ minds.

In fact, if Uganda is considering introducing laws to effectively kill people who are gay, then I think it’s perfectly right to ask the question – at least, then, we all know where we stand!  And the BBC are saying that the proposed Ugandan law will do exactly that.

There are also those who, apparently, think that killing gay people would be a good idea.  They are fed up with all those gay pride marches.  Yes, damn me if we aren’t marching through the streets at the drop of a hat in a look-at-us-aren’t-we-normal pose, trying, as we go, to recruit members of the public or, worse, touching them because gay people, as any fule no, are highly infectious!

Actually I have been on two gay pride marches.  Two in London.  To be frank, quite boring.  Sitting on some float trying to be happy with the terrible British weather and a load of people, most of whom I couldn’t stand the sight of.  However, whereas now they are just an excuse, the original ones did do something to help [us] and for those people who marched, from that time, I am grateful.  Now, I don’t even notice that the marches are happening since the original meaning and requirement has gone.  It would be something to see people doing it in Uganda though.  Now they WOULD be fighting for something and I would give them a big cheer.

And, for those of you who have come here thinking that I am going to rant about those damned homosexual people and how terrible they are and how they undermine family values and take our jobs and harm our children and are bad people all riddled with disease – then you came to the wrong place.  Because none of that is true and it only worries me that you should be so frightened of it.  Perhaps you are on some sort of shaky ground yourself?  But fear not, I don’t think you can corrupt me into becoming a raging heterosexual.  You can keep your weird sexual practices to yourself, thanks.  I’m fine, just as I am!

One food in common – Anchovies!

Posted on by
7

F was in his element. Greeting people like he had known them for years, and some of them, of course, he had. For those, he knew their names (something I always struggle with) and remembered things about them. I have always admired that but I am aware you can train yourself to be better at it.  I don’t have the will, really.

F took my coat – mainly because he was ‘showing me off’.  Which is fine.  I was introduced as his ‘findanzato’ to a number of people.  I am proud to be so.  And I can do the ‘being very charming and nice’.  I am gay, after all!  I just can never remember their names after 2 seconds.  Ah well.

Of course, other than FfI (with her ‘walker’ as she described him) and N&aS, I knew a number of people already.  People that I have met, including M who is really lovely (and drinks beer like a true English woman), the Manageress of the shop, D – tall, long blonde hair, S, who works with F and is helping with the flat also and a really nice guy, D another guy from the shop, etc., etc.

And I met the BIG MAN himself.  What a really pleasant, down-to-earth guy he was.  I spent a few minutes chatting with him, laughing and joking.  None of your snobby ‘I’m a designer so look at me’ thing going on.  Really nice guy.

There was champagne and nibbles.  After, we all went for a meal.  Nice evening all round.  And then F, who was going to go back to his flat, decided to come and stay with me and this, after no pressure from me whatsoever.  It’s times like that when I feel that he feels the same as me.  And that makes me feel so good.

V and I are exchanging emails as you may have realised from the post below.  It also includes various other things (Rufus, the conclusion of the Final Question, etc., etc.)

I had invited him to the do last night.  After all, this was the world he wanted to be in.  However, he couldn’t go (or chose not to go).  And, I had mentioned that I would be seeing S&N there.  He included a last paragraph, saying that he was concerned because I had changed so much and he thought perhaps I was getting in too deep and he didn’t want me to be hurt and was I sure that this was good?

I wonder why?  Yes, I have changed.  My hair is no longer dyed, so it’s grey.  The clothes that I am wearing are, somewhat, being chosen/determined by F.  As I pointed out to him – I may seem changed on the outside but I am the same ‘me’ inside.  And, as I also pointed out, I am the ‘all or nothing’ guy.  What is the point in doing this if it is half-hearted?  Why bother unless you commit – without that the partner is nothing more than a (more) intimate friend?

And, as I also pointed out, I will be fine as long as F is truthful to me and, to date, I have no reason to distrust him and hope I never will.

Not really sure what his motivation behind this was.  Maybe he was genuinely concerned and really doesn’t want me to be hurt?  Who can tell?  I’m not even sure HE could tell.

When I woke F up this morning, he wanted to stay asleep.  ‘Let’s call in and say we are sick and stay in bed all day’ he murmurs from under the duvet.  ‘It’s a lovely idea’ I say, smiling.  But the reality is that neither of us would do that and we both know that.  It’s the type of people we are.  Different but the same in important things.  And now we have found one food in common – anchovies!

Not the Bad Guy here.

Posted on by
3

‘You didn’t tell me’.  Maybe I’m being a little over sensitive but it seems so accusatory.

I want to say.  No, why would I?  You have his number/Facebook contact/email address.  I don’t live with him any more and we haven’t been together for over a year.  What the fuck do you want from me?  It’s not like he’s my responsibility any more.

I don’t say that.  I don’t say anything like that.  I just get angry.  And frustrated.

What did you think?  I was going to post it on my Facebook account?  Or send an email to everyone I knew?  Or telephone everyone?  And say what, exactly?  He didn’t even want to tell his parents (and didn’t for the first day or so) until I persuaded him that I should phone his sister and I would make it OK.

In fact, until today, I didn’t even know what had really happened.

Apparently he had a stroke.  But he’s only 43!  He tells me (after I email him about someone else saying that I hadn’t told them and telling me what he had wrong) that it was a localised stroke, brought on by stress, apparently.  Yes, I know about the stress thing.  His colleagues at work made sure I knew as I sat by his hospital bed.  It was one of the reasons I stopped going.  They were definitely accusing me of bringing it on.  They said (in my hearing) that it was the stress of the break-up.

So, for the record – we broke up for reasons of trust.  And he didn’t make any effort to enable me to trust him any more.  It was both of us, of course.  But he had plenty of opportunity to try and make it right and I’m sure I would have listened.  It may not have changed anything but you never know.  But, then, after he didn’t appear to want ‘us’ to continue, I found that I didn’t either.

But, anyway, I only found out a day after he had been taken to hospital.  So, what do you want from me?  He didn’t even want to tell me!  He didn’t even tell me about the fact that it was a stroke until after someone else told me!  And that was only today!!!!

I’m not the bad guy here, you know?

Everything is, always, mostly, nearly completely perfect.

Posted on by
2

“That’s why I love you”, he says.

This may be in a jokey way – or maybe not.  Or, maybe both?  It doesn’t matter as it’s true, in any case.

As usual, all my doubts, uncertainties, confusion, etc. melted the moment that I saw him.  How does he do this to me?  I have to be honest and say that, were it not for the internet we may never have even noticed each other, even if we had met before, although, if we had spoken, maybe it would have been different.  But now, I only have to see him, even from a distance!

I had sent texts during the day.  He hadn’t replied.  I was aware that he may not, what with the BIG DAY being today and, I guessed, everyone running around as if the Queen were about to visit.  His responsibility being the ‘look’, I thought he may be even busier than most.  That was OK.  I knew what this was like (sort of) and, so, was not pressing.

I got home and waited.  Eventually, he called.  He was going to go home.  He was late.  I suggested that he may want to come to my place first, to check out and decide what I was going to wear for the ‘do’ tonight.  He thought that was a good idea.

He got to Porta Venezia and suggested going for a pizza and would I like to come there.  I said yes but I had to change and sort out the dogs.  Then he rang saying he was already at Porta Venezia and should we meet at Pizza OK.  I suggested Timeout 2 as it was closer to my place and he could then come back to mine for the five minutes it would take to sort through what I would wear.

I walked the few minutes to Timeout 2, realising, as I walked, that it was, probably, closed.  It was Tuesday and I was convinced that it was closed for that day.  It was.  I try to phone him.  He is on the phone (as usual).  I walk up towards Pizza OK as I know that’s where he’s coming from.  Trying to call him all the time.  Still engaged.  I start walking back to Timeout 2.  He is already there and calls out to me.

We kiss on the cheeks, well, almost on the lips.  We end up in the pizzeria Liù.  V & I used to go there when we first lived in Milan in Via Eustachi.  We talk.  He tells me about his day.  How the stuff he had to do in the shop should have taken a couple of hours but how customers would ask him about the price of this or that or how they find the right size or where is so-and-so and, so, it meant he was there for over 8 hours.  On his feet all day, a new phrase he learnt last night.

And how, because he was in the shop and so busy, he didn’t have his phone on and so only read my messages just before he phoned me.

He has electricity in his flat now.  He will be able to finish the decoration.  He is happier.  I tell him I’m meeting A on Thursday night.  He might come.  I said I had told A that F might not be there as I didn’t know what he was doing but that I would be there anyway.  I have to see A as he is leaving for his parents early next week.  I say that I have agreed to meet G on Saturday night for a beer and a pizza.  Again, I have said I don’t know if F will be there.  He thanks me for this.  I explain that I know he’s feeling stressed right now and I understand and so, although I have to see these people and would prefer that he were there, I understand if he is not.

And he thanks me again for being so understanding and that’s when he says “That’s why I love you”.

The pizza was good, the base being particularly nice.  I don’t remember if it was always this good.   We also have Milanese cake (that I forget the name of the cake but it is really nice – brought out at this time of year).  He says he will be spending a lot of time at the flat.  I explain that I have arranged to meet L and take the dogs (hers and mine) to the park near the airport on Saturday morning at 10 because I thought that he would want to go and do painting and that it would encourage us to get up and not waste the day.  He is happy with that and makes plans to come and stay at mine at Friday because he is closer to his flat and it means we can get up just that little bit later.

He tells me that he had planned that he would go home, have a shower, get his stuff ready for tomorrow and come and stay at mine.  I said that I thought it would be easier and better if he stayed at his, apologising that I wouldn’t be there as I needed to be in work on time.  He said it was a good idea.  And it was, even if it means spending the night apart.  He is, in fact, relieved that I came up with this suggestion as it will be much better for both of us.  It’s practical, anyway.

I tell him that, obviously, I would have preferred to be with him and that I missed him last night.  I tell him that much, anyway.

We go home.  I try on the jacket.  He is pleased with it and says it looks really nice and the sartoria (tailors) have done a good job.  I take all the jeans out of the wardrobe.  He goes through them, rejecting most.  He finds one that he likes and then another.  He looks at the jumpers I have (that I could wear).  He thinks a white shirt, or blue, is better.  For shoes he obviously is not impressed by my type of normal shoe.  It’s not his style, for certain.  But he decides, in the end, on the new ‘trainer-type’ shoe that I bought that time in Fox Town with A.

We hug and kiss.  He had said earlier that, being on his feet all day, his feet were doing that throbbing that they do.  I said I would drive him back home.  He protested that it was not necessary and I would have difficulty parking when I got back.  I said it would be OK.  I took him anyway and I know he was grateful.  I was back home within 15 minutes and found somewhere to park.  I was lucky, I know.

And, because I had seen him and been with him, sleeping, even if alone, was not so bad.  And I know that he misses me too and he had said, during the meal, that he had explained to a colleague and friend that he would be going to my place and staying there because it was only fair and that I had the dogs and he didn’t want me to be always going to his place because of them, etc.  I knew this anyway.

But, I still don’t quite understand why, when I see him, when we’re together,I don’t have any doubts or fears or concerns.  Everything is, always, mostly, nearly completely perfect.

I don’t often comment but just a couple of things……

Posted on by
2

It’s not often I mention anything from the UK but this is outrageous.  And not for the reasons that you might, at first, think.  My first thought on reading the headline was how bad it was that these guys, defending their family, their property from cruel and vile people, should be sent to jail……………….until you read that the thief that they caught, they subsequently beat so hard that he has suffered permanent brain damage.  Perhaps the headline should have read ‘Vicious Thugs jailed for beating the crap out of man – the UK goes back to the Dark Ages’ or something like that.

And then there’s this.  I find it astonishing that in this, the 21st century, a country that is almost a continent in its own right, should not be looking after its people in a proper and civilised way.  And if any of you Americans (sorry Gail) think that this is ‘commie’ thinking, you are completely fucking crazy!  Our Health Care systems may not be perfect but everyone does have the right to be ‘looked after’ and to have help to get better or have an operation or whatever.  It is inconceivable to me that a civilised country doesn’t already have this.  And I just don’t understand how it can even be open for debate!  There!  That’s all I have to say on the matter.

Oh yes, and today, a few minutes ago, I cancelled one of my subscriptions to one of the web sites. Here’s hoping I don’t need it again?

I feel somewhat sorry for him as this is shit.

Posted on by
6

It’s no good.  I’ve tried everything, short of half a bottle of wine or something.

I get up and get myself a glass of milk, my cigarettes and my book, the one I started months and months ago (before summer?) but, which, over the last few months has remained untouched, unopened, unread and unloved.

I know I shall regret this in the morning but, although tired and although it seems I am almost at the point of sleep, the final hurdle seems insurmountable.

I went to bed later than I had hoped, too.  I even had a wank which used to work wonders but now, not only was it difficult but it made no difference.  Bugger.

The last time I looked at the clock, which displays the time on the ceiling in laser red, it was about 12.45.  I know it’s not because of him but part of me blames him anyway.  After all, it was his decision.  And it is because of him.

But, I knew it was coming, even as I got home; even before we spoke or chatted or texted or anything.

Even if his new flat has no electricity and, so, he cannot go there.

It was (and still is) very cold.  Although not freezing in Milan proper, it is close.  The flat was OK but not so warm when I arrived home, the cleaner ironing and then pointing out the broken handle on the moka and blaming it on Dino.  Another broken thing.  So bloody clumsy.

He texted or phoned to say he was leaving work and going home.  I knew he would not be venturing out last night again.  Not in this cold.  I wanted to say ‘Come here’, as I am on his way home but I knew he would not so I said nothing.  We don’t want to feel needy, do we?

He got home and phoned me.  He said that he was so cold, the heating not having been on in the flat and me not having sorted out his timer thing over the weekend.  We chatted through Facebook for a while.  He called me again.  He said he wouldn’t come over, if I didn’t mind.

Of course I minded even if I knew it was coming or, rather, had the nagging doubt that he wouldn’t come.  I wanted to say ‘but it’s OK for me to suffer the cold before 6 in the morning when I come to your place!’ but, of course, I didn’t.  And, anyway, it is my choice.  He said I could come to him but I said that I had the dogs and I hadn’t spent enough time with them over the weekend and, so, I should stay.  He knew that I would stay and said he understood.

And I wonder, just for a moment, if he has the same thoughts as me?  Well, the same but different, if you see what I mean.

We chatted more on Facebook.  I took the dogs out.  God it was cold.  I hurried through the streets, knowing that, at least, the flat would feel warmer on my return.

It didn’t.  Or, rather, not warm enough.

I went back to Facebook to see some messages from him.  There was a turkey to take on Farmville and he had posted a video.  The video said ‘For You’.  I saw what it was.  I chatted back ‘For me?’.  He chatted ‘Did you like it?’.  I ignored that.  ‘From you?’, I chatted.  ‘Si, Mi (sic) and Diana’.  The video is below.

[April 2015: Unfortunately the video doesn’t work any more and, as I didn’t use to put the name of the song, I don’t remember what it was. Sorry. Video now removed as it doesn’t work.]

As I watched it, my feelings of slight anger dissolved.  But the emotions were mixed.  He wasn’t here and that was the point.  And I wasn’t sure it was really for me; I mean, not in the words although the song maybe.  I had asked before if something was for me, some weeks ago.  He said no but he would tell me if it was.  He had told me this was.  He doesn’t use words so much.  But the sentiments, if for me and if he understood the words well enough, were strong.  As I watched, I felt myself welling up inside.  I choked back a sob and wiped the few tears from my eyes.  I hoped it was true but, if it was true, where the fucking hell was he?  I loved him more and hated him all at the same time.  It’s not as if we were far apart but it felt like the other side of the world.  I briefly contemplated going over to his place.  I wanted him so badly, wanted to hold him and kiss him.  But I wasn’t going to go, I just wanted to.

I chatted.  ‘It made me cry’.

‘Why?’, he asked.  It made me think that, perhaps, it wasn’t the words he was trying to tell me.  You, surely, wouldn’t be asking why if they were?

‘Just cos’, I replied.

‘cos ?’, he queried.

‘It’s difficult…….I don’t know how to say……I don’t know’, I replied.  Afterwards, as I was in bed, I thought that it wasn’t the sentiment he was querying but the word ‘cos’.  Maybe he doesn’t know it’s slang for because.

‘I will phone you now’ he says.  I think he was worried.  I think he didn’t understand and was frightened it was something else (that I don’t understand).  We are open to this mis-communication.  We have a different mother tongue, different culture, etc.

I’m not crying by the time he phones.  I am a bloke.  Blokes don’t cry.  Perhaps I shouldn’t have told him.  We talk about An, the friend of his in London and the problems with her husband and with him (her husband) having had an affair and he told me how he had said to her that he had had the affair because of the problems and the problem was that they hadn’t talked about the problems and that she should make sure they talked about the problems and he said that talking about the problems was better, wasn’t it? …he asked me, finally.  And I agreed and then added that we didn’t talk and he replied that we didn’t have any problems and I thought that we do but that we didn’t talk about them anyway even if they were important and then he mentioned something that is and is not important and I said that I understood that and didn’t have a problem with it and I thought, additionally, since that was not the “problems” I was talking about although I didn’t then say what the problems were but they aren’t problems for him and, with the exception of him not coming down to see me and be with me, the other problems weren’t really problems, at least, not yet but would become problems, I was sure, but in the meantime how could I possibly tell him something about the problems that weren’t but would be.

And, anyway, I’ve already told him but perhaps he’s forgotten.  And I couldn’t mention the problem of tonight because I didn’t want to make him feel guilty and he would, I am sure (well, almost sure), have got re-dressed and come to me and you have no idea how guilty I would feel about that!  Having done that once to him, never again.  It made me feel so bad that he was doing something he really didn’t want to that the pleasure in him doing it was so lost that I thought at the time – Remember this, this moment and how bad you feel and make sure he doesn’t do something just for you when he really doesn’t want to do it, again! Ever!

And so I didn’t say anything, of course.  And then he said he was going to bed.  So he was tired too.  This is a big week for him and I must try and remember that it’s not all about me.  Even if this blog IS all about me.  This is the place and should be the only place that really is about me, with others being only bit players, even if some of them feature often.

And, so, he went to bed.  And, within a few moments so did I.  But it was cold in the bed and I missed him putting his arm round me and I still had all those mixed up and screwed up emotions; loving him and aching for him and hating him (but not really) and understanding but thinking that he didn’t really understand me or my needs or just how much I love him.

And I thought of V.  But not in that way.  V used to say that he thought that he loved me too much.  I thought that it was a stupid thing to say.  I mean, how can someone say ‘I love you too much’ – how can love be too much?  But maybe there’s something in this?  Maybe he had a point?  Maybe it’s just ‘cos I didn’t understand?

And, I decided that, if he really did feel this way, I should have been more sympathetic and understanding.  But I didn’t know.  How could I?  But this, this thing, this feeling or feelings.  Was this what he meant?  And, if so, then I have sympathy or empathy or something like that.  And I wondered why I never felt this about V.  Or, at least, I don’t remember feeling like this about V.  Or is this because I’m not getting everything I want?  But I never had everything I wanted with V either.  But I think you can never get that.  Not everything.

And that’s why I couldn’t sleep as well.  In spite of everything I tried to do.  And the thoughts and the questions remain, this morning.  What is really meant by it all?  He’s fucking up my mind.  And, is this what I did to V?  For 20 years?  And, so, even if it’s not true, if it wasn’t true, I feel somewhat sorry for him as this is shit.