Monthly Archives: April 2011

Signs. Or not.

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As I was sitting in Engineering, one of the rubber soles came off my heel.

I wonder, briefly, if this is a sign.

Does it mean I’m on way to becoming a down-and-out, grateful to have shoes with heels or not? Does it mean that it’s the right time for a new job? Or does it mean that I need to get my shoes re-heeled?

Or all three?

After all, I could be going down the ‘Gentleman of the Road’ road, if you see what I mean. I’ve always felt that I am a step away from that. Well, actually it’s more like a hundred steps. But once you take the first one, I can see how easily one can get pulled down the other ones.

I have applied for the new job. I checked my ‘Internet footprints’. I don’t think I’m that easy to find. I mean to say, this blog is not easy to find. And most other things have privacy setting set so that it is hard to connect everything. I hope. Of course, I am aware that, should I be successful, this blog may have to close, even if I say little about work, apart from Teaching. Well, we’re a long way from that. Not in terms of time but in terms of I haven’t started yet. That’s because I haven’t had an interview yet. That’s because I only sent the CV off about an hour ago.

I think I would love the job. I just think it may have already been taken, if you understand my meaning. Even though this is a British job, I have a feeling that the way it all works is more akin to the Italian way of working. Ah well, I still have this job. This one which allows me to write this blog. Well, they, probably, wouldn’t do much about it if they did find it. If you get me.

I will, of course, on Friday or Saturday, take my shoes to be re-heeled.

Until then I am really busy. Or, rather, really occupied. Which is another reason this post will be short.

Oh yes, and this morning, when I woke up, I had a) no hot water and b) (although I didn’t know it at the time) a broken shutter.

The hot water I hope I can fix by buying a couple of batteries. The shutter has been fixed by the workmen. Thank goodness F was there.

In so many ways.

And now I must really do some work ………

The Last Supper (the real one this time)

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Italy!

Sometimes, to be perfectly honest, it can be a real pain in the neck.

I was only chatting with R, last night, how, although everyone in Italy had mobile telephones the moment they were first introduced and a minimum of two when Britons were still umming and ahing about having their first, when it comes to the internet, they are a tad slow. So, whereas Facebook was a big hit in Britain, say, five years ago, it only really got a toe-hold in Italy in the last couple of years.

And web development is, to be frank, fairly crap here. It is almost as if they don’t really get the power of it. My colleague, S, for example, doesn’t like to book anything or buy anything over the net. So, using websites in Italy is quite hit and miss.

I needed to book tickets to see The Last Supper. If you haven’t been in the last 10 years or so, you really, really MUST. They have cleaned it up and it is, quite honestly, breathtaking. Any pictures you see of it really don’t do it justice.

But you should try to get tickets before you come. These days the viewing is strictly controlled. The number of people allowed in at one time is limited to about 20. You are only supposed to be in there for about 15 minutes.

It used to be quite difficult to get tickets anyway but now, with all the restrictions, it is definitely harder. You can book about 2/3 months in advance only. Even so, tickets are not that easy to get, especially if you are restricted to certain days.

So today, the tickets for July and August came on sale. And I learnt some interesting things that, should you be wishing to book, might help:

1. Getting through on the phone is almost impossible.
2. The website which shows available days, is updated ……… A LOT (so refresh the page as often as you can).
3. Pre-register with the booking site as, during the time you are trying to register, the tickets you thought were available will have been sold.
4. Do try the call centre again if you can’t find what you want on the site.

I had rung last month. The kind lady (there is an English section) told me that I couldn’t book for July, yet. Also, she told me not to worry as they always have tickets available in the call centre that are not shown on the site. I don’t rest easy with that sort of information. When people say ‘don’t worry’ in Italy, it’s usually the time to worry.

Anyway, this morning was the ‘time’ to get July tickets. I need them because D&S are coming over for their first anniversary. So it’s important that I get some for them. I suggested to F that, perhaps, I should also purchase a guided tour. He said, ‘No, I’ll do it’. ‘Really?’, I queried. But, apparently, yes. Well I guess he might know something about it since he did Art and stuff at college.

I got on the site. Until about 8.45 a.m. July and August were not even available as months to look at. Then July was there – but no days were available. Grrrr.

I try phoning the call centre. The line is engaged. I try again. The line is engaged. And again. Engaged. Engaged. Engaged. Engaged.

I get through. I press ‘2’ for English. They tell me, in Italian, that I have to be put through to an operator. I wait. They play a message apologising for the delay. I wait. They play another message apologising for the delay. I wait some more. They play a message that apologises for the delay but adds that the operators are all busy and so it is taking too long to wait. They cut me off.

THE BASTARDS! Having already spent money on the call, I want to wait more. Instead, I must phone again. The line is engaged. I try again. The line is engaged. Engaged, engaged, fucking ENGAGED! Bastards, bastards, BASTARDS!

I am now repeating the calls on both my mobile and landline. I get through! Hurrah!

The message about waiting for an operator comes on. I wait. I hear the ‘sorry for the delay’ message. I wait. I hear the same message again. I wait. I hear the same message plus the bit about ‘we’ve decided that rather than permit you to hold the line, we shall cut you off with no thought for you whatsoever and make you redial 6 million times until we get you get through to here, giving you false and unreasonable hope that you will actually get to speak to someone – but, at least, then, someone else can get through and they can have the false hope that they will get through. Anyway, it’s our joke because although this is called a ‘call centre’, in fact it is only one person sitting by a telephone’.

Bastards.

I go back to the website. I refresh. Well, you never know?

I didn’t know. This time, every day is available until the 13th July! WTF?

Ah, yes, of course, someone is just entering them by hand, right now! They are entering the available dates by hand because, well, this is Italy, and the thought of setting it up in a file beforehand so that the flick of a program makes them all appear at once is JUST NOT POSSIBLE!

Useless BASTARDS!

However, on a brighter note, it means that, if these dates have suddenly appeared, more dates will too. I hope. I sincerely hope.

I am now dialing the useless number that is always engaged and simultaneously, refreshing the page on the site.

The day I want comes up as available. Hurrah!

I select the date. Some times come up. I select a time. To continue I must register or sign on. Damn! I have signed up with this company before. I bought ballet tickets for V at La Scala. I can’t remember my username or password. Damn, damn! I try to register. I cannot. My email address is already taken.

I click on the forgotten login button. I will get an email. An email arrives. It has the username but the password is not there for security reasons. This is quite stupid. I wait for a moment for another email with the password. It’s not coming. I go back to the site. I go back a few pages – except I can’t. I am, in my head, screaming at ‘them’. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

This seems to have little effect. I go back to the original page. OK there’s even more dates available now. I click on the same date and the same time. Of the 7 tickets available, there is now only 1. BARSTEWARDS!

I try a different time. I try to log on with my username and say I have forgotten my password. I go back to the tab with the email and click on the inbox to refresh it, every few milliseconds. I fail to notice that the email has arrived and so click once again on inbox. This only slows everything down.

You might guess by now that I am a tad frustrated.

I copy the password and paste it in.

There is a message in Italian. I do not read it. I have no time for this. It is not letting me go any further. I try a different tab. The same thing happens. I go back to the first tab and try again. I reload the page from the beginning and try it all again. No dice still.

I read the message in Italian.

I am already logged on somewhere else and so must close the tabs and start again.

I close all tabs. I open a new tab. I start again.

The date and the time I want is still OK. They have seven tickets, still. I want four. I sign in again. They do not have all the details they would like. Anyway, the address is wrong. It’s the one that I used to have in the UK. I change it. I have to look up my codice fiscale on my phone. I ensure I have entered all the required fields. I tick the box to say I have read the Terms and Conditions. As with most people, I haven’t, of course.

I am not allowed to go further.

You utter, utter, fucking bastards!

There is a field they insist must be filled even if it is not marked as required. They do not need this information. It is not essential to this transaction. Am I a man or a woman? Why must you know this to allow me to purchase tickets from you (which, incidentally, are going to cost me an extra €1.50 EACH!!!! because I am booking in advance)?

I am tempted to say I am a woman.

I don’t.

I continue.

It lets me pay. But now there is this new thing with the credit card. I must enter my password. The one assigned to the card.

The last time, even if I know I entered the correct password, it didn’t work and I had loads of shit trying to get a new one, eventually having to phone a premium line from my mobile to get it working.

I enter the password, making sure it is 100% correct.

It starts processing. It is taking a long time. I am not hopeful. Eventually, a message appears. The transaction has not processed. For fuck’s sake! I re-read the message. The password is correct, the transaction is being processed now.

Oh!

I get the confirmation that I have four tickets. I print it, not really believing that after more than an hour of phone calls and messing about on the internet, I have actually got them.

F sends me an email with the picture of a dog, a picture of a shower-head, the date of Friday the 22nd and a picture of a clock at about 10 o’clock.

I reply with a picture of tickets, of the Last Supper, a poster with the date that I have booked the tickets and a clock with 1:15 on it.

Underneath I put a picture of a finger pointing out of the screen (you) and a picture of a tour guide with a flag.

We are done.

So, in case you wish to book to see the Last Supper, you can (maybe) book through this site. In fact, if you check right now, there are even a few dates that have become available in April, May and June that, previously, were all fully booked.

Failing that, you can try the telephone number on that site. But only phone on a day that is not the first day of sales. They say ‘Not to Worry’. Of course, I have lived here long enough to know you should. Still, it is worth a try, isn’t it?

Anyway, this was only my experience. I’m sure yours will be better ………….

Nope. I missed that one. Doh!

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“You are very happy”, he says.

I hesitate. I mean to say, I’m not unhappy but ‘very happy’?

“Well, yes, I suppose so”, I reply.

“Now you are living together”

We are? I query in my head. But, nothing has changed. Why did he say that?

“I read your blog. He will be there all the time.”

Ah. It dawns on me. I feel stupid. I should have realised the significance of this. I did not. Maybe it was a seismic shift, after all? Hell, yes!

I can see the logic. It never even crossed my mind. But, of course.

He is going to take the dogs out every morning – except when he’s away or, maybe, if it is raining. To do that, he has to be there. To be there, he needs to sleep there ……. here …… in my flat.

So, we are, sort of, *whisper* living together!

Don’t say it loudly.

Of course, it will never be said. Like all things that he does, these things are kept within his head and not said. But the real significance of all this was only shown to me by Pietro – in the car park – as we were about to go home.

Thanks mate! I really hadn’t got it until that point.

Not a seismic shift, exactly but significant, nonetheless

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The dogs get excited as normal.

Dino starts ‘talking’. He does that now. When he wants to ‘go’ or when he thinks we are about to go – somewhere, anywhere.

The light comes through the shutters. Yes it is different this morning. I go to the bathroom and shut the door so that there is no noise to wake F up. I turn on the light and start going through the usual routines.

Except this is not usual at all. This is all different and it feels very, very strange.

I wash and shave. When I come out of the bathroom the dogs are quiet again. They know this was a false alarm. This is a different day for them too. All strange and not as it should be.

I don’t know if this will work, I think to myself.

I make my coffee and sit down in front of the computer, checking stuff and then playing the game.

I feel as if I have overslept. Well, not exactly that but similar. There’s not the rushing around of having overslept; there’s not quite the same feeling. I finish my coffee and instead of going to get ready, I just have to put my tie on and then go. The timing isn’t right – and yet it is, of course. It is just not normal. Well, it WILL be normal, just not today. It is the new normal. The normal-to-be.

I go and put my slippers in the bedroom. F is awake. I kiss him on the forehead. He says he will have a coffee before taking the dogs out. I know that they will love it. Later he tells me that it was a surprise for them. I bet it was.

And it’s a huge change for me. Getting up three quarters of an hour later seems almost relaxed, like it’s the weekend. I will still do the evenings but he will do the mornings – at least when he can or when it is not raining. This is how it will be for most of the summer.

This is more sharing of stuff. It’s probably good. I’m sure it is good.

It will take some getting used to, though. And, weirdly, I already miss my morning walk with the dogs. Especially now that it’s summer. This was the time of year when I didn’t mind the morning walks so much. But this is easier and will make me less tired all the time. At least, that is the plan …….

The Box of Chocolates

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As my regular readers know, I quite like some of my spam comments. This one, when reading the first line, made me laugh.

Life is like a box of chocolates. A cheap, thoughtless, perfunctory gift that nobody ever asks for. Unreturnable because all you get back is another box of chocolates. So you’re stuck with this undefinable whipped mint crap that you mindlessly wolf down when there’s nothing else left to eat. Sure, once in a while there’s a peanut butter cup or an English toffee. But they’re gone too fast and the taste is – fleeting. So, you end up with nothing but broken bits filled with hardened jelly and teeth-shattering nuts. And if you’re desperate enough to eat those, all you got left is an empty box filled with useless brown paper wrappers.

But it got me to thinking. First of all, I would have left the peanut butter cups and the English toffee, since they’re not my favourites at all. I much prefer the hardened jelly and teeth-shattering nuts, myself!

And I was talking to S yesterday afternoon, after our lesson. And we were talking about luck. And I was trying to explain that, as you will know, dear reader, I think I am very lucky in life but that, depending on how you look at it, so is she. To be honest, most people are quite lucky. There are many things that fill us with happiness and contentment. They may be little things; they may not seem very important in themselves but they are the peanut butter cups or the teeth-shattering nuts in chocolate – depending on what you like.

We should all be very grateful for the good things we have for tomorrow is another day and might bring something not so welcome.

Today is a good day.

Me neither

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F A B U L O U S!

Well, for me, anyway.

It seems not for most. An said, last night, that she loved being able to wear sandals now. Compared to the last six years in London. Exactly!

Then she complained it was too hot.

Bah!

As I often say, it can never be too hot. Or, at least, not that I’ve ever yet experienced. She worries about the summer.

“If it’s this hot now, what will July be like?”, she queries.

In my head, I’m thinking, ‘bring it on’. But it won’t be like this. Already, from a forecast high of 28° for today (it will be hotter, I am sure), it will barely reach 21° tomorrow. It says.

I am sitting here, in T-shirt and sandals, with all the windows open and, surprisingly for Milan, a bit of a breeze. It is really, really lovely.

After my cup of tea I will go shopping (for groceries) and then, maybe, I can convince F to come to the park with me and the bambini. I hope so.

I know that those of you from the UK are also enjoying nice weather and I’m almost certain that most of you are not complaining about it.

Me neither.

Fixing the house by the sea – all for me and the bambini, it seems.

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“I’m not going to go to Vienna”, he says. “I’m going to go down and do the house”

This is, actually, quite an important statement, I think.

I mean to say, he seems to really want to make it a nice place to be. I have the feeling it was left to fend for itself in the last few years. Now he wants to put it in some sort of order.

“Then, when I am away, travelling, you can go down with the bambini on Friday night or even Saturday morning.”

It seems he really does want me to do that. What he doesn’t seem to realise is that, without him, it isn’t really going to be the same at all.

But there is a change in the way that he’s looking at things.

Don’t get me wrong. We are ‘together’ but it’s an ‘individual togetherness’. It’s not like it was before for me (and probably for him) where you planned your future together; your life together. We don’t really do the planning bit at all. We continue to be separate. Just conveniently together. I don’t know whether I like it or not. But it’s OK.

So, he intends to go down at the end of May for a week. I suggested that, as it’s a ‘long weekend’ for us (for Italy, really), I could come down with the bambini. It seems not. Apparently, it will not be of help, even if I did suggest I could do the garden. No. He wants to get the house (well, flat, really) cleaned and painted. He will get R to help. He wants it tidied up a bit. Then we can go down for the weekend. Well, the ‘we’ is without him, it seems. For me, that’s not nearly as good but, as he seems to really want this, I suppose it is good.

But, no, we can’t go down whilst he is doing this tidy up. We will be in the way. I suggested the garden thing since that is one thing I really do miss from being in the UK. It seems not. Oh well. I won’t push.

And it has to be right for our holidays since the first week we will be there. It’s nice that he wants the place to be a little spruced up for me and the dogs.

Just thought you should know.

Other things:

1. CV not finished but I needed a break.

2. Since yesterday morning there has been a real change in Rufus, for the better. He seems quite a different dog. Maybe it’s the warmer weather and, so, less of a problem with arthritis? Still, whatever it is, it’s very nice to see.

After the after-party party

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“Oh!”, she exclaimed, “we won’t be able to fit Rufus in. I have to pick up this other thing too and it will take all the room in the back’.

I turn from looking at the thing we had come to get – something like a washboard but not – and reply, “It’s OK, he can sit in the footwell with me”.

“No, no”, she adds, “I’m sure we can work it out”.

She is giving me a lift home. We are in a furniture restorers or carpenters place or something like that. F is not here. He is somewhere else. I’m not sure where. I don’t like him not being here. He should be here. I am uncomfortable with him not being here. It is the following day. The following day after the party or exhibition and after the after-party party or after-exhibition party at her house.

We had walked to her house from the party or exhibition. F had been there but not for the after-something party. It is disconcerting. I am not questioning why I cannot walk back home.

My worry about Rufus and whether he will fit into the car changes it all. I wouldn’t call it a nightmare – just a bad dream.

I wake up.

The TV is on. But it is silent – the sound turned right down. F is not there. I shout ‘Babe’ and he replies. “Are you OK?”, I ask. Yes, apparently he is. Except he’s not really as it’s almost 3 a.m. and he’s not asleep.

I can’t shake this dream even if the remembering of it is difficult. It has left me with a certain disquiet but for what, I can’t be sure. I get up and go to join him in the kitchen. I am really tired but know I have to get it all out of my head. Look at it logically – not that it was really logical – I know that much.

I grab a glass of milk and a cigarette. I ask him why he is up. He says he doesn’t know but he just can’t sleep. It’s not me or the dogs. He is playing ‘the game’ as we call it. He says that maybe it will help. I doubt it but say nothing.

I go back to bed. In the morning, when the alarm goes off, I put it to snooze and snuggle up to him. He got to sleep then, eventually.

I’m not even sure how the bad dream started. Something about a party or an exhibition. Rufus only appeared the following morning. It wasn’t Milan – nor anywhere I know. But it was similar to Hay-on-Wye. A group of us decided to go to the after party. I knew the people although, with the exception of F (who was never there but always just outside the picture) and one other, I can identify none of them. We walked up the hill. Maybe through fields. It was very late. F knew I was going and would join us later. We arrived with the girl whose house it was and who was giving me the lift back home on the following day. We started the party. Nothing really happened. More people came. It was nice. I worried about F not having arrived. I don’t know if I texted or tried to call but I think I did. I was worried anyway and really wanted him to be here.

Then V arrived. It wasn’t altogether unexpected. I mean, for some reason, I knew he was coming or, rather, might come. Somehow, he managed to avoid turning towards me. He was, as FfC and I say, ‘being fabulous’ as V does. But, still he wouldn’t look at me. I saw him across the room (with his back to me), taking off his jacket and talking to the woman. And laughing as he does. I was disappointed that he wouldn’t at least acknowledge I was there but other than that I didn’t really care.

He must have stayed for a bit and then he left, never once showing me his face. And then it was the next morning. And F wasn’t there. And, for some equally strange reason, I had Rufus (although not as thin as he is now) and we had to get home. And we were stopping on the way to pick up these things that the woman had to get. And then I woke up.

Elettrauto – Cadore – great food/poor service

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He wasn’t happy.

I turned round once but he told me not to call her over. He pursed his mouth in the way that he does when he’s annoyed. He didn’t go in to tell them. The waitress had, after all, laid our table and given us menus about 15 minutes before. It did seem strange that she had not come back to take our order. She came outside several times but, each time, walked away from our table to other tables.

He was getting more and more annoyed.

Eventually, some 20 minutes after we had been given our menus, a waitress appeared.

There then followed some dialogue between him and the waitress. It wasn’t good. He complained about us having to wait so long. She asked why he hadn’t come in to say anything ….. or something like that. Of course, that was the wrong thing to say, especially to him. The correct thing to say could have been – ‘I’m terribly sorry, sir. I wasn’t aware you were here but I shall make sure you get your order quickly’. this would have stopped him dead in his tracks since this sort of response always leaves the person with two possible options: 1. shut up or 2. repeat the things you have said, thereby making yourself look like an incoherent idiot.

He explained afterwards that he was this way because a) he comes here a lot and b) that was not the right way to answer a customer that wasn’t happy.

And he should know. He added, after I had suggested that ‘OK but maybe they were busy’ with the fact that the turnover of staff here is very high. ‘They change every five minutes’, he advised.

He was right. The service was terrible. The shrimp club sandwich that I had was very nice, though. And the fact that we could sit outside was good. And I wore sandals until the late evening. And we’d had such a lovely walk in the park with the dogs. And I’d changed the duvet for the bedspread. And it felt more like May than April.

But back to the late brunch we were having.

I didn’t even realise that Elettrauto in Via Cadore DID brunch. It is conveniently situated almost at the edge of the park I (we) now go to with the dogs and it’s useful to know that they serve food at 4 p.m. – see, I told you it was a late brunch!

It’s not that cheap – two club sandwiches and two beers came to around €35 – but with the weather being so nice, it was perfect. Obviously, the service was dismal but I wasn’t in a hurry.

But, then, this morning I read this article and I got to thinking.

There is absolutely no reason to be rude to waiters, waitresses, shop assistants nor, indeed, anyone else. At the same time, people doing these jobs should have a pride in what they do and want to give the customer good service. I am a different person when I talk to or are with my customer. It doesn’t matter what day I am having, they are the customer and should be treated with courtesy and respect. I always try to exceed their expectations but, at the very least, meet them. If I can’t then I tell them and apologise. Not really so difficult.

So I am always amazed when the service leaves one feeling disappointed. And the service, yesterday, was disappointing, which was a great shame. It won’t stop me going there – but if it happened too often, it would.

As it is, it does seem a great place to go for a Saturday and Sunday after walking the dogs in the park.

Angolo di Casa and Piccola Cuccina – although we only went to one of them, of course!

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He had talked about another one. One that he used to go to with S. It was a single room with about 10 tables. He said it was very nice.

But that wasn’t where we were going.

It was another one of the Groupon vouchers. €50, for which I paid something like €20 or €25. But we understand it now. We expected to pay at least €50 – €100 on top of the voucher.

To start, I had some kind of Cod mousse. He had pulped broad beans with bits of octopus or squid. Then we shared a sea bass with an orange and fennel salad. Then we both had the same chocolate thing. And nice wine. And a mirto each. It was OK. The branzino (sea bass) was lovely. Being done in salt, it usually retains its moisture (unless it’s done badly) and this one was excellent. F’s pulped broad beans with bits of octopus was nice too. The rest of it was, well, nothing amazing. And, for the price it should have been amazing.

The place was nicely done. I liked the warm colours of reds and yellows. F says that red is not good. Too aggressive. He’s a visual person. I love red. I wanted to say that it was the red in my hallway that I loved at first sight – and still do. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to hear that he didn’t like it, I suppose.

It was, as F would say, very ‘fashion’. We got there at 8.35 or so. The place was empty. For me this didn’t bode well. However, by 10, the place was full. This is the Italians going out on a Saturday night. Arriving at the restaurant at 9.30 or 10. Too late for me, really and, luckily, also for F, even if he is Italian.

And it was very ‘fashion’. Just before we were leaving a couple came in. F explained that the woman had been on Isola di Famosa and he was something on television (I forget what, now). I’m really not that impressed, to be honest. Is that wrong of me? I mean, it’s someone from the telly – and here, that could equally (and is probably more likely to) be someone with no talent. Not that the UK is much better but here they still have dancing girls in the middle of game shows so I’m sure you will understand.

And the bill meant that it was €72 per head. We both agreed we shan’t be going back to Angolo di Casa in a hurry – voucher or no. The food was not really fantastic. F said that he would much prefer Porca Vacca for the price and for the service and for the food. And I agree.

We left and started walking up Viale Piave. As we walked within a couple of doors was the other one he had mentioned. I stood on the step to look inside. It looked delightful. I agreed that I would like to go there. It’s mostly meat but there is one fish dish. F said that it would be fine. And, so, although I can’t write about it, our test of this restaurant meant that we found Piccola Cucina.

So not a wasted evening.

As an aside, yesterday (and today), I am wearing sandals. Yay! This means it is warm. And, yesterday as I was walking the dogs because F was cleaning my kitchen, including the dogs’ toys, the dogs’ basket, etc., I realised that I was out at about 6 p.m. still in sandals. Not something I really ever did in the UK, except for occasional times in the height of summer. And it reminded me that this was one of the reasons I love to live here. And the washing gets dry quickly. And it’s time for salads. And it’s only the very beginning of April. And today is the same and about 2 we shall go to the park with the dogs and stop and get something to eat as well.

I adore my life.