Monthly Archives: July 2011

It is quite warm but, still…………

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Of course, it is quite warm. And we all have problems with sweat when it gets warm. Some, of course, more than others.

Today, as I drove to work, the temperature read 24°. That’s at 7 in the morning.

As long as I don’t exert myself, I don’t have a great problem with sweating. And now that I’m in work, we have the air conditioning, so I’m fine.

We have a visitor today. A customer. We joke here that he’s pregnant, his belly being large and round and, well, exactly as if he were pregnant and almost due. His loose shirts cover his belly and then drop straight like he’s put a curtain round himself.

He comes from Northern Europe. It’s not as hot there, of course. But he’s not used to this weather. And, it seems he has a problem with sweating. When I greeted him downstairs, I didn’t really notice although as I shook his hand there was that damp feel to the shake.

I took him for coffee. I noticed, as we were having coffee that the front of his shirt, just below his breasts and where the shirt started to cling to the top of his belly, was damp. Normally you see this on men just under the armpit – and, for me, it’s not an attractive sight. Sometimes, I suffer from this myself and, knowing this, I really hate it but it’s life and I can’t do that much about it.

But to have such a large damp patch there was particularly unattractive.

We go back to the room. By the time our colleagues have joined us, there is a strip of dampness about a foot deep and spread across the whole of his belly. I feel physically quite sick.

I also feel quite sorry for him – but, really, if you have this problem, DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT! Like, for instance, get rid of the baby that you’ve been harbouring for a few years now!

I switch the air conditioning to the highest possible level. Both for him and for my colleagues, since I will be dipping out of the meeting whilst they talk the technical talk.

By the time I go back to offer him another coffee, a few moments ago, the air conditioning has done its work. Thank goodness.

From hot and sunny Carrara to the Chicago rain.

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“I hate being in love”

“I always fall in love. I can’t stop it and I hate it”

“I fall in love and then I fall out of love. I’ve had enough of it”, the American girl behind me whined. I wanted to say something. I thought of turning round and saying “That’s life”, but I didn’t.

The morning was on the beach. The temperature was, probably, in the 30s (°C, of course). We had lunch, courtesy of F’s sister at which, because his sister and niece are both taking English lessons, there was an impromptu lesson.

Then we left. I could have stayed there all day but we had Chicago later.

It wasn’t supposed to rain. The forecast said no rain. Everyone’s forecast said no rain. The clouds in the distance were laden with rain. And the lightening, as always, was great to see – as a backdrop, of course. I don’t want it coming any closer. But it did. The spots of rain were large. Wearing sandals, a shirt and some linen trousers didn’t keep me dry.

On the plus side, it stopped the mosquitoes which, until then, had been on a feasting orgy and the smell of Autan was all around. I hate the smell of Autan and try my best never to use it. My thinking is that, if it’s potent enough to ward off mosquitoes, it can’t possibly be good for your skin. A couple of nibbles by the zanzare can’t be as bad. And, anyway, even the people who liberally spray themselves, seem to get bitten just the same.

There was another plus side. With the onset of the rain, many people started to get up and leave or, at least, try to find some shelter. Leaving a number (quite a sizeable number) who headed to the front. The front, for sometime, protected us from the rain but in the end it got us too.

I never did festivals. When you’re young, you can do this ‘staying in the rain’ for hours whilst you watch your favourite band. Firstly, this is NOT my favourite band and secondly, I only know a few of their songs and only one that I can sing along to. However, what was I to do? Everyone in my group was at the front and so, I followed.

To be honest, even without knowing all the songs (I knew about 5), the band were brilliant. Not only were they good but they obviously enjoyed themselves which makes a whole lot of difference. The trombone player was incredible – not only for his playing but also for his energy and enjoyment.

Once again, it was Milano Jazzin Festival and Chicago were great. It was worth the money and the rain to see them.

It’s only minutes but ………..

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When you’re a kid you’re always told not to wish your life away.

I thought this would have stopped by now.

It seems not.

The seconds drag like minutes and the minutes like hours. It’s like you’re stretching your fingers out as far as you can and only another inch would be enough.

F is at home and is ready. He waits only for me. Me and then me and the dogs. I wish I was, at least, on my way. It’s the sitting around thing that gets to me.

Ah well, there’s another minute closer ………..

When hacks become hackers it will all end in tears.

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Well, I suppose I should mention it, shouldn’t I?

The end of the world. The end of the News of the World, that is. A lot of people are gloating about it. 250 people, who are about to lose their jobs aren’t really gloating though.

Of course, there are now the calls that ‘It’s a different paper now’. Ah yes, that old chestnut – it was terrible before but now we’re really good. The soon-to-be ex journalists of the NOTW are saying that it’s not fair. But, then, they’ve hardly been very fair on the people they’ve been hounding all these years; the people who have had their phone messages read; their emails read, etc. Of course, they had to ‘earn a living’, didn’t they? Ah well, what goes around comes around as the old saying goes.

Of course, for the readership of the NOTW, they need to find another Sunday paper that can give them all the tittle-tattle and gossip. It’s like a drug, I guess. However, they may be OK with the Sun on Sunday – supposedly due out soon. In any event, there’ll be some some rag to fill the space.

The MPs, who could have taken some action years ago (or at any time up till recently); the police – these people should also be losing their jobs but I guess that won’t be happening any time soon.

Which newspaper will be next, I wonder?

Superstitions

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Superstitions are strange things, really, aren’t they?

Take the one of spilled salt. I think (but I’m not really well up on these things), in the UK, if you spill some salt, you’re supposed to pick up some of the spilled salt with your right hand and throw it over your left shoulder. Or the other way round. They have a similar thing here, in Italy.

Then there’s the black cat. In the UK, if a black cat crosses your path, it’s considered lucky. Here, it’s unlucky. Does anyone know why (either is though)?

And then there’s the new car. I’m not sure it’s an Italian thing. It might just be a superstition within my company.

Anyway, to avoid having an accident in your new car, don’t worry about your driving. Instead you should bring in cakes and drink to share with your colleagues. This, apparently, will ensure that you don’t have accidents.

Who knew? I always thought it was careful driving and a bit of luck (that there aren’t any crazy drivers on the road – which is quite difficult to ensure here) that meant you didn’t have an accident. Stupid me.

Anyone who had a heart ….. wouldn’t want to miss this

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One of the girls, N, who was with us had said, apparently, that she didn’t know who he was.

She meant, of course, she didn’t know his songs. But everyone knows a few of his songs, even if you don’t think you do.

And, so as this 83-year-old man shuffled on stage last night at the Milano Jazzin’ Festival, although I knew that I knew many of his songs I was blown away by both him, his playing, his songs (I knew all except a couple of them) and the atmosphere which was much like a party.

It was fun.

It’s difficult to pick just one song since there are so many of them. As it is, I shall pick two.

The first, although first sung by Dionne Warwick, was a hit in the UK by Cilla Black and so Cilla and this song always go together for me:

The second is a song that I don’t know that well but it’s sung by Elvis Costello – God Give Me Strength (although, obviously, not last night):

Burt sung some of the songs and he can be forgiven for not having the perfectly strong voice of a young man.

His contribution to the world of music is immeasurable and I am so happy that I’ve been to see him since you don’t know if he’ll ever be back in Milan. Although, if he is, I really want to be there :-)

At least I am in no danger of getting pregnant.

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I have to make an apology.  To all ladies/women/girls who may read this.  It’s an apology in advance.  In advance of me writing the thing for which I am apologising.

So, I’m sorry.

It’s just that, this week, it’s been terrible.  Well, not all of it.  But it’s like I’m going through my period.  Even if, quite obviously, I don’t have them.  OK, so I’m not getting the stomach cramps (ache, as it used to be before it became a new thing to differentiate it from the less serious and rather ordinary ‘ache’) but I am so irritable and irrational.

But, only at work.

I’m fine when I’m out of work.  Or, rather, I’m fine when F is there, with me.

And now I know why this is.  And I tried to explain it last night when we went out with An, his friend who used to live in London.  We were talking about past relationships and I learnt a little more about the breakup between him and S.  He was saying that he has remained friends with all his ex-boyfriends.  I wish I could say the same.  And then we were talking about friends, in general.

And I tried to explain that it was him that was the key to this on-going friendship he has with so many people.  He was saying that it takes two – which it does but, a little like the guy C, who is my ‘official’ boss at work, sometimes, you’ve got to look at the common factor.

In his case, he is a useless, self-important, misogynist, bigotted, racist, pig of a man.  Nobody likes him and he has many arguments with almost everyone.  And, if arguments keep happening and there is one person who is almost invariably part of the argument, then you’ve got to say that this one person may be the reason that the arguments take place.

Unfortunately, even with me on Monday.  Which annoys me in itself but he just makes my blood boil.  As, it seems, he also does to others.

Whereas F has an opposite effect on people.

And he is the common factor in all of this – in all his friendships with ex-boyfriends.  So it’s him that is the key – not the others.

And, so, maybe that’s why, when he’s around, I feel a different person.

So I feel like I’m having my period – which is good because it means I can’t get pregnant.  See, there’s a bright side to everything :-)

p.s. I also did the booking of restaurants yesterday so that’s another thing off my mind.

Pizza with pig fat

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Ruth wrote about it back in January of this year but I’d never seen it before.

However, as I now ‘weekend’ nearby (how jealous are you, Ruth?), it seems only logical.

Friday night we were late getting down.  Too late to go and eat with F’s parents and, so, F, having not eaten much lunch, suggest we drop the dogs off at the house and go for a pizza.

Seemed a good idea to me.  I don’t know any restaurants in the town and so learning of which ones to go to is important (for me).

We went to Bati Bati right in the centre of town.  It looked nice.  Rustically rough but clean looking.  We went into the back part of the restaurant.  Everything was white except the floor.  Unusually for the town, not everywhere was marble!

I then saw – pizza with lardo di Colonnata, aubergine (egg plant to you Americans) and asparagus.

Now, I do really like lardo and lardo di Colonnata is produced in a town (maybe village) nearby and is reputedly the best.  They serve it thinly sliced – but I mean really, really thin – almost see-through.  The combination of the lardo, the aubergine and the asparagus was divine and, surprisingly, very light!  I loved it.

F has now promised to take me up to Colonnata where we can get some of the real thing.  I resisted suggesting that we should do that first thing in the morning.

The only problem will be to slice it thinly enough.

But there is a bakery that bakes bread in a wood oven (so the sign says) near to the house and the idea of a thin slice of lardo di Colonnata on a piece of warm bread is making my mouth water already!

I guess it’s official now.

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I guess I have reached the ‘I am an old codger’ stage of my life.

It’s not really my age, as such, it’s my attitude.

Saturday night was the ‘Notte Bianca’.  This is an Italian thing.  Once a year, roads are closed to traffic and the shops and bars stay open until late.  By late, I mean 2 or 3 or later.

There are often ‘discos in the street’, stalls and street traders selling tourist-type crap.  There are food and drink stalls.  And people wander about.

I suppose the reason it can be done here is the weather.  It’s warm and it lends itself to staying up till the early hours of the morning.

F apologised a number of times and checked I wasn’t bored.  St, an old friend of his, has been having problems with her 30+-year-old marriage.  Or rather her husband has been having problems, if you see what I mean.  She has lived in the town all her life and feels she cannot confide in anyone who lives there – so F was an obvious choice.  It seems a lot of people are having problems right now.

Anyway, obviously they were talking in Italian.  I suppose I could have tried to follow the conversation but it seemed rude to do so, me not being an old friend.  So, I didn’t.

We went to a bar and found a seat (which was lucky).  And they talked whilst I looked around.  And I catch myself wondering why the young people (especially the girls) think that wearing a pair of shorts or skirt that barely covers your bum when you have tree trunks for legs, think that it can possibly be attractive?

I suppose it is the same as when I was a teenager and I suppose the older generation thought much the same about us as I think about the youngsters of today.

But, that’s not entirely fair.  There are women of F’s age wearing the same sort of thing although it’s noticeable that the women of that age generally wear something that suits their figure.  Not always, of course, but mostly.

We left about midnight as F didn’t like a friend of R (his best friend who had joined us with his entourage later) who announced to everyone, and in front of her 10-year-old daughter, how she really needed a fuck tonight.  I only learnt later that was why we had left as I hadn’t understood.

Possibly it’s as well that I don’t understand sometimes but F and I do agree on stuff like that.  As we used to say in the UK – it’s not big and it’s not clever.

However, I did enjoy the evening.  Watching the people.  And St seems very nice.  Bless her, she’s still in love with her husband after almost 40 years of knowing him.  Shame he’s such a barsteward really.

Teachers murder girl!

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As one parent quite rightly said on Twitter, apparently:

‘she should have been safe at school, she was just sat on a bench talking with friends….it could have been my daughter.’

After all, on school days, the parents have no responsibility for their children.

And, in addition, there is no such thing any more as ‘an accident’ but, rather, there is always some person to blame.

I suppose that if it had been a Saturday or a Sunday the headline could have read something like:

Park keepers guilty of manslaughter

or

Council killing children!

The actual headline of this article didn’t really say that teachers had murdered the girl but only implied it.

Girl, 13, crushed to death by a branch as she sat on a park bench after teachers went out on strike

But, then, this is the Daily Hate Mail so, I suppose, what can you expect!