Monthly Archives: May 2015

Not quite anything

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This is an old draft post from 2012 that I found. I decided that it is OK to post it as it stands.

Immigrant: a person who comes to live permanently in a foreign country
Expat: a person who lives outside their native country.

There was some article recently that I can’t be bothered to find, complaining that, as an Indian in Britain, he could never be seen as an ‘Expat’.

Then there were lots of comments deriding Expats (meaning British Expats) who went to live in places like Spain but never integrated and, yet, didn’t think of themselves as immigrants but only Expats – as if it makes a difference.

Which, according to the terms as defined by Oxford (online) are, in effect, the same.

Anyway, I have always realised that I am, in fact, an immigrant here, in Italy. Am I an Expat? Well, I suppose so. And if you’re looking for other English people then you could do worse than Google “expat milan”. Obviously, I have friends who are also Expats (American and British) but I really don’t like mixing with Expats much.

I mean to say, the only thing we have in common (usually) is that we live in a foreign country. It does mean that when we’re in a group we are able to complain about the same things, many of us having had the same experiences but the question I always ask myself is, “If we weren’t Expats in a foreign country, would I actually LIKE this person. Sadly, the answer isn’t always a resounding “yes”.

But, I’m not even sure if I’m a true immigrant. I never said that I would stay here permanently. I mean I do love it here but it doesn’t mean permanent. It means ‘for now’. So I’m not sure what that makes me. But I feel as if I’m not quite an immigrant. Nor quite an Expat.

Although I am keeping my British passport, of course. And I like being English – I just don’t want to move back there, if I can help it. But, being away for so long now, nor do I feel it’s quite right to ‘meddle’ in the affairs of the UK.

In the same way, nor do I feel it’s right for me to ‘meddle’ in the the affairs of Italy

It’s a long and sometimes winding road.

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Its a long and sometimes winding road

You may think that I’m not keeping this blog up to date any more but that’s only partly true.

When I moved the blog, all the links to the old blog had to be changed to the new one. I found a program that was supposed to do it. It did some of the links but not all by any means. So now I have to correct them by hand.

Also, I want to delete a directory that is, almost, a duplicate of another directory. It holds the pictures and photographs I use. This means going through each post and checking the right directory is used and that the photo/picture exists in that directory.

And, finally, during the various ISP moves that I’ve had some things got a bit mixed up and replaced with weird characters – so I wanted to fix them.

As a result, I’ve been reading through the blog from the beginning.

There are 84 pages of posts – around 1600 posts! It’s taking a while, as you might imagine. I am now on page 48 (i.e. I have 48 pages to go!!)

However, it has allowed me to see my life in a different way. Some of it heart-wrenching, some boring. I am amazed that some of you have kept up with me all the way along! I mean, some parts are just boring post after bloody boring post! Why on earth do you do it? Some posts have been relegated to the scrap heap because they were short and said nothing or because all the links failed to work!

I’m considering a way to permit people to navigate to the best writing (in my opinion), the most-viewed posts and the posts with something special to say – so, as I’m reading, I’m noting page numbers against categories. It almost makes me want to redesign the blog entirely. Or move certain posts to a different blog. In any event, I want the reader to be able to navigate to particular portions or posts more quickly. God knows, I wouldn’t want anyone else to have to labour through the boring posts!

Just last night, I went to dinner at A’s place and we discussed the blog move. A few things have become very clear to me whilst I’ve been reading the past posts.

1. This is NOT really the whole of my life in Italy. Some of it is (and those are very boring posts) whilst a lot of it are my thoughts which may or may not relate to Italy.

2. Most of the blog are my thoughts and NOT reality. It’s a look into my head – not always a fabulous place to be. However, it’s where the best writing is.

3. I am seriously a) paranoid, b) fearful, c) fucked up. All in my head, of course. On the outside I remain a) in control, b) sensible and c) normal. I’m not sure that these two sides of me should be so wildly different.

4. The shit/difficult times that seemed to last fooooor eeeever, actually lasted no time at all but, boy, do I write a LOT of posts during these shit times!

5. I wish I had written more, sometimes, about things that were happening. There are gaps that I can’t seem to fill very well. God knows what you lot thought at the time!

So, there you have it. Lots of work still to do and, apart from this post, I hope I’ll be filling the blog with more interesting stuff and much, much better writing, in future.

If I close my eyes, I hurtle back to 1975

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Once or twice I noticed the smile that he has. It comes with a twinkle in his eye. But the twinkle is a real twinkle – a bit cheeky but it always really sparkled.

And, suddenly, it really really is him.

And, sometimes, I could hear it in his voice. If I had closed me eyes then, I could have transported myself back to those days.

I had picked them up at the airport. I was a bit worried I wouldn’t recognise them. And I was right to be worried. Their eldest daughter is 26 so we knew it was more than 26 years since I had seen them. And, 26 years is a long, long time.

I remember him as the same sort of build as me but taller. I knew he had no hair. T, his wife, had black hair.

So, I didn’t recognise them at all. He looked a little like my grandfather! They had both gained a “little weight”, she had blondish hair.

But later, over a meal, he did that thing with his smile and the twinkle thing and then, for a split second, it was him.

I could tell you all about the weekend but it would be slightly boring. Instead, he remembered things about me that I don’t remember. I was, in fact, a bit of a tearaway between the ages of 14 and 18 (and, possibly, beyond that.) He told me that he used to hang around me hoping that my “natural wit and charm” with the ladies would rub off on him – or that, by hanging out with me, he would attract the girls – apparently.

He would ferry me around to parties, etc. so that he would be included.

I don’t remember. He used to wait for me at my parents’ house whilst I “came back from somewhere” for us to go out. Apart from parties, our “going out” was mainly to pubs.

And, as I have said before, I never understood that I was good looking. But here is a photo that was taken in 1975. I am on the right, with the purple shirt.

Andy and Harry Aug 1975

And this is them at the top of the Duomo, this weekend.

Harry ad Tracey Duomo Roof 2015

I think you can agree, he’s changed a bit. They’ve changed a bit! Or not? But, then, there’s 40 years between the two photos!