Tag Archives: Italians

The meaning of X; why do I put myself in these situations?

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When I was a kid, we used to write cards (birthday cards and the like) to grandparents, sisters, brothers, etc.  Always it ended with ‘Lots of love X’.  If you were really generous it would be even more ‘x’s.

I had always assumed, like one does, that everyone did this.  Here, quite often, people end with ‘baci’.

More recently, I have stopped using baci but have been putting ‘x’.  It seems that things are not (and it has taken me about 45 years to find this out) quite as I thought and that not everyone uses an x in place of baci.

Not only don’t they use it but they don’t recognise it!  Who knew?

So last night, on the phone, I was asked why the ‘x’ and was it like a signature or something.  So I explained and, in the process, learnt yet another thing that separates us from the Italians, culturally.

So, catching up with friends, as I was last night.  Telling them of the guys and why I was dropping some of them and why others were working (maybe….early days yet).  Now, I spoke to Best Mate the other night.  Told her about the sweet guy.  She was fine.  Another friend was fine…..one friend was not….

It got me to thinking, this is my problem really.  I put myself in situations that other people find hard to take.  But, and here is where the real problem lies, it is my opinion that it is their problem and not mine.  I don’t do the compromise very well.

And so, should I take up with the sweet guy, then I am sure to lose some friends along the way; people who remain ignorant; people who, because it does not seem to have touched them, still think of HIV as something that is a gay plague and that it is the fault of the person who has it and that it can be transferred just by touching, or something equally preposterous!

That’s a shame because, other than this one thing, they are nice people – but I know that I won’t compromise on it.  And that bit is my problem too.

In the meantime, my date for tomorrow (Gordon) returned to Milan from a weekend away.  He is feeling tired.  Hmmm.  This could be the prelude to bailing out for tomorrow night………shame because I found that I had missed our chats online.  Still, it will all be for the best, whatever.  Also, my piano player from Pavia is saying that Sunday will be difficult.  Hmmm.

Still, I still have Varese on Friday night.  And, tonight, hopefully I will see my friend A who I have not seen for a little while…..which will be nice.

A meeting with V

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We have arranged to meet on Thursday for a pizza.

Last night was the theatre.  Actually it was nowhere near as bad as I thought it might be – only being bad because I thought I would not be able to follow the play at all.  In fact it was well done, although I would have preferred it in English since I didn’t get all the sense of it.  However, I did understand some of the jokes and that was good.

We met first for an aperitivo in the theatre.  Nice food and we talked.  It became clear to me that, although he is a nice guy, he is not for me, in terms of a relationship.  He has too many other people in his life that would take precedence……..and, if I’m going to have a relationship with someone then I want to be No. 1 – not further down the list behind a 9 year-old daughter, an ex ‘love of his life’, etc.

Anyway, he’s not really so attractive even if he is rich.  Rich is not everything – in fact, although it would be very nice, it’s decidedly nothing at all – for me, anyway.  Not all my friends think like this but everyone must choose what is important for them.

Beforehand I had rung the piano-player, who also lives in Pavia.  I was due to be there, rather than writing this from home.  The conversation was all Italian.  But he thinks (as a lot of people seem to) that I can understand it perfectly.  Boh!  Anyway, he has the ‘flu so it was cancelled.

I contacted my sweet guy but he was busy today.  I still can’t get him out of my head.

Later……he is online.  Against his name it has the status of ‘Date’ which should mean he is looking for a date.  I send him a message saying that he should know that I would go on a date with him.

He tells me he is working, which I know.  I reply that, if he would like, we could go to a Tuscan restaurant that I have been told is good, nearby.

He says yes, with a grin.  Maybe, perhaps, this will be good.  He wants to be romanced and seduced and I am good at that.  My problem will be holding back and not pushing it too far.

I am just browsing the people online.  I see one profile.  It is V.  He is lying about his age, shaving over 5 years off his age.  I don’t blame him since everyone is so hung up about the age of the person (including me).  I wouldn’t look at anyone my age…even if they did look good.  After all, I want someone younger and, as I was explaining the other night, the perfect man would be in his early forties with the body of a 30-year-old!

I then see that V has looked at my profile.  So, I think, it would be rude not to send a message.

I say hello and ask him how he is.  He tells me he’s fine and asks how I am.  I say I am good. He asks what I am doing.  Am I browsing.  I say that I was supposed to be in Pavia but it was cancelled and then start my normal complaints about Italian men.  He agrees and say that if they weren’t so good looking they’d all be single.  I say they aren’t all so good looking, etc.  I also mention that an ex-colleague is coming to Milan on such-and-such date and would he like to meet up with him.

He asks if the message was meant for him.  I realise that, perhaps, he doesn’t know who he is talking to.

I give the guy’s last name.

He asks if I am me (if you see what I mean).

I reply that yes, I am me and thought he would recognise the jeans!  (Since there is no face picture).

From there we have quite a funny conversation.  At one point he tells me that he was about to ask me out on a date.  Now that would have been funny.  I tell him that, if he had done that, I would have suggested Thursday.  Then we started talking about domestic stuff……Could I have some sunglasses, he has some cushion covers to give me, etc., etc.

I don’t know why, but it was a really pleasant conversation that we had.  It seemed so much easier over the chat and no pressure or crap.

Of course, I thought that, sooner or late, we would meet up online and I was a little worried.  However, it was very nice in the end.  I wonder too if, at some point, I will meet other people that I know……?

I wonder, if V hadn’t been my partner for all those years and I had found him here now, would I be going out on a date on Thursday as John (my onscreen name)?  Interesting thought, isn’t it?

Out on the scene again; is it the Karl Spark?

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I felt I should amend the previous post in case it gave the wrong impression……so I did.

Last night was the Mexican meal with the sweet (but far too effeminate) Stephen.  Nice kid though.  A shoe designer.  Interesting conversation, pretty and slim – just right for me in some ways but a little young and just a little to out-going.  After the meal he took me to some bars where we met many of his friends.

It was very nice for a change and his friends were nice.  I was, of course, new to the ‘scene’ so attracted interest but, although it was all very pleasant, I remembered why I don’t really like this way of spending your Friday and Saturday nights.  Still, I might go do it again with him as he is very popular and so, who knows who I might meet – except most of them aren’t ‘my sort’ at all.  I’m just such a ‘straight’ guy trapped in a gay world.  Must be the same sort of thing for effeminate but straight guys!  It makes me feel like I really don’t belong.

Still, tonight is the theatre with the nice guy from Pavia.  This, I know will be fun evening and then we shall go home (to our separate houses) as he is in for the long-term and is wooing me more than anyone else at the moment.

Of course, I haven’t really mentioned one guy that, perhaps I should.  He is very, very sweet.  Not effeminate, not my type  – but I find myself very attracted to him.  Not sure whether this is the Karl Spark but it’s pretty damned close.

Just a couple of things that are and, at the same time, are not important.  One is that he is definitely not the dominant type and, so, I’m not sure that he is strong enough – I mean to say, I sometimes need someone who is equal to me and will ‘fight’ with me.  He may be just too much of a pushover.

Oh, yes, and the other thing is that he is HIV+.  Now, before you go giving me advice and all that, bear in mind that I do know about this and I know we would have to be very careful but, really, it didn’t make any difference as to how I feel about him.  He was surprised at my reaction but I look at it this way, he’s nice, we are attracted to each other and, if I’m honest, the cigarettes are probably going to kill me first before anything else gets a look in.  And, if we’re careful, it shouldn’t be a problem.

He is a bit reticent though and I’m not sure why.  He’s also seriously Italian with all of the baggage that that entails (*sigh*).  And, he doesn’t smoke or drink, was a vegetarian (so is fussy about his food) – you know, all the things that would mean, oh, I don’t know…….

I need to see him again to see if I still feel the same way…..and if he does too, of course………

Planet Italy – The Dating Bible

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It’s official.  Italian men fall into one category.  Seriously screwed up!  Unless I am just being unlucky, of course!

This is how things are in my world:

1. Meet guy.
2. Find said guy attractive.
3. Decide to take it further.
4. Go to bed (optional here or later).
5. Have sex (optional here or later).
6. Talk some more.
7. Find you have things in common and you really like said guy or not.
8. Decide to see each other again and go through same stuff, (probably, hopefully, starting from 4).
9. After a while, if you both want it, make situation more permanent.

That’s how it’s supposed to work.  Of course, upon mutual agreement (or, perhaps, without mutual agreement) it can be stopped and taken no further at any stage.

Instead, on Planet Italy (which is NOT my world, even if I do live here) the Italian man seems to work like this:

1. Meet guy.
2. Worry about whether this is long-term or not/worry about whether this is what you really want/worry about something else.
3. Find said guy attractive.
4. Worry about whether this is long-term or not/worry about whether this is what you really want/worry about something else..
5. Decide to take it further.
6. Worry about whether this is long-term or not/worry about whether this is what you really want/worry about something else.
7. Go to bed if your worries haven’t already screwed it up in your head.
8. Worry about whether this is long-term or not/worry about whether this is what you really want/worry about something else.
9. Have sex if you overcome your worries enough or just talk about it or try and avoid it.  In any case, probably don’t have sex for all the worrying about whether this is long-term or not/worrying about whether this is what you really want/worrying about something else.
10. Talk some more – probably about how it may or may not be in the future; how everything is not straightforward how worrying about this stuff is one of the things that you cannot help.
11. Don’t bother finding out you have things in common because you’re too bloody busy talking about the worries.
12. Decide to see each other again (although why effing bother, I say).
13. Worry about whether this is long-term or not/worry about whether this is what you really want/worry about something else.
14. Go through all this crap again.

OK, so life is not perfect but we only have this moment to enjoy it since in one more second/one hour/one day/one week/one month/one year/one lifetime………..it may all be over for some reason.

Live life now!

Of course, perhaps all these Italian men are right and it is I who is actually screwed up?

OK, so last night didn’t go as expected.  However, one thing did happen that was really good and for which I am over the moon (and may explain some other time….if it continues so good).

An almost full dance card

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Well, we’re moving forward and, I have to admit, this is great fun.  At the moment, I can’t take it too seriously and nor do I want to.  I know that it’s all about finding the next ‘partner’ but I know I must keep hold of myself and not just jump into the first relationship available.  This time it’s different.

And there are, at the end of it all, many, many men out there of all shapes and sizes.  None of them perfect but then, nor am I.  All of them (the ones I am in contact with) have something to offer – and the ones I have met are nice guys, some more than others, of course.

Last night it was the turn of Trevor (not Robert as I thought in my last post).  Nice guy about 8 years younger than me.  We had chatted a lot on the phone and on the chat.  He seemed funny, witty, intelligent and a great sense of humour, so similar to my own.

We met in town (he lives in a city about an hour away) and went for a pizza.  The talk was easy, interesting – we were finding out about each other – in the process we found many, many things in common.  It was comfortable, for certain.  We talked and talked.  He told me about his marriage (they are now divorced) and his young daughter and what happened and why he got married in the first place…….

It’s a strange place, Italy.  And the family thing (and particularly the mother attachment) is something that, quite frankly, no one comes close to understanding – and trust me, I know people who were/are really close to their mothers in the UK – but it ain’t nothing like this.

So Trevor goes to his parents for lunch every day.  When he was married and lived in the flat above his parents-in-law, they would have dinner with the parents-in-law.  When he stopped them doing that, his mother-in-law would, instead, prepare food and bring it up to their flat so they could have dinner on their own!

Most Italians phone their parents once per day.  He phones his parents (and, remember he has lunch with them during the week) 3 times a day!!!!

Anyway, I know this is what it’s like and if I do end up with an Italian, I have to accept this stuff.

But, I don’t know if Trevor and I will end up as anything or nothing or friends.  We are going to the theatre on Saturday night (he has season tickets) to see some comedy called ‘The Kitchen’ although it will be in Italian which means I will be lucky to get half of it.  Still, it’s nice and, again, like Dennis, it’s a proper date.

But, right now, it’s getting a little full.  My dance card is almost completely full between now and this time next week.  When I started this, I didn’t expect it to be like this but it’s good and fun and I get to meet some interesting people and, anyway, it’s really good practice!

The difference between the idea and the reality

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No. of times out and about today – 1
No. of passes made at me – 1
No. of times ‘checked out’ by some guy – 1 (on the train on the way back)

We meet.  If we meet in a city or area that I don’t know, he will ask me what I would like to do but will have some suggestions.  There had better be food in a nice restaurant on offer (I mean, we should go dutch, of course) as well as, maybe, a visit to some things he has picked out as being noteworthy (a museum, a gallery, even a park!).

OK, so if not at a mealtime, then, a suggestion to stop at a café, maybe grab a beer (or, in the case of Dennis, a coffee) and then do something, even go for a walk.

We talk.  He is interesting, interested in me and we have a lot in common or, at least, he makes me think we have a lot in common.  He indicates (I’m not sure how) that he finds me very attractive but doesn’t push it, both of us exploring the boundaries.  The time passes quickly.

He might suggest dinner at his place but there will be candles, good wine, the food will be expertly cooked but made to look as if it was easy, without effort.  He is accomplished at all things; he puts me at ease immediately.

I want to be wooed; I want to be wined and dined; I want to be seen to be loved; I want it to be romantic or, if we are to be friends then interesting; have something in common; chat easily and freely.

If we are to be more than friends, then, maybe, later, if we both feel the same it may lead to something more……

Then, of course, there are the other sort of dates.  Not ones I know but am aware of.  For those, let’s not waste any time.  He will, of course, be considerably younger than me and have a great body.  That is an absolute must otherwise what’s the point.  But the other type of date will be obvious before we’ve even met.  We will ‘know’ something about what the other wants/is looking for.  Here I still want to be wooed but in a different way; here it’s all about looks and superficiality and that’s fine.

Then, there is, what I can only politely describe as the mix up.  This is where it’s not clear to one side or the other and so, as a result, it makes it awkward and difficult.

Making it more difficult, of course, would be the fact that neither of you were able to speak the other’s language and then there’s that feeling that one of you is out of their depth a little (or a lot) and just wishing to go home.

I meant to take a notebook yesterday but forgot.  The train was not crowded.  About halfway through, Fred phoned.  Could I meet him at the station stop before the one planned (i.e. not in the centre (more or less) of the city?  I knew what this meant and so texted FfI to call me during the day.  Just in case.

I came out of the station and Dennis texted.  We had a text conversation as he was going back to Milan after a weekend away.  We texted about next week and a pizza and so on.  I walked to the car that was waiting – some sporty black little BMW number.  The problem is that cars really don’t impress me that much (although I can say all the right words to make the owner feel good – but a car is just a car, after all – it gets you from A to B in greater or lesser comfort).

I get in.  True, when FfI and I had looked at his profile (with new pictures) the previous night, I did think, wow, I’ve made a mistake here – he looks so much older than the original photos suggested and, as I may have mentioned before, it’s a younger person that I really want.  I know I’ve been spoiled by V but I want someone equally as good.  Now, he looks a little better – in the flesh.  He has no style but, hey, not everyone can be perfect.  I notice his elbows (he’s wearing a T-shirt) – they are the elbows of someone who is 60, not 44 (as he is supposed to be) – but then he looks older than me anyway.

I see we’re not driving to the city but to his town, just outside.  I’m disappointed.  I wanted to go back to the city.  It would have been nice to have the offer so this was not as it should be.

Several times he puts his hand on my leg.  For sure there is no electricity, no spark.  I want to get the next train back but, I made my bed and I should lie in it – actually what I’m thinking is that I need to make it clearer in future and that, anyway, being only my second ‘date’ I should use this as practice both for the date thing and for the Italian as he speaks no English.

We make conversation.  The drive is uneventful (apart from the touching).

We arrive at his flat.  It’s not that nice – OK but not so good.  The style of furniture looks as if it is rented even though he says it isn’t.  There are no books and a lot can be derived from the books on show.  It is a faceless flat; no character; not a home.

He offers me coffee.  We sit in the kitchen to have the coffee.  He gets up and take the cups away and then makes the pass.  I tell him no, that I am looking for friendship and, maybe, that special someone.

He does back off but I am ready for anything to ensure that nothing happens.

We talk.  I keep making the conversation, asking questions, making observations.  I didn’t think my Italian (although dreadful, especially in the conjugation of verbs and the grammar in general) was this good.  Well, I suppose, needs must.

We move back to the lounge.  We talk some more.  Or, rather, I ask more questions, make more observations.

He offers lunch – what we would call stew – with pollenta.  It’s OK.  I say it’s lovely, of course.  We talk about English, the English, the Italians, politics, hobbies, what he does in his spare time, etc.

He is boring.  I mean to say, his life is boring.  I don’t want to be partying all the time and like to put my feet up at home but…..

Again, I think how spoiled I have been spending 20 years with V.  We wanted the same things, both the stay-at-home bit AND the going out and having fun – although latterly, not clubbing for me.

I’m not looking for a V replacement, I know that much, but I want someone that is equally as fun; that will stretch me as much as I would stretch him. Fred is not this nor even close.  I dread to think I would end up with someone like this.

We have another coffee.  We had wine with the meal but he doesn’t know wine.  Nor do I but I want someone who, at least, tries to impress me, just a bit.  There is no effort being made here.  He just thought I would buy a train ticket and come all this way for sex.  He is much mistaken.  As I pointed out above, for this kind of date he would have to look 10 years younger than me (in his case 20 years younger).

I can see that we’re going to be sitting in the house forever.  I suggest we take a walk, by the canal.  He agrees but it’s soon obvious that he never does this.  I suppose that’s the beauty of having dogs – as you have to walk them you find the nicest places to do so.

The town we are in are having their end-of-summer festival.  It is the usual crap with the usual crap stalls and the usual crap local dancers, singers, etc.  I feign interest because that’s what you do.  He’s lived here all his life and never been!  Enough said.

We walk by the canal but he obviously doesn’t know a good route nor are we actually going anywhere.

We turn back and end up back at his house.  The conversation falters now, me exhausted by the lack of interest or interests that this guy has.

He takes me back to the train station – I will catch a much earlier train.  I am grateful to be going and still disappointed that I’m not seeing the beautiful city that is 10 minutes away by train but, at least, I will be back in Milan at a reasonable time.

I think of Dennis and, suddenly, Dennis seems so much nicer – he’s interesting and, more important, interested in me as a person, as a lover, as a friend and as a would-be partner.  I know he’s not right but he’s a million times better than what I have just experienced.

I arrive home and go online on the new site I’ve found.  This is the other type of site for, in the main, even if the people say otherwise, is for the other type of date.  I only put pictures up on Saturday.  I have decided that, after 20 years, I need the practice.  It’s been busy (people viewing my profile, etc. – I am wanted, apparently) but, through this I’ve ‘met’ Gordon. Gordon is about 10 years younger than I am with a great body and is quite beautiful.  We had arranged that we should ‘meet’ later this week.  We shall see; no rush.

Gordon has sent me messages and we spend the next couple of hours chatting.  He is sweet and is wooing me, not for a long-term relationship even if that is on his profile, but for short term satisfaction.  He knows this and I know this.  There is some flirting and that will, with any luck lead to sex and that is fine because we are working within the rules.

I send an email to Norman, who is sweet and is wooing me for either friendship or long-term.  He is going on holiday for this week.  I like him a lot although he is not so beautiful but, then, for a long-term relationship, that is not crucial – we have already both agreed that, when we meet there will either be the electricity between us (mutual) or we shall just be friends.  Either way we will be happy with that.

I go to sleep and dream of Gordon.

Restaurants in Milan

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No. of times out and about today – 0 (I don’t count walking the dogs as I’m too busy watching what they’re doing to be looking to see if people are staring)

For a country that prides itself on its culinary expertise, I am sometimes amazed by the crap food that the Italians will put up with.  OK, so not completely crap, but, in my opinion, far less than the best.

Take, for instance, Japanese and Chinese restaurants.  Many of them will do both Japanese and Chinese with, often, a pizza oven thrown in.

It is my opinion that, unless you’re doing fusion food (where, anyway, the idea is to mix flavours from different cuisines), you cannot be good at more than one type and Japanese and Chinese aren’t really similar.

So, most of the time, going to one of these restaurants leaves me disappointed with the end result.  Sure, you can get one or two really good dishes, maybe, but the rest are just mediocre at best.

I mean to say, one wouldn’t go to an Indian restaurant and expect to be provided with, say, pizza – that would just be bizarre, so why do it with Japanese and Chinese?

Anyway, and apologies to A, should he read this, but Taiyo, Via Plinio 72, although above average, wasn’t that good a restaurant.  The one, really good dish was the seared tuna with sesame seeds – the rest was more mediocre.  Its big advantage was that it wasn’t so expensive but then, as I always say, you do get what you pay for with food, generally.

Still, it was a nice evening and I enjoyed the company, which is the most important part.

Anyway, let me not limit this to Chinese/Japanese – it also applies to Italian regional restaurants.  There are a couple of Tuscan restaurants near me, for example, one of which is less than mediocre (A & I went there a week or two back) and another that is OK but, if you compared it to a good restaurant in Tuscany itself, well……..there is really no comparison.  Although a friend who I was with on Sunday morning (taking coffee at a bar before walking the dogs) suggested one called (I think) il Bimbo in Viale Abruzzi as a true and very good Tuscan restaurant with excellent service to boot.  Bet it’s expensive though but I’ll have to try it.

By the way, the weather turned during the night.  It is now cold (I have socks and shoes on – which would have pleased the online guy I mentioned before) and it has been raining on and off all day.  It’s down to the low 20s and I am thinking of putting a jumper on.  On the plus side, the electrician came today and put up my four wall/ceiling lights.  The one in the lounge which is an old Art Deco one looks so beautiful – I wish we had put it up when we were in the UK, we just never got around to it.

…..the post in which I explain how I am becoming paranoid (oh, yes, and some other things)…..

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the_post_in_which_I_explain_how_I_am_becoming_paranoid_oh_yes_and_some_other_things

No. of times out and about today – 1
No. of stares noticed – 1
No. of long/strange stares – 1

So, I’m now ‘on’ several sites.  I’ve actually only paid money for 2 of them so the others have very limited access – i.e. I can look and people can look at me but it’s a little like being in a soundproof glass box, it doesn’t matter if I were to scream, no one could hear me.

On some of them, I have my picture.  There is a very good reason for this.  I don’t look my age and, unfortunately, my age is against me in that, most people seem to be looking for someone who is a couple/five/ten years younger than me – so I need them to ‘see’ that I don’t look my age.

Also, and I can assure you this may seem very shallow but it isn’t, people pick people on looks.  It’s a good job we all like different sorts of people but absolutely, one of our major deciding factors in who we will consider, is their look.

So, I am looking for someone like me, more or less.  Not too fat, not too much muscle, not too camp.

Now, on the one site which is, mainly, for people looking for other than sex (well, I think that’s true) and one of the ones I have actually paid for, I’ve made an observation which I will share.

The Spanish, in spite of they’re being a Catholic country, have the most profiles that include pictures.  I reckon about 90% have pictures.  The French would be next at, probably, about 70-80%.  The British next with about 50-60% and, finally, the Italians.  The Italians boast about 30% of profiles with pictures.  My profile has a picture, of course.

Some of my friends have a theory about why this is – according to them it is because so many of them are married men who haven’t quite come to terms with being gay.  Admittedly, many here, in Italy, say they are bi rather than gay, which is, to me, a little disconcerting.

I have now added to my profile that I won’t contact people who don’t have photos.

But there has been a side effect of this.  I have become paranoid.

t seems (although I do realise it is probably all in my head) that men have been staring at me much more than before.  And I mean to say really staring.

So, the other night, at a restaurant, a guy coming out from the toilets, smiled (maybe at me) or (it being all in my head) at someone at the table he was sitting at (which was behind me).  He looked familiar, sort of.  Me, being me, just couldn’t smile back, which I must improve upon.

Then, this morning, at the supermarket, this guy couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off me.  Not that he was looking at me in a particularly pleasant way but he did make a point, at one stage, of looking over the top of his sunglasses to get a better look at me.  There have been many more occasions than just these two but I can’t remember the details.

Now, for those of you not in Italy, this would be almost a certainty – especially if you live in the UK.  However, here, as I have blogged before, staring is a thing that Italians do.  They will not look away, as they would in the UK, in embarrassment, the moment you look at them but will hold the stare and will even be quite open about looking you up and down, checking what you’re wearing, etc.

However, it seems, to me, that this is happening on a daily basis now.  And, as I can’t see pictures on most profiles, I have no idea whether that’s because a) they’ve seen me on one of the sites, b) because I look strange and foreign, c) because they just fancy me or d) because they’re just Italian.

In any event, I now keep thinking it must be a or b (and I mention b because now that V isn’t here to tell me I look OK I don’t know that I do – perhaps I am dressed strangely or have my flies open or my hair looks weird or I am odd in some other way).  Either way, it is starting to get to me and make me feel nervous and less sure of myself (sometimes) and this is not good.

Yesterday, I went to Mantova for the Festivaletteratura (Book/Writers Festival).  The basic story goes like this:

  1. Every year for the past 6 years or so, V & I have been guests of the Festival – free accommodation; free entry to events; mostly free food, etc.
  2. This year V & I said we would go.
  3. Unfortunately, they could not provide free accommodation.
  4. Because I would have had to put the dogs in kennels (which is expensive) and pay for a hotel room and because V has just moved house, we said we wouldn’t go but would come for the day on Friday.
  5. M asked if we could do last minute and I said ‘yes’ (V confirmed with me later that this was true for him too).
  6. Wednesday/Thursday I get email from M to say they have room for Friday and Saturday night.
  7. V said he couldn’t come (no surprise really – he seems to be totally unreliable now and I’m still waiting for the sofa swap!)
  8. I couldn’t find anyone to look after the dogs.
  9. I go yesterday for the day only.

Although, I really did have a nice day.  Got back about midnight.

Saw FfI and Friend with Shop in Isola (FwSiI) the other night for a pizza.  It was lovely, except FwSiI is not doing really great right now (problems with marriage, shop not doing so well in these crisis days).  So she was a bit down and now thinking of packing everything in and moving back to London (which would be a great shame as I, for one, would miss her).

Picked Rufus up from his vacation a few nights ago.  Need to cut his fringe as he’s now bumping into things left, right and centre (that was when we went for meal and cute guy smiled at me (maybe)).  However, as Dino and Rufus had been apart for more than a week, after a couple of hours back home I was ready to send Rufus back or kill them both.  Obviously we had to go through the bit where they had to re-establish who was top dog.  Much bothering by Dino and much growling by Rufus.  Much ignoring of me when I shouted at them.  However, all is now back to normal, even if Rufus is not so good right now.

Agreed with S the computer set-up that I need and his suggestion for my new mobile phone (cell).  Need to go and sort that and was going to do it this afternoon but now I have to Skype someone at 4 so it may be Monday now, damn!

That’s all really.

What I will do though, going back to my new paranoia, is document how many times I get stared at by strange men.  Of course, I’ll tell you when/if one of those turns out to be the real deal…..

Incurably romantic

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Incurably_romantic

Best Mate and I are friends for unknown reasons.  This is what we decided when we were chatting.  We have nothing in common, really, except, perhaps, some slightly strange sense of humour.

We also decided I was an incurable romantic whereas she is, most certainly, not.  And I am incurable because, quite simply, I do not want to be cured!

We would do opposite things when it comes to men and what to do with them; how to react to their actions (or non-actions); what to expect from them.

Of course, these differences are based on our experiences which are not even remotely similar.  She was led down a long, windy, garden path a few years ago by some asshole; I have only been down that path by making it up in my head and not through the antics of some bloke.

So, still, I expect a bloke to be, more or less, honourable, true and reliable which is, for most of the time, what I get.  I expect a bloke to fall in love with me easily and quickly and forsake all others.

Of course, with the exception of V, I have had close relationships with these men before we actually got to the ‘being together’ bit and V has, somewhat, spoilt my expectations, which I fully appreciate.

However, when it comes down to it, Best Mate doesn’t want to go through all the shit of having a bloke and I do (I mean, I’d rather not, but needs must, as they say).

And so, I have decided to do something about it.  After all (and certainly in this country, as I can never spot them in spite of what Ico might say – unless they’re the type I don’t like), they ain’t gonna be picking me out as I walk down the street and instantly falling in love with me, so I guess I have to do something to show I am available.  Given that I really can’t be one of those blokes over 25, standing on the edge of the dance floor, looking only at those who are under 25 and wishing (and, anyway, I don’t want someone who is so young, even if they were interested in me) or in some pub on my own, it will have to be some other way.

I’ll let you know how it works out (if anything does work out) but I have, at least, started one thing so we’ll see.  I can’t just sit around in the flat, however nice it is, as they certainly won’t be finding me here!

Everything is black or white here (or, rather, left or right)

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We were sitting, having a coffee after lunch. Not a truly memorable lunch in terms of food but not horrible, just not memorable (even if I can remember it). At least the food itself. The rest of it was as memorable as things get for my memory, or, maybe more so, since I am remembering this.

He selected to have brown sugar and I selected white.

He explained that, here, in this passionate land, everything has a political side, even sugar. Selecting white meant you were right-wing and brown, left-wing. I immediately felt quite guilty with selecting white, not because I am left-wing or right-wing, since I am probably neither but because he might have seen it as being one side or the other and, at this stage in the conversation, I didn’t want these preconceptions clouding anything. He said that he takes no notice of these things but you never know and I didn’t want him to judge me. For me it is a practical choice – I select it, in general, because it dissolves better, especially in Italian coffee which is not boiling as it would be in the UK.

Anyway, it was stupid to feel guilty but there you go.

I mentioned that my colleague at work (who so kindly brought back some Boursault (although the goat variety, so I’m not sure if that will be as good) from her holiday at her house (flat) in the South of France) had told me that there was a perfume that was associated here, in Italy, with the left or right but I could not remember.

I said I would ask her when she came back.

I recalled our conversation. I asked her. Yes, it is true, she said. She could not, immediately remember the correct spelling and I could not find it on-line. Eventually I found it. It is called patchouli oil.

She didn’t believe the ‘sugar’ thing, when I had explained. She went on to say that she hates the smell of patchouli oil – but that is because she is right-wing, I’m almost certain.

For me I hate both strong right-wing and strong left-wing because neither of them allow any middle ground and not everything is black or white but, rather, shades of grey.

And that is true for everything.

I did add, to my colleague that ‘you Italians seem very strange, sometimes’.  I’m sure I am strange to them so we’re all equal on that score.