Incredible.
I mean to say, compare now with a couple of weeks ago.
Now, no T-shirt, no jumper, no scarf, hat, thermal socks. I’m thinking about sandals and the beach!
The sky is blue – but so blue – the windows are open.
It reminds me of why I just love living here. OK, so it’s a bit chilly at night (you need a jacket, at least) but soon it will be too hot to wear anything but sandals, shorts and a T-shirt – even in the middle of the night.
And it makes me very happy.
As I have mentioned in some other post or posts, there is a prostitute who ‘works’ a corner just near where I live.
She always say ‘Hi, puppy!’ when we go past. (BTW, she’s talking to Dino at that point, not me 
). We say Hi to each other and I mumble something about the weather (especially recently as it’s been so cold, poor thing). I don’t know where’s she’s from. She is very tall and has legs right up to her bum. But I don’t really know much about her except that she is, undoubtedly, a prostitute.
I don’t have a big problem with it, in as much as I’m not interested and I do feel kinda sorry for her in that, as a career choice (if she has any choice), it wouldn’t rate as a fabulous choice imho.
But this is a profession that’s very, very old and, at least, it’s direct and to the point. I.e. you want sex, you pay for it.
Whereas, this, apparently, is most definitely NOT!
Obviously.
I mean, even where there are men saying they’ll fork out thousands of dollars a month, the terms and conditions explicitly state:
Please take note that we prohibit anyone from promoting illegal activities (such as prostitution) or commercial activities of any kind in their profile or in messages sent on the site and if such conduct comes to our attention we reserve the right to, amongst other things, remove you from our website and ban you permanently.
So, there you are. Not prostitution. Nor anything like it. Obviously.
Perhaps I should write down the url and give it to my lady friend from the corner?
In the meantime, I met this next lady once, in the street, in Milan. And she smiled at me. But she’s really tiny and not a prostitute, unlike my lady-from-the-corner friend.
(Tina Turner – What’s Love Got To Do With It?)
The weather.
It’s a bit cold.
I’m writing this post because, this morning, whilst chatting with someone over in the USA, they asked how bad it all was over here as they have an idea that people are dropping dead like flies.
Whereas, of course, people are NOT walking around and then suddenly dropping dead because of the cold. The people who are dying are the old and vulnerable. Homeless people, for example. And, whilst it’s not a good thing, of course, it’s something that happens every year.
I was asked about the lack of heating – apparently it is being implied that we have or are running out of fuel. Well, maybe we ARE running out but it doesn’t feel like it.
And, yes, we have had some snow. Just for a couple of days. It didn’t close everything although things were more difficult, of course. And, like most winters, it is cold – in the minus degrees (C) range and it may be lower than usual – but only by a few degrees.
It’s not Armageddon. Life is continuing. There seem to be no shortages in the shops. The restaurants seem emptier but, given the cold weather, I hesitate to go out too.
Dino, on the other hand, adores this. We have found a new game. I kick blocks of ice (the size of small stones) around the dog area and he chases them. This morning, there was a larger than usual block. When we came to leave the dog area, he decided he wanted to take it home. So he proudly carried it all the way home. However, at the front door to the building, I decided he would have to drop it so I opened his mouth and out dropped a piece of ice as small as a pea. It made me laugh. From the way he had held himself all the way back, I had assumed it was still quite big.
Last night I went out for an aperitivo, to celebrate FfI’s birthday.
She chose to have it at the Armani Hotel, near the centre of Milan.
They’ve taken months and months building this hotel on top of their superstore (although I understand the correct term is now ‘flagship’ store).
It’s plush, of course. And chic, I suppose. And, I expect, expensive.
We are in the bar. Or, maybe it’s the lounge. It has a ‘smoking room’ – which is, actually, a smoking corridor. Still, smoking permitted nonetheless.
Everything is creamy leather. The ceiling is several stories above me. The huge windows have, as their background, the Duomo – all lit up and looking beautiful. It seems like a posh-hotel bar and could, in fact, be anywhere in the world.
I was the first to arrive (after FfI). We sat and chatted. Eventually, just as I was getting a bit fed up with waiting for something to drink and thinking of going to the bar, someone came to take my order. I ordered. There were about 4 serving staff who were anything but rushed off their feet. And one barman, who seemed busy.
After about 20 minutes, FfI’s boyfriend arrived with his son and girlfriend. Then some friends. More drinks were ordered. I was still waiting for my drink.
Then FfI’s daughter arrived with her friend. The drinks arrived. I’d been waiting for about 40 minutes.
Nibbles had been served on several occasions whilst awaiting drinks. They were OK. All nouvelle cuisine and no substance, really.
To be honest, however much it cost, it was a waste of money. Appearance is everything at these places. Poor service is tolerated because, let’s be frank, you’re not really there for the drinks but rather to be seen.
Go, if you’re a fan of Armani. Go somewhere else if you want an enjoyable time and getting your order within about 20 minutes. In fact, go anywhere else.
I didn’t really know what to expect.
In the end it’s like quite a pretty jewelry box. Blue, marble effect. With a gold coloured clasp on the front.
He tells me it’s sealed but we can break the seal if we want. It’s sealed because that is the law. On the back it has the name. And the name of the company. Inside, he tells me, is a plastic bag.
It’s not what I was expecting. It’s neither a ceramic urn nor some sort of plastic container – either of which would have made more sense to me.
We are, apparently, going to put a photo of him on the box. F will do that, being as he’s ‘visual’.
It sits, at the moment, on the coffee table in the lounge. For some strange reason, I felt it had to be in a ‘place’ not just shoved in a corner. So it sits, on it’s own, apart from the table lamp, on the table. I’m not really sure what to do with it, to be honest.
So, it sits there.
F will be back tomorrow. Maybe he will want to put it somewhere else?
I read that one British woman, who lives abroad, is suing the owners of Costa Concordia for the loss of her husband’s ashes.
I’ve always wondered what the fascination is about getting back the ashes. I’ve thought it strange. I mean, the person, as a living human being can make you laugh or cry can love you or hate you – but the ashes? What are they other than a pile of, well, burnt remains.
It’s a bit like ‘things’ really. I mean, I like to have nice things but, you know, they’re just ‘things’ – a piece of wood or metal or plastic or ash. I can’t get upset over a ‘thing’.
But tonight, as a first, I may be going to collect Rufus’ ashes.
Of course, this is for F really, as you might realise. For me, I shall remember the funny way he used to jump up, later to raise his front legs as in a rearing horse and latterly barely making it off the ground, before we went for a walk. Rather than Dino’s complete turn round.
I will remember his pretty face and the way his ‘trot’ was so ‘refined’ unlike Dino’s rather big-arse, swinging gait – Rufus walked like a model.
I shall remember his gentleness when taking food, much like Dino now, before he became blind and would snatch it out of your hand (almost, sometimes, taking your hand too!)
I shall remember the time he caught a live rabbit (although it wasn’t live for long) and then, on returning to the house how he wouldn’t come in until he had eaten every single bit of it. And my worry that it might have myxomatosis, even though, quite obviously, the rabbit didn’t have that.
I shall remember, when I was preparing to drive here with our belongings, how he got in the car about 8 in the morning and wouldn’t leave the car – not for any reason, as if he was frightened he would be left behind. And the drive down with him curled up in a tiny space and stopping often for him to have a stretch.
I shall remember getting Dino and Dino and him playing in the park with a huge tree branch that had come down in a storm, each trying to pull it off the other, lots of growling but no malice in that – it was part of the game – before Rufus became too weak to be able to match Dino.
I shall remember that he was a great dog.
But, of the ashes, I’m not really sure. I have mixed feelings about wanting them in my house. It seems kind of morbid. I must have become old. I think it will just be another thing that will want cleaning. And, anyway, I don’t believe it will be the ashes of Rufus. Just some ash. Not the same thing at all really. But I won’t tell F that. I’ll let him believe what he wants. I would even confirm that it was, if he should ever ask.
Will it be in some nice jar or something terribly gaudy and trashy? After all, in my head, keeping the ashes of something is trashy – or that’s how I thought. It wasn’t done in our family. And I’m a little nervous about how F will take this – whereas, for me, the essence of Rufus remains in my memories, just like the essence of my grandfather is not in some little plot in some churchyard in rural Herefordshire. I can’t get attached to some thing. It has to have a beating heart. Without that it doesn’t bring out the same feeling.
And yet …….
I feel some trepidation at going to the vet. As if there is some real finality about it all. As if, by not getting this, I can imagine him not dead but alive somewhere. As if he might come home. Or, perhaps this waiting for the urn and the ashes is, in some strange way, keeping him more ‘alive’ in my head. Stretching out the death process by over a week.
Don’t get me wrong, there’s not a sadness in these thoughts (although maybe a slightly damp eye). It’s an unknown and strange feeling I have.
But like all the other ‘firsts’ since I’ve come to Italy, I must steel myself and go do this thing, even if I would prefer not to.
Perhaps it’s just me?
I’ve noticed or, should I say, it seems, that, in general, there’s less traffic in Milan. And, even with this being Men’s Fashion Week, the usual nightmares with traffic on my way home are absent.
If I’m not wrong there are a number of factors at play that could make it less.
One is the new Congestion Charge in Milan that was introduced on 16th January. Now, to go into the centre of Milan, almost everyone has to pay €5 per day. The previous charges allowed many (of the newer) cars to go in for free. Now, no. I am outside the ‘Area C’ as it is called. In fact, I never drive into this area anyway. But I’m only just outside and I did wonder if this new set of charges would mean that all the car parking in my area would be taken. It seems not. It seems that people are either leaving their cars at home or travelling to a tube station and taking public transport.
I know not everyone likes the charge and I wouldn’t be ecstatic about it should it cover my area – but it is so much nicer with less traffic.
The other reason could be the sharp increases in the cost of petrol. Last summer I was filling up the car for about €50. Last night it cost me nearly €70! That’s a hefty increase. The increase is down to the austerity measures brought in by the new government of Italy. It’s another of those ‘let the ordinary people pay for the stupidity of the very rich banks’ rule.
I keep thinking that, sooner or later, people will wake up but it seems not just yet.
Perhaps, also, because of the crisis in general, there are not so many people at this year’s fashion week?
However, whatever the reason, it does make Milan more pleasant to live in and I’m not complaining.
You may remember, some time ago (almost 1 year ago, in fact), I had some problems with the refurbishments made to both my flat and the flat next door.
First there was the sudden appearance of two holes in the wall of the bedroom.
They filled them.
Then, during a windy night, one of the shutters came loose, threatening to fall to the courtyard below.
Telephone calls were made to the administrator’s office to ask for repair.
More telephone calls were made. Apparently, even though there was a swarm of builders in our building every day, it was very difficult to arrange for them to come and fix it.
Then, one of the builders told F that there may be new holes in the wall and, sure enough, new holes had appeared by the radiators in both the lounge and the sitting room.
More telephone calls and emails were made and sent.
During one telephone call, the ‘lady’ suggested that the shutter would be down to me until it was pointed out that the first telephone call was made to them in April. And, anyway, it was poor workmanship.
Just before Christmas the last calls were made. It seemed that, even though the defects had been reported several times, she could not make the builders come and fix it.
So I got a quote from someone.
Yesterday, I faxed (not emailed since here, email is not legally binding – yes, I know but, as I’ve said before, sometimes being here is like stepping back to the fifties or something) the quote with a letter giving them 7 days or I would do it myself, taking the money from any rent to be paid.
This morning, at 9.04 a.m. I received an email from her. Never before has the response been so fast. Do you think it might have been the money thing?
It stated that the builders would come round to repair the walls this morning – at 8.30 a.m. – more than half an hour BEFORE I received the email!!!!!
And that, on either Thursday or Friday, someone would come to repair the shutter.
I’ve sent another letter explaining that I am at work and that they can come either before 7.15 a.m., after 6 p.m. or on Saturday, after 8 a.m.
I expect I shall be sending another letter next week saying that unless arrangements are made I shall go ahead with the guys who did the quote.
Something that could have been done in the last year but wasn’t, now has to have special arrangements. Stuff them!
It looks like snow. It covers the ground and the trees and, sometimes, floats in the air – almost like snow but smaller and finer and not, actually, snow.
It has a special name here – galaverna – verna being the word for winter and gala (apparently) being not a word for a festival but, rather, a word meaning milk or milky. So I’m told.
Anyway, it looks beautiful but it is bloody cold. As you may know, this is not my favourite time of year, especially as the offices are kept artificially cold.
Beautiful but brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Oh, by the way, I looked up the word galaverna. It means hoarfrost. I have heard the word hoarfrost but never actually knew what it meant. I thought it meant very hard frost or something. But, these days, of course, I look words up. It actually means the small ice crystals that cover everything when it’s very cold.
We had booked tickets before.
Obviously, had we known that we were going to lose Rufus, we would not have gone but, in a way, it was nice just to be able to laugh and enjoy something.
And, it was wonderful, spectacular and fun.
I’m talking of the musical Priscilla (pronounced prishilla here). F was a bit worried. He hates these things being translated into Italian (apparently Mamma Mia was in the original language (good) whereas Grease had everything translated – even the songs (very, very bad, according to F)).
However, he had a voucher from his last birthday (not the one a few days ago) and it needed to be used. So we had booked for last night.
It seems some time since I went to a musical and they are incredible fun. The music was superb and I particularly like the three women who spent most of their time hanging from wires above the stage, singing their hearts out.
The costumes were unbelievably good, especially for the version of MacArthur Park.
It was only a few times where I didn’t get the jokes during the dialogue (the dialogue being in Italian – the songs remained in original language).
If you live in or near Milan, you should go.
And here is a link to a blog (in English) by the creators/producers, who brought the show to Milan
Only one thing. The theatre was about a third full. I am certain it would have more fun with a fuller theatre. Of course, it was a Tuesday night, not long after New Year but after the holidays, so maybe that was the reason. However, just before the curtain went up, we (in the cheaper seats) were encouraged to move closer – to the most expensive seats. In theory, we could have paid about €39 and been sitting in €79 seats! We both agreed that it surely would have been better to sell tickets at a lower price (even if only for these mid-week shows) so that the theatre would have been fuller.
We felt sorry for the company who put their heart into the whole thing. I think everyone in the audience clapped extra hard to try to make up for the fact that we were so few.
But it was really fabulous. Please go. I can guarantee a truly enjoyable evening’s entertainment and you should know every song.
I would give it five stars.
And here, as it’s one of F’s favourite songs (and one of the highlights of the show), is MacArthur Park –
(p.s. the version in Milan, to me, was even better than this one even if the stage was smaller)