Tag Archives: F Says…..

At long, long, last!

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F-I-N-A-L-L-Y!

I suppose everyone does this, don’t they?

I look back at the very few photographs I have and think that, actually, I was quite good looking. By which, I mean that, at the time, I didn’t realise it or I thought that, whereas not downright ugly, I was not “all that”.

And, of course, at that moment, what I thought looked really cool, actually may not have looked that good. But looking back at these phtographs, I realise that, actually, I was quite good looking and I wish I had known that then, at that time and, better, had done something with it.

But, physically, my ideas of how I looked are NOT the same as the reality.

For example, for many, many years, in my head, I had a button nose. Even when I looked in the mirror, that’s what I saw. I hated this button nose. I wanted a long one, perhaps more of a Roman one. In fact, I would spend time pulling my nose down and out as I really hated this button nose.

It wasn’t until I mentioned it one time in company that I was put straight about this thing. I didn’t have, and never had had, such a thing as a button nose.

Now, although I realise this to be true, my mind plays tricks on me and, occasionally, I still think of it as a button nose. Which, even as I think about it, I know not to be true – like now, when I’m writing this. Still, in my head (at this moment), I think of it as short, stubby abd turned up.

The other thing that’s important to me, as far as physical looks go, is my hair. This has been so every since I can remember. At 12 I was telling my parents that “everyone has long hair at school, and I want long hair too”. Really! I only “saw” long hair on other kids but now, I realise, this cannot have been true.

My hair has always been ‘important’ to me. When I was about 17 or so was the ‘best time’ (apart from the other best times, of course). In reverse order, I’ve had very short and natural grey, very short and not-natural, almost-black, slightly longer and black, shortish and natural, longish and natural, spikey and long and blonde, normal and natural, long almost to my waist and natural, longish, just past shoulder-length and natural (the ‘best one’), spikey and sometimes blue and before that I don’t remember.

But, since F convinced me to stop dying my hair (and I ended up with the first one in the above list), I haven’t been entirely happy. So, since the summer before last, I grew it.

In my head, it reminds me of the ‘best’ one from when I was 17.

In the mirror, I see a head full of hair, longish flowing locks, nearly as it should be – but not quite.

And then I see photos of myself now. It looks quite dreadful. In the photo. In the mirror (and my head) it looks nothing like that. I picture myself as I was at 17, just back from holiday, brown, with these flowing locks and looking really good.

And, even if I know that the camera doesn’t lie, I still think that it does. Or, at least, it distorts. Maybe it wasn’t a good day? Maybe it was a little windy?

And my hair is thinner now. I know this for if I put a mirror to show me the back of my head, you can see I’m going a bit bald. Except I was thinking that about 20 years ago. It just never really quite happened! But I am certain it’s much thinner than it was and the almost-bald-patch is now almoster bald.

So, where were we?

Ah, yes. So, in my head and when I look at myself in a mirror, I am almost the same as when I was 17. Except I’m not, of course.

And I started growing it because I wanted a style. Some sort of style but I wasn’t sure what. I thought: if I grow it I can choose what to have. Except, after almost a couple of years I’m no closer to making a decision.

And, even if I’ve asked F for his advice, I get nothing from him. And I’ve been wanting him to suggest something or say something but I could solicit nothing.

Until last night.

For our anniversary, as normal, I came with a last-minute idea for a present. The present was one of those digital picture frames. I’ve always thought they were a bit of a waste of time but, you know, when you have little idea of what to buy, it came in a flash that this might be something he would like, being keen on photography and all.

And, it turns out, it was a great choice. He loves it. And so he spent a long time putting over 300 photos on it which he brought over last night to show me. Of course, they are 300+ photos of the dogs!

But in some of them, there is him or me (with the dogs).

One came up of me the summer before last, when we were on holiday in Umbria, just before I started growing my hair.

“You should cut your hair,” he says, when he sees it. “Short hair makes you look younger.” I tell him that I am very happy that he is making some comment. And I AM very happy. It’s just not quite the comment that I want.

Sure, I want to look younger.

I’m not that bothered about looking younger.

Maybe he WANTS me to look younger? Maybe he thinks that I look much older now? I want to do what he wants. I don’t care about being younger or older and, yet, …… I do care on some level.

Later I suggest that I need a style and should he see something, to tell me. His response was “It’s too thin.” He means, of course, go and get it cut, really short, all over – like it was.

In my head, of course, it’s not at all THAT thin. I reply that it’s been like this for years and years.

But he’s right, of course. He suggests that maybe I can keep it like this for the winter and get it cut in the spring. He doesn’t really think that, of course. He’s just saying that. Maybe my face said too much?

Of course, this isn’t really what I want to hear but, in his way, he’s being nice whilst being quite direct. This idea I had that I have hair like I was 17 or, even, that I had almost convinced myself that I look like some old, eccentric, English professor should be banished from my brain. Should be but it’s very difficult to do.

And, although I absolutely HATE the idea of not having a choice any more, he is, of course, quite right. And I am so glad that he’s finally said SOMETHING!

Now all I have to do is to summon up the courage to go and get it done! This is not easy for me and will take me some time and then I have to choose somewhere to have it done. This, too, is quite difficult. I have to pick the right place. I remember when I went from waist-length to quite short, when I first went to work. It was almost the most excruciatingly painful thing I had ever done (not physically but mentally). I can only imagine how Samson must have felt. This will be the same.

I am convinced that no one else has this problem (the pain of having one’s hair cut). For no one else does it seem such a big deal. I don’t even know why it is for me. It’s just weird! It’s the stuff in my head …. again!

Or, maybe I CAN find a style ………..?????

So happy (well, I will be)

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F, as I have mentioned, is away. His flight back was set to arrive about 7 p.m. on Saturday. That’s a whole week plus half the weekend. I don’t complain – it’s work after all – and work keeps us all sane and brings in money to allow us to enjoy doing the things we like.

However, I don’t like him being away so long. Including for him, since he gets very tired.

But, a bit of good news just in. He has changed plans and will be home on Friday night and I shall go and pick him up straight from work – as I’m half way to the airport anyway.

I am very happy. I will be much happier on Friday night – even waiting at the airport for him to arrive :-)

We have successes and setbacks.

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Further to my post below. It worked! Well, it worked at one level.

About 6.30 a.m., Sunday, I heard the start of playing.

I encouraged them out of the bedroom and shut the doors, putting something behind the doors to stop them opening.

Only once did I hear an attempt to get through. There was no whimpering or other noise. I slept until 9!

So, Sunday was a good day.

F suggested that I get some sort of latch so we can latch the door. In fact, I will be getting two. One for when we are in the bedroom and one for when we are not.

The reason for the latter is because of two reasons.

1. Sunday night, we got back from having a pizza and, as usual, the dogs came to greet us. Piero was a bit late. As I thought, he had been on the bed. Worse, he had taken soomething fromo the bedside table and destroyed it. It wasn’t important in that it was only a box of plasters but that wasn’t really the point. The getting on the bed has to stop.

Of course, the problem is that it is not possible to enter the bedroom without coming into the flat through the front door – which always gives him time to get off the bed.

2. On Monday morning I got up a little later as F was going to take them out. I got up and, as usual, Piero was asleep in the lounge. I closed the doors to the bedroom and got ready for work, had a coffee, etc. Piero was completely quiet. When I left, I had opened the doors to the lounge but not the bedroom. Apparently, at about 7.30, he started whimpering, which woke F up.

So, for these two reasons, a latch or latches of some kind must be bought and fixed. And it’s not so simple either. The latches must be operable from both sides since I must be able to close the door from outside the bedroom and yet F must be able to open it when he gets up.

Actually this may require a ‘man’ to do it.

But, you may ask, why don’t you just shut the door properly?

Well, the problem is that these doors are very old (possibly as old as the flat) and they have warped and been painted over numerous times so that they a) don’t close exactly and b) anyway the handle doesn’t actually work.

On a more positive note, this morning, both dogs came with me as I went to get ready and have coffee. Again, I left the flat leaving the bedroom door closed but Dino knows you just need to push it. F informed me that, this morning, they were quiet.

Things HAVE to change.

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It’s about 6.30.

6.30 in the morning.

6.30 on a Saturday morning.

After a week of getting up at 5.40.

We stir enough for Piero to come in from the balcony. It is light. Dawn has broken.

In his mind, light = day. Movement = awake. Day and awake means getting up and going for a walk.

We don’t move from the bed. It is September and Autumn has well and truly arrived. It is cold, not helped by the balcony window being open. The bed is warm. F is warm. I need another hour or an hour and a half.

Piero doesn’t.

Piero tries to get our attention, which doesn’t work. So, he turns his attention to Dino.

He wants to play if he can’t go out for a walk. Dino is more like us and doesn’t want to play.

There is some playing on Piero’s side.

Dino gets fed up and gets on the bed. On Frankie’s side, of course. He lies down.

Piero puts his front paws on the bed but it seems a little too high for him (thank goodness).

I try to go back to sleep.

After a few minutes, Piero makes it onto the bed. Dino moves further up the bed. F, who is under the covers, whispers ‘Ti voglio bene’ (meaning I love you – as you would say to a child/relative/close friend). This sets Dino off and he moves further up the bed so that he is almost sitting on F’s face. Partly to get away from TLB (The Little Bastard) and partly because of what F has whispered to him.

F gets up. It is about 7.

We talk later about this. I tell him that this is not acceptable. He agrees. I say we should shut them out – shut them in the kitchen. F doesn’t want to do that. He says we can close the bedroom door. It doesn’t close properly – they will come through, I point out. He says we can put something behind it, like the laundry basket.

So, tomorrow morning, about 6.30 a.m., I guess, I will, most likely, be getting up to shut the door to the bedroom and, hopefully, giving us more time to sleep.

God, I really hope so. I feel as tired now, as I write this, as I did before the holidays!

The Last Day

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I wake at 6.45. I need the bathroom and a drink. I toy with the idea of sleeping for another 45 mins instead. Or maybe longer. Longer, of course, I shouldn’t do. Longer means later and later means NOT doing what F wants to do.

Or, rather, what he says he wants to do. I want to as well but, then again, 6.45 is early and next week I’ll be getting up at 5.45.

Anyway, I need the bathroom and a drink and I get up. As I walk back to bed, F, who is just awake asks what time it is. I tell him. He asks if we should get up. I say that I suppose we should.

Today, being our last full day here and, so, the last day of our holidays (even if tomorrow is really the last day), we are going to the beach. The dog beach. We are better at it now, having been a few times. We don’t take so much but now it also includes two new balls that F bought. This is because Dino will only swim if you throw something into the water for him to fetch. We found this out last time we went when we found a broken tennis ball. The problem with the tennis ball was that, because it was split it sank rather than floated. These balls will float.

We park the car and the dogs have their leads put on and then jump out of the car. As we walk down the small lane to the beach, Piero is pulling – he can’t wait to get there. The lane turns sharply right and runs along the top of the beach. There is a small wall between us and the beach. Piero keeps trying to jump over it, he is so excited.

The man is there running a big rake thing over the beach, to clean it. We walk over the bit he hasn’t cleaned but hesitate before the raked portion.

He shrugs as if to say “well, you might as well go – someone else will go soon”.

We walk down to the shore and set our towels and things down.

The balls prove a huge success and Dino swims a lot. Piero is slightly fearful but, eventually, F persuades him to swim.

We leave after an hour.

And, after the pineta and breakfast and returning the dogs home, we are the beach. On our last day.

I think next week will be difficult :-(

Dino is perfect: weather continues; the return

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“It’s too hot,” they say, or “Isn’t it hot?” they ask.

It has been quite hot for some time now. I was reading (book 7) and it had something like “we can’t complain because it never normally lasted more than a few days” – about the English weather.

And, I suppose that’s true. Yes, I know it to be true.

Whereas, here, it is hot and sunny for weeks at a time,. Or months, even.

F came back yesterday, early evening. It is so nice to have him back. We were out with his friends last night, friends from college. Almost everything was Italian with few people speaking English. One guy had me confused with S. Apparently, so F said, S was really pesante (heavy/hard work), implying I was not. Which I’m not.

Today we had an appointment with the vet. I was getting worried that Dino had a form of arthritis or rheumatism. And as the days wore on, worried more and more. I have always accepted that dogs are dogs and that they have short lives but the idea that Dino might have something wrong with him was different. I know he won’t live forever but, still ………

Anyway, after checking we were told he was perfect, which came as a great relief.

Now, as we near the end of our time here, I wish it wouldn’t end. But such is life.

I am really ready for this

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The holiday starts next Friday and I can hardly wait.

I am so busy at the moment that I seem to not even have a second to myself. Of course, that’s an exaggeration – especially as every weekend we are away. But it does feel like it.

So, three weeks away (F is only coming the first two) – with time to relax, is definitely a need.

Who knows, we might even get to meet up with Lola. I’ve mentioned it to F and he thinks we might make Pietrasanta the place to meet as we’re supposed to go to some restaurant there. It’s run by the nephew or someone connected to the woman vet who has the umbrella just in front of us.

And we have to go to La Brace ‘cos F really wants to go there (we didn’t go last year).

And we have to do other things. Hmm. I can see it will be just as busy – but at least it will involve much eating and drinking ;-)

I am not 20

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Personally, I think it was the last mojito that did it. After all, it wasn’t a mojito at all but, rather than rum, was something else entirely.

I was, as said by one of the characters in the Fast Show, Rowley Birkin QC, and shown below, very, very drunk.

Of course, I didn’t go out with the intention of ending up completely wasted. No, no. It was just a meal out with friends. We didn’t even start off by drinking much. OK so an aperitivo at the bar we all met up in. And, I suppose, I did drink most of E’s drink since she didn’t like it.

Then we ahd some wine with the meal. Well, three bottles of the good stuff and a carafe of the house wine but that was between six of us.

OK so one person hardly drunk any, another only slightly more, so I guess effectively 4 bottles between 4 which, I suppose, is a bottle each.

But it was the beach party that did it really.

One of the nice things about Italy is the cocktails. There’s no such thing as gills. Or is it gils? In any event – measuring. They don’t do it.

Since the barman was the son of E (who’s drink I had nearly drunk earlier), he did the mojitos for me and Alf. I’m not a fan but it was a disco (with the dreadful Italian summer music) and there was sand beneath my feet and it was warm and people were dancing and it seemed to go down quite well.

At some point, someone mentioned going for a swim in the sea but, even in my inebriated state, I knew that was dangerous and declined – saying it was dangerous. In the end, no one did go for a swim. Maybe I had frightened them. Or, at least, made them think.

I wasn’t going to have another but, you know, it seemed we weren’t likely to go home any time soon and so, I thought, why not?

Of course, in the light of day there were a million and one reasons why not. But it was not the light of day but about 1 a.m. These reasons did not even cross my mind. But, apparently, they had run out of rum and so our wonderful new friend, the barman, suggested something else which we agreed to try.

To be honest, by then, it could well have been antifreeze and I would have drunk it. Perhaps it was antifreeze? I drank it anyway. And then I remember very little until about 7 a.m. when I first woke up.

Not when I GOT up, mind you. Just woke up. The dogs were being a bit of a pain so I let them out in the garden.

F woke up about 10.15. I had woken up several times between 7 and then. We got up and took the dogs out.

In the end, we got to the beach about 12.30 – about 3 hours later than we usually do. As F said, we shouldn’t really do this very often and I totally agree. It’s not like we’re 20 any more.

Still it was a nice evening. From what I recall!

Things that make you go grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

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“Come here and look at this”, he shouts from the bedroom.

I have just left the room to do something and, in fact, may be in the middle of doing that very thing.

Like last night.

And then this morning.

Last night I was setting my coffee maker for this morning to ensure I had my huge mug of cappuccino ready to help me feel ‘alive’.

This morning it was as I was switching off the computer and putting everything back in place for my cleaner.

Last night, on hearing the call, I muttered something along the lines of “What the fuck now?” and tried to ignore it. Of course, ignoring it is NOT an option. “Andy, come and have a look”, is the different shout. I’ll go in a minute, I think, as I take the coffee out of the fridge to fill up.

“Andy!” I start filling the coffee container of the machine. “Andy?”. It’s no good. It cannot be ignored.

Clutching the tin of coffee and the scoop used to fill the small container of the machine I go into the bedroom. In my head, I am stomping into the bedroom. In reality I am just walking. I wonder if my carrying of the tin and the scoop will ‘say’ anything to him – even if I know it won’t. I make some sort of sound when I see what I’ve come to see and go back to doing the coffee. I suppose the ‘some sort of sound’ could be misinterpreted as an OK. But that would be a misinterpretation. the correct interpretation would be more on the lines of “this was NOT worth me coming all this way for”. I feel sure it’s seen as OK.

This morning, when the same sort of thing happened, I said, out loud, but to myself “I do love you but sometimes…….”

Of course, when I say ‘out loud’ I don’t mean anywhere near loud enough for him to hear! In fact, I could barely hear it myself!

Still, I can’t be annoyed for long.

Except sometimes when he does this thing more than once, each time waiting a few moments after I have disappeared from view. That makes me go grrrrrr more than once and, therefore, for longer.

Thank goodness we don’t live in a larger house :-D

Being a mother?

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To be honest, 5.30 a.m. is a time of morning that nobody should see unless they really want to. All sensible people would still be asleep. For that matter, F too.

Except for the last 2 days.

Yesterday, he said he wanted to get up with me. I thought it was strange and stranger still that he came out with us for a walk before going back to his flat.

Last night he told me that he wasn’t sure if he was going to get up with me but I should wake him and he would let me know.

He came out with us again. I said that he didn’t have to get up. He replied that he didn’t want to miss the walk with the new bimbo. So NOW I get it.

However, I think this may be the last time. We shall see.

He is also acting a little bit like a typical Italian mother (when I say say typical I mean stereotypical, of course. I’m sure not all Italian mums are like this) in that he is a little over protective of Piero.

“Do you think he’s OK out on the balcony?” Yes, I assure him. Even if, I too worry a bit that he’ll fall through the railings (dogs, generally, not being so clever, especially at this age).
“I am a bit worried about taking him out on my own” was a comment made more than once.
“I think it’s a bit dangerous for him” – made on more than one occasion for different reasons.

And, when he’s not at home, he wants to know what he’s doing. Is he sleeping? Is he playing? Is he lying with Dino? How many poohs has he done? Has he eaten? Etc., etc.

Yes, just like a mother, really :-)

Tomorrow, at the suggestion of a colleague and agreement with the boss, Piero will be coming with me to work.

It will be an experience (for everyone!)