Tag Archives: Friends and Inimies

I gotta stop; Pictures from Piero’s day in the office

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Really, I HAVE to stop talking about it but so amazed I am by the whole experience that it’s very difficult not to.

I mean to say, this morning was an example.

Last night the dogs ate a lot. Then F and I went out and got home late. We took the dogs for a walk and then went to bed and sleep straight away.

At 5.30 a.m. this morning when, by rights, I should have been asleep, we got up (yes, F got up with me!). I cleaned up the newspapers and, although there were plenty of wees there was no pooh, which was slightly odd. F went to take them out and I was to catch up later.

Which I did – to find that Piero had done a pooh outside!

Unbelievable! I mean, for his age it’s just incredible and that’s why I can’t stop talking about it. It must be similar with parents talking about the first time that their kid stops using nappies or something.

Anyway, now that I’ve told you about that, I thought I might post some pictures, taken by my colleague Pietro, when Piero came into the office that day.

He didn’t like the balcony which is where I sometimes go to smoke, and Pietro was there to take pictures:

But, most of the time, he stayed in the office with me and, just like the Queen, he ‘received’ people :-):

Thanks Pietro.

In preparation.

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Well, I think it’s as good as it will get – subject to plastic around important legs, which will have to wait.

Of course, I THINK it’s OK but know, in my heart, that I have, quite obviously, missed something.

There are, one hopes, what with F buying something every time he goes abroad, enough toys to keep the little bugger occupied. In the process I have cleared out some food in the fridge and found that I have far too much wine. Maybe I should drink more? ;-)

Tonight, we should be going out with the Austrian friend and her husband. They are here to select clothes for next year, it being the start of the showroom sales.

Next week is the Paris fashion shows, so F is in Paris next weekend. Dino and I will be going to Carrara, even if I prefer to be with F.

I have suggested to Best Mate, that she comes for the first week in August (as F will be working and I shall be in the first week of my three-week holiday) – she can get a cheapish flight to Pisa and we can spend the days on the beach or sight-seeing or something. I don’t think she will come but it would be rather nice. And it would be a weeks holiday for her.

Of course, there will also be Piero, which makes it more fun. We could have barbeques in the back garden and stuff. Yes, it would be all rather fun, I think. I hope she says ‘yes’.

This afternoon, we are going to see Piero and, hopefully, choose. F says that he will like them all and be unable to choose, so I will do it. He says that he will always, then, prefer one of the others. But I think there will be ‘the one’ – and you know that I always believe in ‘the one’ for both dogs and boyfriends :-D

In the meantime, these next few weeks will be SO busy, with hardly an evening or weekend free to do anything. Weekends in Carrara being the only time to relax. And then comes Piero – so even more so. But it’s OK. It will be fun, I know that much.

Villa Singer and a wedding.

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Yesterday was a wedding.

An Italian wedding. But not like an Italian wedding at all. There weren’t a thousand and one guests; there wasn’t a wedding breakfast which had 100 courses; there wasn’t a white dress or top hats and tails. It was, in fact, more like a small, intimate party. And it was truly lovely.

This was one of F’s childhood friends, P, getting married to a banker, A, even though he looks nothing like a banker should look. I have never known P without A and, so, to me they are perfectly right for each other. She, apparently, was a bit wild in her youth (so was F) but can still be a little unexpected now.

The wedding ceremony took place in Piazza Reale, a stone’s throw from the Duomo. It was conducted by one of her ex-boyfriends.

Apart from the happy couple, and F and his friend R, I knew only one other person – L who bears a striking resemblance to Betty Boop! Only a tad older.

We were late for the ceremony (of course), arriving some few minutes after it all started. It had started at 10.

F took photographs. Lots of photographs.

The day was lovely but not too hot. The groom was dressed in white trousers with a white T-shirt and loose white scoop-neck top. The bride wore white trousers, similar top with an off-white jacket. She had had some braiding in her hair and looked lovely.

After the ceremony we went, by metro to Villa Singer (pronounced singe – er). We arrived about mid-day.

The first picture you see on the link was, more or less, how it was. It’s a not-so-big garden, next to one of Milan’s old canals. Tranquil, beautiful and the perfect setting for a wedding reception. It wasn’t many courses but, rather, a buffet that included fried courgette flowers, oysters, grilled green chilli-like peppers with anchovies, courgette mouse, vegetarian lasagne and a cake that was beautiful sponge covered with lashings of whipped cream and raspberries and strawberries. I had two slices :-)

There was prosecco (Italian champagne) and white wine or, for those who were not drinking, water and grapefruit juice. I wasn’t one of the last group.

We drank and ate and chatted and laughed. There were about 25 people so large enough not to get bored but small enough that you chatted to everyone and I met some really nice people (which is normal). It was all delightful.

Inside the house the rooms, full of antique furniture were open for you to walk round – and I did for a few moments.

But it was all so relaxed and, even if it is an overused word, nice. It was like being at a small garden party with friends, drinking in the afternoon sun (in both senses).

I watched F, from time to time, being the joker and centre of attention – but not in a bad way. Everyone loves him but I adore him. Someone (it may have been Betty Boop) asked if I would marry him and I said that I would. Of course I would.

And, if we did get married, I would want a wedding like this.

We left about 6. It was wonderful and I was really happy that I had been asked to go and that we went.

I am in a Tim Burton film!

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Nope! Still too much to do and not much time. And we have visitors here, at my ‘real’ job – so I’m just catching a few moments.

And tell you a story: but it may take more than one attempt.

It’s the Hay Festival going on right now. And, maybe that’s the key.

I’m not at the Festival, as such, but, rather near there. Or, at least, staying at the Crown. This is a pub/hotel. Even if this is not THE Crown, as in the one in Hay itself, it’s close by. I know this because the bar is packed with festival goers and authors and others. There are lots of people I know and I am fast becoming quite drunk. It feels as if it is my birthday or something. As if it’s a party for me, even if it’s not.

Then a ‘blast from the past’ walks in. A guy named Mike. He used to be one of the company’s trainers but I knew him when we were trainers well before that. He had a drink problem. A serious drink problem. We tried very hard to patch him up. The last I had heard was that he had finally solved the problem and the drink problem was no more.

It was unexpected, seeing him.

“Hi Mike!”, I said. I grinned because it was so nice to see him. However, he seemed a bit shifty. I asked him how he was. He evaded the question. I asked him again but he wasn’t giving an answer.

Then K walked in. Another surprise. We chatted for a bit.

Then someone rang the telephone at the bar and asked for me.

It was John. For some time we were owners of the company until one of the recessions took hold and John left to become a contractor. We had remained friends after that. Again, John had worked at the same company as Mike where I had been a trainer. So we all knew each other quite well.

“You’ll never believe it”, I exclaimed, “but both Mike and K are here”.

I went on to explain about Mike seeming a bit down and pondered whether it was that he had taken up drinking again.

The call ended.

I went back to the place where K and Mike were and told them that John had telephoned. I was really happy to have had the chance to speak to him. It had been many years.

Then, someone said:

“But, didn’t John die some years back?”

Ah yes, in both my drunken stupour and the happiness of this whole evening, I had forgotten that John was, in fact, dead, having died some years ago.

“How strange”, I said. It gave me a slightly weird feeling.

But I shrugged it off. It had certainly ‘been him’ on the phone and, yet, it couldn’t have been. Ah well.

The night carried on and I carried on drinking. At one point, I went to the toilet. As I walked in to an empty Gents, I heard someone coming in as well. I turned round. It was John!

“John”, I said, “What are you doing? Are you trying to scare me or something?”

He didn’t reply. That may have been because, although it was certainly him, dressed in a long raincoat, he didn’t have a head.

“C’mon John”, I asked, where’s your head?”. And I laughed.

I went back to the bar. There, sitting at a bar stool near to where I had been was P, John’s wife! I couldn’t believe after what had happened that she was here! Standing behind her was R, her (and John’s) eldest son.

“P”, I exclaimed, “how lovely to see you!”

I went on to tell her about the strange phone call and then seeing him, headless, in the bathroom. She started to weep. I know they were close. I turned for a moment at some distraction. When I turned back, she and R had gone. I went looking for them. I really didn’t want P to be upset over what I had told her. I couldn’t find them.

Later still, I was very drunk. I don’t remember going to my room but obviously I got there.

In the morning, on waking, I found that my room didn’t seem to have a bathroom. I went out of my room door which opened into the bar area where they were already serving breakfast. I went up to a waitress.

“Excuse me’, I said.

“I don’t have time now Sir. Please wait your turn”. She was abrupt. But I needed the bathroom. And I needed to shower. Today I was going home to F and I wanted to go home. I didn’t feel particularly bad (i.e. no bad headache, etc.) but my mouth was all ‘fuzzy’.

“Look”, I replied, tersely, “I don’t want breakfast but I do need the bathroom and there isn’t one in my room”.

“It’s the door round the corner of your room”, she replied, seemingly annoyed that I seemed so stupid.

I went back to the room. I went round a corner into a small area that I had failed to notice before and, sure enough was the door.

I went into the bathroom. I went to the mirror. I was looking at myself to see how I looked.

Except the mirror image wasn’t looking back at me but had its head down, so I could see the top of my head. I needed to force myself to lift my head. My forehead seemed abnormally large, more like an alien than a human. God, I thought, I must be feeling much rougher than I thought!

As I raised my head, my eyes came into view. A shockingly piercing but slightly dark blue set of irises looked back at me. Almost with malevolence. The blacks of the pupils seemed to be much blacker than usual and bigger – but this blue of the eyes was unreal.

I needed to shower. From the bathroom was another door. I didn’t want to go out and ask again. I found the door locked but one of the keys on the hotel key fob opened it.

I was outside. Into a garden. But the garden was also the shower. There were shower heads dotted around the garden with soap near each one. As I walked nearer to each shower, the shower started automatically. The temperature was perfect, some had aromatic smells, some plain water, some had coloured water. I started to shower.

Then some other people came into the garden. They wore swimming costumes. I didn’t know there were other people allowed. One of them said that I shouldn’t be naked. They had been told to always wear a costume. I explained that I hadn’t been told that and went to another shower to continue showering.

But this John thing was worrying me. I mean, what did it all mean? This was starting to resemble some sort of ghost story thing! I wanted to get home.

But what of John? And what the hell was I doing, naked, trying to shower in a GARDEN?

I woke up. It was, in fact, about half past midnight, last night!

As some of my weird dreams go, that has got to be one of the very strangest. As F said, when I told him a little of it this morning, it resembled a Tim Burton film!

Is that I or we?

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Of course, one must be careful. Things get lost in translation. The difference between “I” and “we” is huge – to us, native speakers of English. To those to whom it is a second language, it’s not that clear cut.

However, “We can live together and save some money. Not now but soon.” and “Then we can retire here.” are quite significant. And I’m pretty sure a mistake wasn’t made.

We were (well, he was) talking about the house, here, by the sea. It needs some work to be made comfortable but could be lovely with a garden for the dogs too. He wants to do it up but a) it will cost money and b) his brother (who shares it with him) doesn’t have the money …… nor a job.

Even if I’m not as clean and tidy as he would like, I’m obviously not that bad.

It was a nice few days away, even if the weather wasn’t always that kind to us. There was the Golden Wedding Anniversary party for his parents – it was a meal in an agriturismo. There was a lot of food but I was careful not to each too much and said ‘no’ on more than one occasion (I know, I even amaze myself sometimes!). His parents knew that the children would be there but not that so many other friends and family would be there so it was (apparently because I was getting stuff out of the car at the time) a very nice surprise for them. There was a lot of emotion. F is not good with emotion, I’ve found. Still, it was a lovely party, even if the weather wasn’t so nice.

His family are lovely to me. His mum calling me ‘Wendy’ which has become ‘the joke’ with me. For some reason, she can’t say ‘Andy’. At one point she confused me with S, F’s ex. For me, it was something of a compliment. I don’t look anything like S but I am obviously thought of in much the same way – and they like him and still ask after him.

Even if we came back early because of the torrential rain on Monday, it was a lovely trip.

Just keep your mouth shut, Andy! Trattoria Righini

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It’s 3.22 a.m.

Not really a great advert for a restaurant, you would think. After all it is the restaurant that we went to at lunchtime that’s keeping me up. I’m still digesting the food!

However, it’s BECAUSE the food was so good that I’m still digesting it. I simply ate far too much. My stomach feels fit to bursting. Still.

Oh it was good.

The restaurant is the Trattoria Righini. It’s in a little place called Monteleone, right next to a small place called Inverno and Monteleone (Winter and Lion Mountain). Even the name of it makes you want to go there. There is nothing in the village except this restaurant (and some houses, of course).

The restaurant at night

Trattoria Righini at night

It’s nothing to look at from the outside – in fact, if you didn’t know about it, you would drive straight past it. It was a holiday here, yesterday, so like a Sunday.

Inside, there are about four different rooms. The biggest room is the first which also houses the ‘bar’. You don’t pick different times to eat – there is one sitting.

To start with, you can stand at this bar and they serve plates of Lardo and plates of the thinnest shavings of a special Parmesan cheese (it is very young) that you eat with your hands or, in the case of the Lardo, with breadsticks. And you have a choice of white or red wine. Of one brand which I guess is either theirs or a friend’s.

Then we went to our table which was moved (by our friends A & P) into this first room. They serve another plate of this Lardo with a pile of Parmesan shavings on top. There’s a plate of pickled red pepper (very sweet) and pickled onions as well. Then there was some salami delivered. Just two slices. Then some small meat balls (about 4 each), then some cottechino, then some sort of piece of omelet thing, then some other cold meat, then something else, then something else. All tiny portions. All served separately. All leaving you wanting more – which you could have if you asked ……. but if you go here, resist the temptation to have more. That would be a mistake and would lead you to be up at 3.22 in the morning following.

Then we had pasta. A couple of pieces of ravioli. Then a couple of pieces of different ravioli. Then some risotto.

Then there was polenta – with Gorgonzola or mushrooms, or figs done in wine or something else that I’ve forgotten now.

I had something of everything.

Then there was the main course. s. First there was some veal or some guinea fowl pieces. Or you could have both. And, if you’re really lucky, like me, your partner will give you some of his in addition.

The owner serving sweet, I think

This is how they dish out the food

So, that’s it, you thought. But no. Then they had a couple of slices of Roast Beef Inglese – which was the best I’ve ever tasted. By now I was refusing second helpings.

Then there was sweet – This was a sort of large cake, sliced into small portions with a kind of white custard, some ice-cream and chocolate sauce. Or you could have some fruit with the custard, ice-cream and chocolate sauce.

Or you could ask for and get both of the above.

Which is what I did.

Because I am stupid, I guess.

Then there was coffee.

During the meal we got through three bottles of the ‘house’ red wine and one of the house white we had drunk with the Lardo and Parmesan shavings (the last being for F – who drank the whole bottle to himself).

Then we had a glass of grappa.

The waitresses and the people who owned it were some of the most pleasant people. Smiles and kindness abounded. It was all very efficient, with only short waits between the ‘courses’. And, in the end it cost less than €40 per head. We went into the restaurant at about 12.20 and came out about 5. It was like being at an Italian wedding but with really glorious food.

It’s about an hour (or less) south of Milan, driving. Without a car you couldn’t get there. It’s closed most of the time (like all of January and August) – Monday and Tuesday all day, Wednesday evening, Thursday and Friday mornings and Sunday evening. Oh, yes, and they only take cash. No credit cards.

But it was wonderful. And I am now suffering because of my inability to say no in the face of good food or even just keeping my mouth shut from asking for a bit more, please?

Not a walking holiday, as such.

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Even now, when I get up to walk somewhere, there is a twinge. Just at the side of my right calf.

Yesterday, it was my whole leg. I sometimes thought that my legs would give up on me as I got up :-D

It’s ‘cos we walked. And walked. And walked.

The weekend was wonderful. Dino was so tired at the end of it all that, by the time we arrived home, he hardly moved, staying in the kitchen for several hours.

We ate and drank and walked. Did I mention that walking bit?

The weather was, overall, kind although the wind was strong and cold on Sunday. Even if we sat outside to eat, R struggled a bit with the coldness of it – she being worse than me for hating the cold.

Still, the weekend was relaxing if tiring; fun if normal for when we go there. Sunday night we even sat watching Some Like It Hot on DVD! A great film with a simple story yet it ages so well.

3 days in a different environment with good friends and, wonderfully, Morgan who has to be the cutest dog in the world. His curly hair making his eyes look like those black, button eyes that you get with a soft toy dog and with a face that is both querying and antagonistic. He would make me want one of the same breed but for the stories I’ve heard – which are very amusing when he’s not your dog!

Even though I slept well each night I do feel like a weekend of sleeping would be perfect, right now.

It’s definitely cooler today, in Milan, but the forecast says it will pick up tomorrow or Thursday. I’m hoping it will be nice for our weekend away at the end of this month. We’re entering a busy period now.

Holidays in the North!

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I remember a birthday party, years ago. It was at the house of one of my sister’s friends (at that time we were communicating – V and she were in love with each other – in a platonic sense, that is. That’s quite obviously until they fell out – from when they hated each other). It was in the South East of the UK. Her birthday was in July, the 14th, I think. Anyway, mid-July.

She was going to have a barbeque. Seems reasonable, doesn’t it?

Well, yes, but this was the UK. A guarantee of good weather is not a given, even in mid-July.

In fact, on the day, it rained and was very, very cold. We had to wear jumpers and coats. Needless to say, the barbeque was cancelled. You can’t really have one when it’s about 12 degrees outside. And raining.

Summers in the UK! One of the reasons I wanted to come somewhere warm. Or, at least, warmer for longer, with some kind of guarantee.

Then, the year after we moved here, we were convinced by S&N to go on holiday together – to Austria. Look at summer brochures for Austria. Go on, take a look.

Just in case you can’t be bothered, I’ve done the searching and found some for you:

Isn’t it lovely? Look at the beauty of the lake and the wondrous blue sky! Who wouldn’t want to go there, eh?

The one above is very like the valley that we stayed in. Quite inspiring.

And these people, in swimsuits, sitting in the shallows of a lovely lake. The weather, so wonderful and WARM!

Except, of course, it wasn’t like that. It was more like this:

See those low clouds? Under them is rain. Solid rain. And cold. Very cold. Solid rain and very cold.

And when it wasn’t raining it was like this:

It’s no wonder it’s all so green. It looks quite bearable, doesn’t it? Well, it was still cold. But in any event, it was mostly like this:

To be fair, I did query it as a summer holiday destination to start with. I was told that, no, it would be fine. It would be August, wouldn’t it? And, to be fair, they did say that it was the worst weather they had had in years. And to be fairer, the week after we had left, they had massive flooding.

Still, you know, I swore that it was the last time I would be going ‘north’ for a holiday?

Except one should never say ‘never’, should one?

No, one shouldn’t. Otherwise you will end up doing the same again.

Which is what I shall be doing.

There is a fiftieth birthday party. And she is a very good friend of F’s. And so we shall be going to Vienna for almost one week. In May. Hmmmm. F has booked a flat so we can take Dino.

I shall pack jumpers and thick socks. And walking boots. And heavy coats. I shall be equipped for snow and stuff. And I shall pack one T-shirt just in case we have warm weather.

Gripping something untenable

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Well, as you know, I have opinions. They’re mine, of course. That is, they are part of me and won’t really change although they can become modified depending on circumstances or logic.

So, I was reading this from that dreadful newspaper and I find myself with my opinions again.

I don’t really understand why someone would go to court to try to KEEP someone who, quite obviously, doesn’t actually want to be with them.

I mean to say, I know it’s painful. Good grief, I’ve been there! But, sometimes, you just have to let go. Every time, I am reminded of something a once-good friend told me. Previously, he had ‘gone off’ with a younger model. I had warned him not to. However, after a time away he wanted to come back. I warned them both (him and his wife) that the only way it would work is for there to be no resentment (imho an impossible thing) – and so they got back together.

At the end, he went back to her because she, to all intents and purposes, had blackmailed him into going back. It was all so sad to watch and be part of. She, desperately unwilling to let him go.

And, then, years later, he confessed that he didn’t have a happy life.

She had wanted him back at all costs. But the balance had changed and they were now two different people. In fact, it was because of this whole thing that he is a “once-good” friend. He used me in a way that was unforgivable.

Years later still and I told him.

He hadn’t realised. But then he realised that it was true. I left them both before I would get to hate them for what they did (for they both used me).

We had, as the common phrasing has it, moved on. Or, rather, I had.

The thing is that the woman in the article and me and my once-good friend and his wife must all realise that we don’t actually OWN people. We can own a house or a car but we don’t own a living being. Sure, we say we own our pet but it’s not actually true. Its life is its own and, although they have less choice than us, they can share it in a good or a bad way. It’s just that, with pets, they tend to share it in a good way.

After all, we (pets and people) don’t speak to each other (in spite of what F says) and that’s probably half the battle. The problem with people is that we speak and, often, speak the wrong words at the wrong time. We also make things up in our heads (as to what someone thinks or what they meant when they said something) – and, of course, it may not be true at all.

We see what we want to see. Hear what we want to hear. Believe what we have already told ourselves.

Another friend once told me that relationships tend to finally break up some two years after the start of the breakup. My experience is this is true – both for partners and friends. It takes a couple of years for one or both to realise it’s finished. We cling on, hoping that somehow things will change, even as we know that they won’t.

I was with V for over 20 years and it all ended in seconds. And, yet, when I look back, it had started to break a couple of years before. And I knew it then, for we had a conversation, walking down the road, that I remember very well. I was trying to warn him. I failed, of course. And then, two years later or so, even after those few seconds of realisation, it took another 6 months (one could say a year or more) before it became properly ended.

And I can blame him, of course. But there are two of us. And, we are equally to blame.

And then I read this, from Gail.

I can’t reply to Gail directly, sorry, Gail. I too feel bad for her and how saddening it is for her but this is life. Maybe it has nothing to do with Gail and all to do with her friend – but, unfortunately, it probably has something to do with Gail too. There! No one else will say that, I know.

As with my once-good friend. After all, I was used but, to be honest, I could have saved our friendship by stepping away from being used. So my fault too, really.

And, anyway, I’m not stupid enough to think that it is all someone else’s fault. It rarely is and I don’t really do the ‘blame culture’ thing that we all seem to do now.

So, I’m sorry for the woman in the article – but sorrier that she couldn’t let it go. I am truly sorry for Gail, whom I consider a friend, but she is letting it go and I think that is correct. Maybe, in years to come, she will come to understand or be told, why. Maybe not. Either way, one must try to keep the good memories – much the same as when someone dies – don’t remember the last part for that is usually too sad – remember the good things that you had over the years. For the good things are what made the two of you be together all that time.

And, even if I write about V from time to time, there are things about him that I liked (that I still like, for underneath it all he is still the same) and I will remember those things with fondness.

And, like I always say, Gail, all these things seem to work out right in the end, even if we don’t see it right away.

But we don’t own people and neither can we understand the things that go on in their head – which may be false but we cannot help that. And for that reason, when it comes time to stop, then stop we must, for to try and hold on to something untenable is painful for us in so many ways.

And so my once-good friend and his wife stay together and, probably, try to snatch some moments of happiness in a situation that shouldn’t be. That’s got to be a sadder situation, hasn’t it? Like gripping a crumbling rockface when everyone else can see it about to come off in your hands.