Don’t come into my head

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In spite of an earlier post (which, to be honest, I just can’t be bothered to find), there is, after all, another side of me.

It is well hidden from the rest of the world. It is dark. It is gloomy. It is cold. It is like a deep well, with straight, slippery sides that go down to the centre of the earth

It’s not a new thing that has happened recently. Rather, it is an old thing from way back, if not all my life.

>I keep it in check. I know it’s there and I know it has power over me but I try to push it back. So far, I have succeeded and sometimes, holding on to the reality that ‘is’ rather then the reality that very well could ‘be’, is a struggle.

If I am honest with myself, I have relied on V too much. The first time I thought that, perhaps, he ‘didn’t really understand me’ (although, given that I keep it quite well hidden, why should he?) was about 6 or 7 years ago. It sticks in my mind. Although I often have the feeling of being lonely whilst with others, I had never really felt this with V until this time. It was his response – ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be alright’, in an unconsidered way, that made me feel all alone. Strange how these little things stay with you, isn’t it?

It’s the overwhelming feeling of dread; of panic; of impossibility that gets to me. Of course, like my imaginary conversations, the things do not exist, except inside my head. Or maybe they will exist? And there’s the rub.

Sometimes, I feel, I want to take my brain out, give it a good wash and get rid of these stupid things which cling and grow like some sort of fungus on, say, an apple that is going bad. In fact, in the Tate Modern, there is (or was) a video film that I really loved which showed a bowl of fruit over a period of time, going bad. The fungus started as specks and grew and grew as the fruit collapsed and became smothered by it. I wonder if I loved it because it was how I feel about my brain?

There are times, when some good thing happens that this deep, dark well seems many miles away and other times where I am already in the well, clinging for life by a finger of one hand on the edge of the well; looking behind me and down to the bottom which, without doubt, I cannot see because, without doubt again, there is no end; no bottom; I shall just keep free-falling forever.

And, if in previous times, when I hang so precariously, I have come back from the brink, it may have been because of some (misguided?) sense of responsibility to others around me (for example, V). Right now, what is the reason that I should fight it? For whom? And wouldn’t it be easier to succumb to the inevitable and allow myself to let go and slip into the darkness without a care in the world?

Sounds a little depressing, I know, but you should be in my head for a moment! Or, rather, you shouldn’t.

The voices in my head

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Alan Bennett, with the exception of the one monologue I saw with Mrs Bucket, has never really been one of those authors I would wish to read. I don’t know. It’s a bit like Hockney or Lowry. It’s a form of racism on my part, I suppose, against people from ‘The North’.

It’s not that they look any different, although they seem to, once I know they’re from the North. It’s when they speak. I apologise to those of you from the North (and here I should stipulate that it’s not the North in general but, rather specifically, Lancashire, Yorkshire and parts of Cheshire and Derbyshire) but I’m afraid the accent really doesn’t do it for me – and I lived there for a number of years!

So, although I wasn’t so interested in hearing him at the Hay Festival this year, I went because, if I am being frank (and here, if nowhere else, I should be so), I thought he was dead already or, at least, nearly dead and I further thought that if I didn’t see him now, this time, I probably would never see him.

And, as I posted (or twittered, or told someone, or something like that) he was, actually very good. He is old and pasty (but then, to me, he’s always seemed old and pasty – so no change there) but he didn’t look like he was going to die any time soon and, for good measure, he was well worth seeing and hearing.

>He was highly entertaining and his flat, monotone, Northern accented voice was quite perfect for the short extracts of stories that he told. It made them seem funnier; gave them an edge that, related in a different voice, would have been missing.

When I got home, as I was about to finish ‘We Need to talk about Kevin’, for the umpteenth time, the next book I picked up was Untold Stories! This was quite freaky. If you had asked me a month back, if I had any books by Bennett, I would have been certain that I had not even one.

I suspect that this came from L, one of the many books that she was giving away when she left Milan for London.

I am enjoying the book and find it both interesting, funny and an interesting historical book – historical in the respect of it being details of the minutiae of ordinary life which, of course, is not ordinary at all at a time that is seemingly (and is, in fact, truly) my early years of life. But then, he is a storyteller. I would probably write something like:

My mother became ill. I ferried my Dad to the hospital very often. We didn’t really talk that much. I did find out, however, that my Grandfather who, supposedly died of a heart attack actually committed suicide. I was quite shocked.

He does not.  For him, of course, these are a load of pages with descriptions and details that go to make up a complete picture.

It’s interesting that, as I have posted before, it’s the voice that really works for me. As I read the words on the page I can hear him saying them; the same dry, flat voice with that Northern accent, that makes the story more real and more alive. Whereas, with most voices that I subsequently read, it’s the enjoyment of the voice itself that is the key, I’m afraid I cannot quite say that I find his voice enjoyable per se but, still, the voice does make the story. Of course, that’s only in my head

And from this (and more recent posts and another to follow) I am becoming increasingly concerned that everything that I find worth blogging about seems to be in my head (even if there are slight connections with the real world). Either my head is very large to contain all this rubbish or my ‘head life’ is taking over from real life!

Showing my true feelings (not)

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I am confused by my feelings. On the one hand I am angry – very angry. On the other, I couldn’t care less. On the one hand – ‘I never want to see you again’ and yet, ‘It’s your problem, you deal with it’.

And the stupidness of the whole thing beggars belief which is why there’s a part of me that couldn’t care less.

In addition, of course, one must take into account my stubbornness. I wonder if it’s a trait that I have developed because I am stubborn or because I am Taurus since, although I take Astrology with a pinch of salt, I do enjoy the fact that certain people (those who believe) will immediately see me as an Earth sign and that I like my home comforts, good food, good wine, etc. and as having positive traits?

>Indeed, I see them as positive traits too and am pleased to have them. But, did I see them as positive traits because that is what I am supposed to be or because they are positive traits? Even stubbornness I see as positive!

Anyway, back to the issue. I will do….precisely….nothing. Of course. I will neither say anything nor do anything although I might do less than something that I should and, therefore, by my inaction, make an action. In fact, the problem will fester with me for, possibly, quite some time. The inaction on my part to do ‘the something’ that I should, may continue beyond even that, as it may have become a habit and I shall do it without really knowing why or, even, that I am doing it.

And there are also other, related things that, in future, will now happen or, rather, that I shall do or not do as a result. Many (although, at the moment, I can only think of the one) of these will, probably, have a detrimental affect on me – the old ‘cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face’ thing, at which I am a practised master. I have, after all, had 40+ years of experience at it. Or is that the stubbornness thing really?

If it is the stubbornness thing then it has nothing to do with being Taurean (unless you believe in that stuff) but all to do with how I was brought up and, possibly, my genes – which all comes back to my parents. But don’t get me wrong, they are not to blame for this but, in my opinion, to be proud of this.

If you believe in this stuff, then the fact that I am Taurean makes me stubborn anyway and there is no talking to you.

And, the funniest thing about all this (although ‘funny’ is not really the right word) is that the person who is both the cause of this and the victim (if, again, that is the right word) will, in all probability, know nothing of it but might think me a little strange for a while.

There, that shows them, doesn’t it!

A striking moment of clarity

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I was ironing.  Having been away so much, there are many things to do including the small mountain of ironing.  I hate ironing almost as much as cleaning.  Let’s face it, I am not really domesticated.  The dogs are probably better than me.  I am doing a bit at a time since to do all of it in one go will just be too much!

However, ironing must be done if I am to have any clean stuff to wear and, in this weather (yesterday, when I got in the car after work the temperature read 43 degrees, so it’s quite warm), it is necessary to wear a lot of clean stuff after a lot of showers.

I have the telly on (MTV as we get it free here) but, really, I am paying no attention to either the telly nor the ironing.  The ironing is automatic and the telly plays music that I, generally, don’t really like.

As normal, I am playing through conversations in my head as I have nothing else to distract me, really.  Of course, the conversations were not conversations that had actually happened but rather ones that may happen but, if I’m honest with myself, won’t happen and, anyway, if they did happen, the other person wouldn’t say the things that I had predetermined they would say so my replies would not be so certain and, most probably, I wouldn’t be so sharp or so clever.

The basic nature of the conversations is this:

V wants to get back together.

V says he’s sorry.

I say (without completely closing it down) that that will be very difficult.

I say that he needs to be honest and open with me.

I say that to do that, he first needs to be honest and open with himself.

V asks what things he needs to be honest and open about.

I say that that is the point.  I cannot tell him, although I know some things, but that, to be honest and open, he has to decide to tell me everything and I will know if he has.

This is a stupid conversation as this will never happen.

Suddenly (and I really don’t know why this happened), I think of another situation.  I think of my parents who, apparently, are or, at least were, waiting for me to ‘come home’ asking for their forgiveness (for what, I really don’t know).  I think how stupid they were and little they knew me, even if I was their son and even if they did raise me for almost 18 years before I left, for good.

And then, I realised, in one of those moments of complete clarity that, in spite of my efforts not to be like them, I was, in fact, doing the same thing.  I was waiting for V to come to his senses and come back begging to be together.

And, then I realised that, of course, he is not coming back – begging or not – and that my life has been in this limbo state, waiting for him to appear on my doorstep whereas, in fact, he has already moved on and, damn it, so should I.

It won’t be the last time that I will enact these meaningless conversations and, for certain, I am catching myself wanting a man again, which makes me vulnerable but I know that, as these future enacted, made-up, incredible conversations happen, I will be able to stop it following this ‘moment of clarity’ by remembering that, in fact, the situation is not going to happen.  It will get easier each time.

The wanting a man part, though, will not.  At least, not for a while.  The problem with that, other than my previous track record in this situation, is that, this time, a) I really find so few men attractive and b) how the hell do I tell whether they’re gay or not, at least here, in this land where men don’t seem to have a problem with their sexuality and, therefore, have no need to be give off the right signals?  Or, rather, give off signals that I find perplexing and unclear.

And the point of this post?  None at all really!

Dog sitting, Flat sitting and watching Wimbledon

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Dog_sitting_Flat_sitting_and_watching_Wimbledon442 pub. Apparently, looking after the dogs will cost me a pint of English beer and a burger. Less than kennels anyway.

On the subject of Wimbledon, let’s hope the great Scottish player, Murray, will make it through. It will make the afternoon so much more fun.

Also a colleague from work and her husband may come. So it might be quite a party (and quite a few good beers!).

A funny thing happened…..

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It was the funniest article I have read for a while. And from a government minister too!

The comments are obviously, mostly, from those right-wing types (snigger). One can tell as they seems to despise the arguments for ID Cards.

But we do need to consider what has been said and, according to this article, still being said.

I remember that ID cards were first touted by Labour (or NuLabour as they are now called by most, if not themselves). It was either soon after 9/11 or maybe 7/7. We were all so shocked about these ‘foreign’ people who were able to come into our lands and do such damage.

Except…..

In the case of 7/7, they were British citizens and, therefore, had ID cards already been ‘normal’, they would have them quite legally. And, I’m sorry, but that would have stopped them carrying out those atrocities in what way, exactly?

In addition, Italy, which has had ID cards from the Fascist era (or thereabouts) wasn’t saved when the Red Brigade start blowing things up here!

Aha, so, if Joe Public won’t fall for that one then we can go for another great public fear. What about all those illegal immigrant people.

Now, the fact that they are illegal implies that the majority of them got here either by sidestepping our Border Control or by over-staying their welcome. Now, if you were required to use your ID Card every day for many minor things (as Italians are), this could pose a problem. Or, of course, not. Since the illegal immigrants will probably be a) working for cash and b) not doing things that require an ID card (like paying by credit card, etc.), it seems unlikely that it would cause them too much distress.

Alternatively, having probably paid a small fortune to be brought here, I’m sure, for a few pounds more, there would be people making the ID card to order, for them. And, unless the Police or other powers-that-be check the database, the fraudulent ID cards would probably never be found.

Having worked out that most people realised that ID cards would, in fact, only be useful for controlling legal immigrants or citizens, it seems they are trying the latest scare tactic.

Identity Theft/Fraud! That’s what is now proposed as the reason for ID cards. I’m sorry but these people are crazy.

If you really want to step up security then do what the Italians do. Make it really difficult to buy anything (such as domain name (where you need to fax proof of yourself and owning a domain name via just the internet is just not possible); buying a second-hand car (where you need to physically visit the registration office); changing your bank account for your mobile phone (where you must go and get a form from the bank which must be stamped and signed and then take that (or, maybe, fax it) to the provider). In each case, everything must be ‘backed-up’ by a personal visit or a fax! Of course, in this fast-moving world, it does tend to make many things a lot slower and more difficult but, at least, it gives a load of people a job, thereby ensuring that unemployment is lower and the economy is much better. Doesn’t it?

And then, the article uses unsubstantiated claims of the number of people hit by identity theft/fraud; assumes that the arguments in favour of ID cards have been made and done and dusted and that, overwhelmingly, the ‘evidence’ points to them as being our saviour in all things!

A funny thing has happened in this world, don’t you think?  If one argument fails, use another.  If that fails, use yet another.  Keep going until people agree or forget what the purpose was in any event.  Make sure that each argument used is totally different from the last but make sure that each addresses a fear that the populace has!

I actually laughed out loud at this article.

p.s. Read the comments as well.

A couple of nights in Milan, anyone? Only a couple of strings attached!

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I have to go away to another Northern country.  I really didn’t come to Italy to be travelling outside all the time (OK, it’s not true but right now that’s how it feels).

V moves out on Saturday.  This is good – but, of course, it does mean that there is no one to take the boys whilst I am away!  Damn!

I immediately thought of the kennels.  I rang the shop to see what time they open.  10.30 a.m.  Hmm, no way to make Malpensa airport in about 5 minutes so no good at all.

V did offer to have the key to the flat but I’m really not keen on letting him have the run of the place.  It’s my place and I want it to stay that way.  If he comes here (without me being here) then, somehow, that makes it different – at least, in my head!

FfI offered the other day, so I might try her, tomorrow. Else there are a couple of other people or I could get someone to take them to the kennels on Monday night and I pick them up Wednesday morning.

Or, of course, you could come and stay here.  Near the heart of downtown Milan.  Beautiful (if unfinished) flat in a wonderful street!  Sounds tempting, eh?

The strings are a) you have to look after the dogs and b) you must be here by about 8 a.m. on Monday morning!

I’m waiting………(hopefully)……….

The crazy, criminal, mixed-up land in which I live

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I stayed away from the recent controversy with the Italian’s ‘beloved’ leader (and he’s still beloved, it would seem, at least by most). He seems to have been a very busy boy, what with giving money to (ex-?) husbands of UK politicians (not that giving the money was bribing, it was only taking it that seems to be a crime); dalliances with a young girl that his wife, for some reason, took exception to; using government money to have people fly to parties at his residence on Sardinia and, of course, the latest, the payment for young ladies of the night for services rendered – all of which, he denies, blaming all of these “rumours” on those ‘left-wing-communist types’.

We can also, perhaps, overlook the way that he said that the people from L’Aquila, made homeless by the earthquake, should make the most of living in tents, it being just like a holiday and all!

At least he made up for it by agreeing to huge (can’t remember how much and can’t be bothered to look it up) amounts of dosh to rebuild the town (although it seems it may not be quite as was first reported) and, of course, deciding to hold the G8 summit in the town in order that it gets a boost.

Now, I read about the latest development (see, still reading the Guardian rather than using the BBC site) and the President’s call to back off Berlusconi’s (ahem) ‘problems‘ so as not to embarrass Italy when, about half way down, I read this:

the prime minister assured the media that his illustrious guests would nevertheless be received in style at a large revenue guard barracks hastily converted for the occasion. He said the site would soon have 121,000 square metres of gardens with 6,850 bushes and extensive lawns.

Now, given the current economic crisis in the world and the recent death and destruction in the town in which this converted barracks is situated and in spite of not knowing how much will be spent doing this conversion (but I’m guessing not just a few Euro), etc., it struck me that this kind of thing is just crass and obscene in the extreme.

This puts those politicians (from the G8) on the same par with Madoff and (possibly) Stanford – i.e. criminals who are taking us for a ride – since they are benefiting from the outrageous spending that is being done just to show off to each other!

It’s a crazy, crazy world in which we live.

The sun shouldn’t be the only one with his hat on!

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For my friends in the UK, I see you’re in the middle of an “official” heatwave. How nice that must be although I suspect there are lot of people complaining that it is too hot. And there seems to be a consensus that people will die or that hospitals should be prepared for an influx of people suffering from heatstroke!

And the temperatures causing this panic and fear? Why, up to 33 degrees!! Wow! We get to that (or close to it) most days at the moment.

However, to be fair, there is a difference, as I have said before.

Now, here, I look for the shade most of the time. When I was in the UK, such is the rarity of such sunny days, people (and I was one of them) would prefer to stay in the sun, however hot or uncomfortable it was.

I still get brown, of course. But, then, I tan very easily. I can assure you it is not because I sunbathe (since I find that boring) nor because I stay out in the sun (which, at over 30 degrees is ridiculous, unless you are forced to) it is just the ‘bits in between’ the shade that cause this.

So, the trick is to stay in the shade and not expect this to be the last sunny day ever. Anyway, with what used to be called Global Warming (now Climate Change – otherwise people don’t understand why the winters are longer, colder and wetter), there’s likely to be plenty more of it…….

And, whilst we’re on the subject of lethargy…..

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Sometimes (sh)it just happens!

So, I go to the shop last night and get the adapter I need. I get home and try it out. Boy, that Dyson has some sucking power! I clean the kitchen and the hallway and then, because it’s so hot, I have a drink and answer some emails. This not being Sweden, it is getting dark.

I decide to iron some shirts. Unfortunately the light in the lounge isn’t working. At first, I think it is the timer that’s a problem but, even plugged in (almost) directly, the lamp doesn’t work.

I try the lamp in a different socket. No good.

I try the bulb in a different lamp.

It’s the bulb. In a different time and a different place (namely, with V) I would have become frustrated and slightly angry with the injustice of all things that seem to conspire against me trying to keep the flat clean and tidy (which, in any case, is not working) but the time and place is different and I shrug my shoulders.

Although I remain disappointed, I know that there is no point in fighting such things. What is, is. I cannot, at this moment, do anything about it. The process to change bulbs, leaving some other area of the flat in darkness is just too difficult.

Of course, I should get off my ass and get some more lamps; get the lights that need fitting, fitted; do SOMETHING!

My lethargy in all things (except the dogs, eating and drinking) is really starting to annoy me and yet everything else WILL wait until tomorrow, let’s be honest.

And this includes the ironing, whilst I get a bulb (they are bayonet types since this is an Art Deco lamp from the UK and bayonet bulbs are simply not sold here in the usual shops) but, even then, tonight I am going to sort out the start of the ‘other’ work that really must move on.

Ho hum.