Tag Archives: Food

The checklists that never got posted

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Checklists 3, 4, etc. didn’t get done.

Checklist 3 would have been that the dogs went in for a wash and blow dry. Checklist 4 would have been that the flat was clean. Checklist 5 would have been that the car was packed and 6 would have been that the dogs were clean and smelling beautiful.

Non of these posts got made because of Checklist 4. F was here. And I couldn’t really be sitting at the computer whilst he was trying to super-clean the flat, now, could I?

Oh and there should have been other checklists too. Like 1A – Colomba ordered (and subsequently got). 2A – Eggs bought.

There were to be 6 adults, 1 baby and 2 dogs. I did think it was going to be a bit of a squeeze, even if the flat is big. However, sadly, B couldn’t come. And, so neither did her friend. And, I guess, that was why our mutual friend (with husband and baby) didn’t come either.

We did miss B an awful lot but it was nice all the same. F said, several times, that although he missed B, it is really good with it being just us. That made me very happy. And we talked about his house by the sea and how we should spend more time there and how we could get a place on the Lake (to rent), maybe, if it were cheap enough. Which is almost like getting a place together. And we talked about the dogs. And his dream about Dino dying and how he couldn’t stand it and that was why he never had a dog.

F bought another Colomba and we gave one Colomba and one egg to the Aunt that lives downstairs for her to share with the Aunt that lives upstairs. They are, after all so nice and I will never forgive myself (nor V) for having to wake them up at 1 or 2 o’clock in the morning to get V’s briefcase which he had forgotten.

The Colomba and egg were a little way of saying thank you.

And so, the weekend was great and the weather was, overall, very, very good and the dogs got lots of walks and we spent a lovely time together.

And we talked a bit about the blog. So that was good, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

Unfortunately, any comments have been lost.

An eventful uneventful weekend; A supermarket open every day in Milan; Dog walking

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Well, it didn’t really last long. Three days, in fact. Still, it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?

Isn’t it? Tell me ‘yes’, please?

Well sort of.

It was an uneventful yet eventful weekend. I mean to say, for most people almost uneventful. For me, quite major things were done.

In particular, I am talking about sewing.

Yes, this post may not be the most exciting ever. Please look away now if you are afraid it might be boring. If you do read it, you can’t then say I didn’t warn you. And it is looooong!

I am, as you may know (or have guessed), a gay man. Actually, an old, gay man. But I’m not really your typical ‘gay’. I am, as N would say, quite a straight, gay man. An old, straight, gay man.

I don’t sew. Well, I do but only when I have to and we’re talking simple things here. Buttons and stuff. Buttons are hard. But not as hard as real sewing. But, like ironing and cleaning, they take me a long time. And, just like ironing and cleaning, if I can, I put it off.

So, all the shirts that I had that lost a button or ripped or needed some sort of repair had been, over the last (OMG! I just realised over the last 18 months or two years!!) ahem, period of time, had been hung in a special part of the wardrobe.

But, I was ‘running out’ of workshirts and having to use the ones that F had bought for me. So, on Saturday morning I said to him that I was going to have to go out and buy some. And then, I thought, of course, I’ve probably got a couple that just need buttons so I should do them first and then I would know how many I really needed.

So, Saturday morning, after F left to go to his place and ‘tidy up a bit’, I thought OK, I’ll do it or, at least, look to see how many I could ‘reclaim’.

I really didn’t realise how much stuff I had in that wardrobe. It was a shock. I started looking at the shirts. Putting the ones which had ripped (usually on the sleeve or under the arm) in one pile as these were, probably, irreclaimable (at least with my level of expertise at sewing) and the ones that missed just a button (or two or three), in another.

There were 7 shirts that were reclaimable. It was a big surprise but welcome, nonetheless.

I started. It was cold in my kitchen. I found that threading the needle, normally a process that takes about 15 minutes for me, seemed to be easier than usual. This was a good sign. I found buttons in my little ‘button store’. And, where I couldn’t find the right ones, I found them attached to the shirts, at the bottom. Or I found one that was very similar.

I progressed well, completing the first one in about half an hour. That’s how slow I am. One down and 6 more to go. After the second one, I was finding it difficult. My fingers, hardly as nimble as they were, seemed to be ‘not working’. It was far too cold. I put on some gas rings on the cooker. It would soon warm up the flat or, at least, the kitchen.

The washing machine was on. I think I was doing towels. Or jeans. Something which meant a full spin at top speed.

I did another shirt. (Exciting, isn’t it?)

I decided to have a break from sewing. I took the three shirts that I had done to hang them in the wardrobe (they were already ironed). On the way back (not that it’s a truly long distance but it’s still true since between the bedroom and the kitchen I go through every other room in the flat – apart, that is, from the bathroom – however, the bathroom is on the way back to the kitchen), I stopped off in the bathroom.

I’m standing there, having a pee (I know you may not want to know this but it is material evidence for the next bit) and I hear a sudden crash from the kitchen. The washing machine is in full spin.

There’s not a lot I can really do, standing there as I am. It’s just not possible to turn off the tap, so to speak. (See, I told you it was material to the story). I finish and walk into the kitchen.

The trays which are on top of the microwave, which is on top of the washing machine were the things that caused the ‘crash’. They have fallen onto the cooker. With them, obviously, are the things that are on the trays. Not much, normally, but F, in one of his ‘tidy up’ moods last week, had moved all the stuff that was with my computer on the kitchen table, onto the trays.

This included some paperwork, some CDs, some DVDs, some pens and some other associated ‘junk’.

You may remember (it was on a few paragraphs back) that I mentioned turning on the gas rings to heat up the kitchen a bit? Well they are gas and, therefore, flames and, sort of, flames tend to do things to pieces of paperwork, plastic CD holders, plastic trays, etc.
To pieces of paper, even bank notes, they tend to send them up in flames. To CD and DVD boxes, the tend to melt them before setting them on fire.

The kitchen was full of flames. Well, the cooker was full of flames and not all from the burners.

I don’t know what happens sometimes in times of crisis. Usually, I react quite well. Sometimes, though, my brain doesn’t seem to work. For a moment or two I blew on the flames, trying to put them out. It almost worked but for one small but very important fact. I couldn’t blow the burners out, of course, and so blowing the flame on a piece of paper out had the effect of it going out for a split second before reigniting itself from the burner.

Hmmm.

At the same time as blowing, I start to move things (well, move isn’t quite the right word – more like grab and chuck) from the cooker hob to the sink which, luckily, was full of water for washing up, the washing up being in the water and not having been done by now because I am on that long, horrible job of sewing.

I do remember thinking that this really wasn’t the best day for this (but, then, when would be?). Not only am I sewing but it is also too cold for me. And I’ve had a bad week at work.

And my tooth hurts.

Although this may seem like a long time for me to ‘do the right thing’, in reality, of course, it was seconds. Seconds before I realised that, of course, before trying to extinguish the flames I should, in all probability, turn off the hob rings.

I do. Then I am blowing and throwing stuff at the sink at the same time.

The CD/DVD cases have started sticking to the black covers over the gas rings. And sticking to each other. In that plastic burned way. They also go into the sink along with the washing up.

I’m thinking that a wet CD/DVD is invariably better than a totally warped one.

I start to clean up the cooker. I fish things out of the water. Some bits of paper have fared better than others. Some now have no writing on. It seems pointless to keep them without anything on them, their meaning lost to the water. I hang others in various places to dry.
I start separating CD cases. The CDs themselves, look OK. I will have to try them. Possibly when they are no longer wet.

The plastic box full of blank DVDs is difficult to open since bits of the plastic seems to have become welded together. I prise the lid open. The DVDs themselves, seem OK. We shall see. Again, perhaps better to check when they are dry.

I make a cup of tea. There is irrational fear in turning on one of the gas rings to boil the water. I mean – REALLY irrational. There is nothing on the microwave any more. It all went onto the rings, into flames or was melted, then the water, then the drainer for drying out or thrown away for being of no use any more.

I have tea.

I re-start my sewing.

I finish the shirts. There are a couple of pairs of jeans that also need repair. They are my favourite jeans. They need repair because I am not sticking to my wine diet very well. And, also because the jeans were always quite ‘tight’ – even before I had need of any wine diet! One of them has come apart where the buttons were. It was either that or the buttons. The sewing gave first. I sew that up. Not well but, I hope, quite ‘strongly’. The other pair were not so lucky. The second button down – since they are not really buttons but those stud buttons you get on jeans – sheared in two. I have a stud from some other pair of jeans. I fix that in and hammer it together. I hope it holds. But I guess there will be another real button put there if it comes off. I guess there’ll be a button there soon, then!

Also, maybe as a result of the need for a wine diet, some shirts have ripped at the sleeve – underneath the armpit. They cannot be repaired. But a couple of them are good shirts and I don’t want to chuck them. I decide that I could just cut the sleeves off. They would be summer shirts. I try. the result doesn’t look so bad. Maybe they will be fine? I will show F later, maybe?

It has taken me all bloody day to do the sewing. The jumpers have not been done. They will have to wait. I’m quite pleased with myself at having done all this. F and I have chatted over Facebook when I was doing the shirt buttons. I told him I hate doing it, having forgotten how he told me that for S’s first show, various family and friends were up all night doing the sewing. He says he will do it later. For one moment I think of saying ‘yes’ but then decide not to. After all, I should be able to do all this myself. Maybe next time?

We went out for a meal. F was ill. The next day he stayed in bed until about eleven o’clock. Asleep. Then he got up and went home and went to bed and slept.

Yesterday, as he was sleeping, I took the dogs out for a long walk to the park. Have I mentioned that Rufus seems to have really perked up in the last week or so? Well, he’s still quite perky. I’m very happy about it even if I was writing him off only before Christmas.

Then, last night, I went to the supermarket. I love that, now, the Esselunga in Viale Piave is not only open on Sunday but also open after 6! Actually, I think it stays open until about 9 p.m. Italy is moving into the 20th Century. Just a little behind others. In fact, apart from about 2 days in the year, it is open every day and at reasonable times.

I had a hankering for parsley sauce. And roast potatoes. And leeks. I got everything, including some cod (because F likes that). Of course, the cod was salted cod and I didn’t soak it for long enough. The rest was perfect. I must try it again – with a more soaked cod.

And F feels a bit better now and has gone to work.

But he didn’t take the dogs for a walk on Thursday and Friday of last week (because he had very long days and was going to do Pilates), nor Sunday because he was ill, nor today (nor tomorrow, nor Wednesday nor Thursday, I suspect) because he was going to Pilates again. So it only lasted last week. And only for three days. Oh well. I’m sure it’s the thought that counts.

&

And some lost comments:

  1. Gail says:

18 April, 2011 at 5:16 pm

………phew. I hung in ’til the end. phew – and that’s because I love you you old straight-gay man you!!

Love Gail
peace…..

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    • Andy says:

18 April, 2011 at 6:37 pm

Well done, Gail! Loads of love back

It’s life Jim, but hardly logical.

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When you look at it, logically, there’s nothing actually wrong.

Just like those times when I feel angry for no reason at all.

But I am really pissed off.

Except when I’m with F. For some reason, everything just lifts when I’m with him.

Take last night. After a really dreadful day, followed by a lesson and then a dreadful drive home, meaning I was later than I wanted to be, meaning that, although I really rushed a shower, I arrived at the shop later than I wanted to, once I was with F, I was relaxed and happy. For the next couple of hours, even if he wasn’t with me all the time, I was still happy and relaxed. I knew he was there. It was enough.

It was the “Aperitivo”. They were holding it because it is the Furniture Fair. It was nice. I had several glasses of prosecco. And a couple of the small finger food ‘dishes’ they were handing out. There were lots of F’s colleagues there, of course. They are always so nice to me.

One thing struck me though. F, not usually overly demonstrative towards me, completely changes when there are a lot of his colleagues around. It’s quite funny. He seems, almost, to be jealous of any attention given to me – but not jealous that I’m getting the attention and he’s not. Rather jealous in that I’m his. Phrases such as ‘keep your eyes off him, he’s mine’ tend to come out (or something similar, since it is in Italian). It does make me laugh, inwardly. Of course, part of it is for show, I know that. He is, after all, a showman. It’s what he does best. It’s why he’s good at his job.

And now, as we rapidly approach 4.15, it is the weekend. And the weather should be OK (average for this time of year) and so, I hope, F & I will spend some time together and take the dogs for a walk, etc.

These are the times that make me really happy.

a

Elettrauto – Cadore – great food/poor service

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He wasn’t happy.

I turned round once but he told me not to call her over. He pursed his mouth in the way that he does when he’s annoyed. He didn’t go in to tell them. The waitress had, after all, laid our table and given us menus about 15 minutes before. It did seem strange that she had not come back to take our order. She came outside several times but, each time, walked away from our table to other tables.

He was getting more and more annoyed.

Eventually, some 20 minutes after we had been given our menus, a waitress appeared.

There then followed some dialogue between him and the waitress. It wasn’t good. He complained about us having to wait so long. She asked why he hadn’t come in to say anything ….. or something like that. Of course, that was the wrong thing to say, especially to him. The correct thing to say could have been – ‘I’m terribly sorry, sir. I wasn’t aware you were here but I shall make sure you get your order quickly’. this would have stopped him dead in his tracks since this sort of response always leaves the person with two possible options: 1. shut up or 2. repeat the things you have said, thereby making yourself look like an incoherent idiot.

He explained afterwards that he was this way because a) he comes here a lot and b) that was not the right way to answer a customer that wasn’t happy.

And he should know. He added, after I had suggested that ‘OK but maybe they were busy’ with the fact that the turnover of staff here is very high. ‘They change every five minutes’, he advised.

He was right. The service was terrible. The shrimp club sandwich that I had was very nice, though. And the fact that we could sit outside was good. And I wore sandals until the late evening. And we’d had such a lovely walk in the park with the dogs. And I’d changed the duvet for the bedspread. And it felt more like May than April.

But back to the late brunch we were having.

I didn’t even realise that Elettrauto in Via Cadore DID brunch. It is conveniently situated almost at the edge of the park I (we) now go to with the dogs and it’s useful to know that they serve food at 4 p.m. – see, I told you it was a late brunch!

It’s not that cheap – two club sandwiches and two beers came to around €35 – but with the weather being so nice, it was perfect. Obviously, the service was dismal but I wasn’t in a hurry.

But, then, this morning I read this article and I got to thinking.

There is absolutely no reason to be rude to waiters, waitresses, shop assistants nor, indeed, anyone else. At the same time, people doing these jobs should have a pride in what they do and want to give the customer good service. I am a different person when I talk to or are with my customer. It doesn’t matter what day I am having, they are the customer and should be treated with courtesy and respect. I always try to exceed their expectations but, at the very least, meet them. If I can’t then I tell them and apologise. Not really so difficult.

So I am always amazed when the service leaves one feeling disappointed. And the service, yesterday, was disappointing, which was a great shame. It won’t stop me going there – but if it happened too often, it would.

As it is, it does seem a great place to go for a Saturday and Sunday after walking the dogs in the park.

Angolo di Casa and Piccola Cuccina – although we only went to one of them, of course!

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He had talked about another one. One that he used to go to with S. It was a single room with about 10 tables. He said it was very nice.

But that wasn’t where we were going.

It was another one of the Groupon vouchers. €50, for which I paid something like €20 or €25. But we understand it now. We expected to pay at least €50 – €100 on top of the voucher.

To start, I had some kind of Cod mousse. He had pulped broad beans with bits of octopus or squid. Then we shared a sea bass with an orange and fennel salad. Then we both had the same chocolate thing. And nice wine. And a mirto each. It was OK. The branzino (sea bass) was lovely. Being done in salt, it usually retains its moisture (unless it’s done badly) and this one was excellent. F’s pulped broad beans with bits of octopus was nice too. The rest of it was, well, nothing amazing. And, for the price it should have been amazing.

The place was nicely done. I liked the warm colours of reds and yellows. F says that red is not good. Too aggressive. He’s a visual person. I love red. I wanted to say that it was the red in my hallway that I loved at first sight – and still do. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to hear that he didn’t like it, I suppose.

It was, as F would say, very ‘fashion’. We got there at 8.35 or so. The place was empty. For me this didn’t bode well. However, by 10, the place was full. This is the Italians going out on a Saturday night. Arriving at the restaurant at 9.30 or 10. Too late for me, really and, luckily, also for F, even if he is Italian.

And it was very ‘fashion’. Just before we were leaving a couple came in. F explained that the woman had been on Isola di Famosa and he was something on television (I forget what, now). I’m really not that impressed, to be honest. Is that wrong of me? I mean, it’s someone from the telly – and here, that could equally (and is probably more likely to) be someone with no talent. Not that the UK is much better but here they still have dancing girls in the middle of game shows so I’m sure you will understand.

And the bill meant that it was €72 per head. We both agreed we shan’t be going back to Angolo di Casa in a hurry – voucher or no. The food was not really fantastic. F said that he would much prefer Porca Vacca for the price and for the service and for the food. And I agree.

We left and started walking up Viale Piave. As we walked within a couple of doors was the other one he had mentioned. I stood on the step to look inside. It looked delightful. I agreed that I would like to go there. It’s mostly meat but there is one fish dish. F said that it would be fine. And, so, although I can’t write about it, our test of this restaurant meant that we found Piccola Cucina.

So not a wasted evening.

As an aside, yesterday (and today), I am wearing sandals. Yay! This means it is warm. And, yesterday as I was walking the dogs because F was cleaning my kitchen, including the dogs’ toys, the dogs’ basket, etc., I realised that I was out at about 6 p.m. still in sandals. Not something I really ever did in the UK, except for occasional times in the height of summer. And it reminded me that this was one of the reasons I love to live here. And the washing gets dry quickly. And it’s time for salads. And it’s only the very beginning of April. And today is the same and about 2 we shall go to the park with the dogs and stop and get something to eat as well.

I adore my life.

The sun has got his hat on and he’s already out to play!

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In one hour I shall leave here.

To complete my holiday from 2010.  It’s the ‘rule’ here.

On the bright side, the weather is fabulous and will get even better over the weekend. On the downside, F is still ill and so I may not be able to do as planned today.

I had planned (or, rather had thought it would be a nice idea if) I take the dogs for a walk in the park when I get home and stop at a café to have something to eat and a beer – outside. It would also involve F joining us, perhaps.

Now, probably not.

Oh well, such is life. I hope he really improves today as this will be the first properly fine weekend we’ve had for such a long time. I was even going to suggest going somewhere tomorrow or Sunday (with the dogs, of course).

Hope you all have a fabulous weekend anyway, whatever your plans or weather are like.

Wine with fattening stuff.

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We’re back!

Me and the wine, that is. This is very good. What isn’t so good is that it also came with pasta and a rather too-strong sauce. And A. The pasta with the too-strong sauce isn’t really (well, actually, not at all) part of the wine diet. The wine diet relies on distinctly less food or, preferably, no food. This has two benefits: a) you get drunk quicker and so drink less wine and b) you don’t eat anything which will, invariably, make you fatter.

So the pasta didn’t help.

I think A was a bit upset with my post about the Mars bars. He doesn’t let it drop. Now when he says the funniest things, I am sure he is checking my reaction. If my reaction is favourable it’s OK. If not then he tells me that he only says it to wind me up. I’m not sure that I entirely believe that.

Last night, we were very successful with the wine diet part. We drank a whole bottle of wine. And he was very nice about the pasta sauce. However, I think it was too strong. Sometimes, less is more. This was too rich. Still, it was OK. It wasn’t like it was inedible, which is good although not good for the diet. Luckily, he can eat and so most of the pasta went to him.

I knew I could invite him round as I knew that F would be staying in his own flat last night. I am beginning to understand him. The night before he had been ill. He was up in the night and only came back to bed after I got up. And so, when he told me he was leaving work early to go home, I knew that he wouldn’t be coming to mine and, so, I knew that after my lessons, I could invite A over. But I didn’t want to be late.

You know how it is, you get talking and, suddenly, it’s 10.30 and the dogs need going out and then suddenly it’s 11.30 before you get to bed.

Hmmmpf! So, that was the early night killed. That’s not really good.

On the other hand, as F has decided to stay off work today because he ‘feels like shit’, I will be on my own again tonight and so tonight WILL be an early(er) night.

Tea made richer

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Nothing beats a good mug of tea made with the Tetley Round Bags.  I can’t get them here but have to have willing ‘drug mules’ bring them from the UK or go and get them myself.

Well, now, I say that nothing beats it and I would be wrong.  It can be beaten by adding the appropriate biscuit.  It has to be a biscuit that can be dunked.  Therefore we’ll have none of your flaky type of biscuit nor, for me, anything added.  I don’t want bits dropping off or chocolate that is melted by the tea.  I need a biscuit that will go quite soft, quite quickly but remain in one place long enough for it to travel from the mug to my mouth.

For me there is only one type of biscuit that really does the job.

It’s Rich Tea. A boring biscuit to most people, I know but one that perfectly fits the bill.

What I never knew, until now, was that you can even make a cake with them although I’m not sure it would be my wedding cake, even if I were to have more than one!

Signs; Four or three?

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‘Isn’t it usually darker than this?’, I ask myself.

It’s stupid o’clock when almost everyone is still in bed. Well, being Tuesday, not everyone. In fact, the market is already being set up by the stallholders.

But there we were, getting used to the light at this God-forsaken hour and then everything changes. However, it is the signal for me. I long for sandals and T-shirts. I long for heat; real heat when my skin seems to have a permanent ‘slickness’ about it. When we get up and the sun shines and I get home and the sun shines and, even in the middle of the night, it’s just sandals and shorts and T-shirts.

So, in spite of the fact that this is a crazy time to be walking around, I have a certain lightness in my step and I ache for the ‘sandal time’.

__________________________________________________

I don’t say ‘I’m sure it will be soon’. I’ve been saying it for almost a couple of years. In spite of myself, I am slightly superstitious and I wonder if I shouldn’t say it – just to make sure it doesn’t come true?

The other day we went round to F’s flat for a few minutes. F had bought new toys. As we were in the lift, going up, Rufus got over-excited. In fact, I haven’t seen him this excited for a while. He knew where we were going and he knew it would mean biscuits and treats. He’s not stupid.

He tries to push the lift door open with his head, even as we’re moving upwards. He is desperate to get there. And, sure enough, when we arrive, he has biscuits and treats. The toys he’s not interested in, really. But then, they’re for Dino, really.

The floor, however, is a problem. And he is less steady on his feet. His legs give way and he is there, much like a spatchcocked chicken. I stand at his rear, keeping his back legs close together with my feet and put my hands underneath his all-too-obvious rib cage and lift him up. Within a few moments he is, once again, doing his impression of a parachutist in free-fall. F tries but hasn’t really grasped what I do. I explain and he almost gets it.

It happens a few more times and I decide to go. F can also see that it is difficult for him. Now, I think, there’ll be no stopping at F’s during the night. I did offer on Saturday night, since F did not feel so well but ‘no’ apparently because of Rufus.

Then, as I was on holiday yesterday, last night I had done stuffed pimentos. F had bought them back from Spain and I found a recipe that fills them with a fish stuffing and made some adjustments to fit what I had. It was after we had finished and we sitting drinking some wine and having a cigarette. Rufus did a little whine or two. I stroked him and he stopped whining. Then he got up or, rather, he tried to get up, his paws slipping on my floor, which is not really a slippy floor. But I know it is probably his arthritis playing up a bit. A change in the weather, perhaps?

And that’s when I thought that it wouldn’t be long now. The whimpering a sign of some pain. Not so much but just a little; the getting up made difficult by the stiff joints.

But I don’t want to voice my concerns. F won’t handle this so well, I think. No, it’s better not to say anything. But I wonder if he’ll even make it until Easter, when we all go away? Or if it will just be the three of us?

Maybe it will all be alright again in a day or two. Who knows?

Bloody people.

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It has to stop. No, really it does!

I don’t really get angry. I just feel disappointed. I should feel angry but, you know, there’s just too much effort in being angry. And, anyway, it doesn’t solve anything. However, I could be, shall we say, firmer. You could say ‘more of a bastard about it’. And that would be true ….. to some extent.

But, overall, I’m just disappointed – both with the people concerned and with the resulting situation for me.

I don’t know why I do it really. The ‘planning’ bit. Even as I’m doing it I think, ‘don’t do this ‘cos it won’t all work out like this at all’. Still, I do it.

In this case, I’m talking about my students – but, to be honest, it applies to most things. One of them, who has to complete this test before the end of this year or else he loses his degree that he worked so hard for. But he doesn’t work hard enough (in his own time). There are excuses, of course. They are reasonable excuses – he works full time, also runs a business (a nursery) with his wife, has a baby daughter and fights with his wife most evenings. Oh yes, and he’s just bought a new flat which needs work to be done. Not really a recipe for success when the English thing is difficult for him.

So, as he hasn’t worked hard enough, he wants to stop the lessons. This is fine by me. His Monday, hour-and-a-half lessons at 9 p.m. were a real killer for me. It meant not getting to sleep much before midnight, making me have a lack of sleep that is showing in my face as I rapidly approach old age. He says he wants to self-study. He won’t pass his exam ….. even if he does actually take it. But he has no intention of using his degree; it’s too difficult for him to get work in his field without working for a while as an intern (meaning no money – which with all his other commitments is impossible) and he’s unlikely to get an internship at his age (being a few years older than is normal). Anyway, his long-term plans means that he doesn’t really need a degree. He wants to open a tobacconist (he works for the one below my house). You don’t need to be an architect to do that.

And so, he cancelled a lesson a few weeks ago and said he didn’t want to do any more. But he had pre-paid. I said he had two lessons left. And so, he booked for last night and next Monday.

I sit in my kitchen. Everything is ready. Well, I say ‘ready’. I have no real lesson plan. I’m not sure what he wants from the last two lessons. I will play it by ear.

F is packing for Spain and trying to do the music (see post below). He knows the lesson is until 10.30 so he isn’t rushing. He ‘does beauty farm’, as he says. After he comes (which is always after the lesson), we will eat the remains of the Cottage Pie. It is too late, really, but the other option is to throw it away.

I had, previously, rushed round to his place to show him a ‘solution’ that didn’t really work and rushed back to be sitting in my kitchen, with a cup of tea, by nine.

It reaches two minutes past nine. I have a ‘sense’. It’s not a good sense. I decide to text my student. I attach his message which gave the dates and ask ‘Are you coming or have you forgotten?’. I already know he has forgotten or, if not forgotten, chosen not to come.

I wait for no answer and am rewarded.

Ten minutes later, I text again, this time putting a delivery receipt on the text. This one just asks ‘Are you there?’. He’s not. Or he’s ignoring me. Or his phone has been stolen. Or he’s arguing with his wife (again). Or he’s in hospital or dead or something. But his phone’s still working and there is a receipt to say the message was delivered.

I am a little pissed. At least have the decency to let me know you’re not coming? I had turned down a drink with A (who is away the rest of this week) because of my errant student.

I decide that I will charge him this anyway. Stuff him. Unless he has a really good excuse like he’s in hospital. Or his daughter is, or something. Then I couldn’t do it. There’ll be some excuse, for certain. Also I had told someone else they couldn’t have a lesson at that time. Goddamn them. Bloody people.

But this keeps happening. People cancel. At the last minute. Now I have to be upfront about this. I have to set rules. It will make me seem like I am a money-grabbing bastard. But so be it.

As I found when running a business before, rules only need to be brought in when people start taking the piss. And so it goes.

It’s bloody people that are the problem!