Is it Brunch or Lunch or just Italy?

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Brunch. Invented by the Americans or, more likely, people too lazy to get up early enough on a Sunday to have a proper breakfast but wanted a breakfast anyway, rather than a lunch. And so, the two merged together and became Brunch.

Great idea. And the times were flexible. An early Brunch would be about 11 or 11.30; a late one about 2 or 3 p.m.

Brunch was quite simply a late breakfast – to include bacon, eggs, sausage, beans and toast and marmalade.

And the Italians like the idea of Brunch a lot only, being in Italy, they’ve made it Italian.

What does that mean? Well, certain establishments do the bacon and eggs thing (with other things) like, for example Indiana Post on the Navigli. Other, more Italian places, have dispensed with that and just do the Italian Brunch.

And what makes an Italian Brunch? Well, basically anything you may have for lunch even, maybe, including pasta – but usually without the main meat course.

And on Sunday I was invited to M’s place. My first time there.

So, being Italian the thing is the number of dishes. Rather than having a few main dishes, they like variety. There was meat and there was cheese. Then there was a kind of chicken curry risotto and two different quiche-like pies. And there was this Sicilian/Sardinian bread (can’t remember which place it’s from). There was tea and coffee (American rather than espresso) and juice and water.

Then we had sbrisolona (not one of my favourites, I have to be honest) and la greca (both cakes from Mantova where one of the guests, Marco, is from). La greca was a kind of lemon/almond cake and very nice. I’ve certainly never had it in Mantova before so will be on the lookout for it next time I’m there. There were also normal (small) pastries. There was also fresh fruit (cherries, nectarines, strawberries and melon).

Luckily, I brought a couple of good bottles of Rosé and someone else brought some Moscato for the sweets.

Then there was espressos all round.

It was a lovely afternoon (we left about 7 p.m. having got there for 1.30) but, to my mind, Brunch it was not. Italian (it only missed being under a pergola overlooking the Tuscan hills), it most certainly was and, given the right setting (as I described), it was almost exactly what you would expect from an Italian summer lunch.

>I’m just going to have to do a proper Brunch for them all, aren’t I? Although, they would probably think it strange not to have more than a couple of hundred different dishes. Ah well, this would have to be another in my quest to get Italians to understand that not all British food is tasteless rubbish.

Is this goodbye to the BBC?

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The BBC have changed the way their website works. It changed during the day on Thursday or Friday of last week. They changed it for me!

OK, to be truthful, they changed it for the likes of me – people who are abroad and access the BBC website.

The problem would seem to be something to do with advertising. See, us pesky ex-pats have this annoying habit of choosing the UK rather than the International version. This means they had their work cut out having to have two versions of the UK site – one without ads (for the people living in the UK) and one for us foreign-living folks which included slightly-annoying, irrelevant advertisements.

They did give that as a reason but also that, apparently, we found it confusing!!!!

I don’t think so. In fact, I know that this was not so. For me it was clear. I wanted UK news. If there was anything that happened in the world that was really important, it would be on the front page anyway.

The current news appeared on the ticker at the top of the page. I looked at the main page, then England and then Wales. Finally I would look at the Europe section.

Very rarely would I look at Africa, the Americas or Asia.

I don’t really trust the BBC for International news and so, now, having been given no option but to have the International version I have decided to leave.

Shame, really. But now I would rather have Google News set to the UK and the Guardian website to pick up on the other stuff.

I know it will take me a while to wean myself from the BBC but the International version that I now have to have is so annoying that I don’t think it will take long.

So, this may be goodbye to the BBC after all!

Friends come round for dinner

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Now, here’s a thing. When I first met V, he could cook Spaghetti Bolognese and that was all. Over the years he became quite proficient at cooking and we entertained quite a lot. I would always do the sweet whilst he would do most of the other things.

However, now that V is no longer there, I am back to doing my own thing.

Whilst in the UK, I bought quite a few pieces of Stilton and Cheddar. Also, from Londis in Hay-on-Wye, the best smoked bacon I have ever tasted. They cut it and vacuum pack it on the premises so it’s not like supermarket bacon which shrivels as the water content vaporises but it stays almost the same size and is really very tasty.

So, as I am determined to demonstrate to Italians that the food from the UK is not like they think, I had promised A that I would do dinner, mainly so that he could try the Stilton (with Port, of course).

Friday night was a night out with colleagues at an agriturismo called Ai Boschi in a small village called Origgio, not far from Milan. The nice thing about agriturismos is that they grow a lot of their food on the premises. I suppose they are an extension to the British ‘Farm Shop’. Agriturismos will have a restaurant and, quite often, rooms. Unfortunately, they are not all great. This one was, well, mediocre.

It meant that I did not get home until about 2 a.m. I had already said to A that dinner would be Saturday or Sunday depending on how things went (cleaning the house, etc.). As it was, I actually got up about 11.30 which was very late for me. And put me all behind.

However, I made the supreme effort to clean the house and, finally, at about 7 p.m. went shopping. I managed to make it in time to get the Port from the little off-licence near Corso Buenos Aires so called A to say we were on for the dinner.

To start, I had a baked pasta dish, given to me by G, our cook at work. Then I made a warm bacon and chicken salad – the bacon from Londis and the salad including salad cream which I had also picked up in the UK. Finally, cheese, British cheese biscuits, apples and port.

A made some big thing about me being able to cook and it made me think that V did most of it after all. A didn’t know I could cook whereas, in reality, it was me who taught V how to cook.

The meal was a great success. F really loved the bacon and the Stilton, which made me very happy. My first dinner in the flat!

Sunday I went for brunch at A&F’s. M, A’s friend was there too. As he pointed out, it was more like a wedding breakfast! Many courses and it lasted for hours.

And, the weather over the weekend was great so a good weekend all round.

A Security Issue

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How well can we rely on the security staff at Europe’s airports to do their jobs? Can they really protect us from a terrorist who is determined to blow up a plane? Are they, or the machinery they operate, up to the job?

My experiences show otherwise. The number of times I have been checked through British Airports and then European ones, each having a different set of rules and each finding different things to concern themselves with, make me wonder what this security thing is all about.

Take my latest trip.

From Malpensa through Brussels to Birmingham. Fairly straightforward, you might think. However, add in the fact that, in order to smoke, I go through security more than once at most airports. I get to learn what they want and this makes it quicker (for them and me) – however, something is most definitely wrong.

I am taking coffee in my hand luggage. This is finely ground coffee. It’s special Italian coffee and is for Best Mate.

First there is Malpensa. In the tray I put my bag. In another tray I put my coat and my mobile phone. My coat contains my cigarettes and a lighter. I keep all my coins and my other lighter. Stupidly, I have worn my boots which have a large chunk of metal round the heel. The security guard wants these on the conveyor belt which is, kind of, fair enough.

I slip through the gate with no beep. I collect all my things and on we go to the aircraft.

We arrive in Belgium – Brussels to be exact. I leave the airport (as if I am going to Brussels) so that I may go outside to have a cigarette.

Of course, I have to go back through security. Here they want all shoes off – metal or no.

I put my bag in a tray. I put my coat (with mobile , cigarettes and lighter) in another tray. But wait! Here they also want loose change. I take the Euro coins from one pocket and the English coins from another and add them to the coat tray.

I step through. No beep.

However, here, they decide that my bag requires checking. Nothing has been added or taken away since Malpensa (except the Milan-Brussels boarding card).

They go through the bag. They are interested in the tobacco and the coffee but, of course, everything has to come out. Nothing is found that is bad (I am not a terrorist).

I pack up and walk on.

After coffee and a sandwich, I really need another cigarette. Once again I leave the airport to stand outside the arrivals and have my couple of cigarettes.

I go back through security. This is the same security gate that I went through before. Exactly the same gate. There were a few different staff.

I placed my bag in one tray; my coat (with phone, cigarettes, lighter, Euro coins and British coins) in another and my boots in a third.

Then he asked if I had anything else in my pockets. I said my wallet (credit cards and cash) and he wanted them too.

So, there I was, going through the same gate as I had done an hour before. Personally, the only differences between last time and this were:

Minus: Credit Card Wallet

Plus: One glass of beer (inside me, of course); One chicken, bacon and lettuce sandwich (again inside me); A couple of cigarettes worth of extra tar/nicotine/whatever; Dust or anything that may have been floating in the air and is too small to see.

It beeped.

So then I had to be searched as did my bag.

The guy actually said that he had seen me go through before.

My conclusion to this was that either:

  1. The machine beeps every fifth or tenth person through, whatever.
  2. Someone in the team had a remote control switch that made it beep (and that is for another post).

Either way, it simply WAS NOT POSSIBLE for the machine to detect beer, chicken, bacon, lettuce, tar or nicotine in my body. And I honestly assure you there was nothing else that was additional on my person.

Speaking to someone today who knows someone in the Civil Aviation Authority in the country they come from (not Italy or the UK) he said that his friend had advised that, in fact, these security checks were a waste of time, money and energy but that ‘it makes the passengers feel safer’.

Well, not me it doesn’t. It makes me feel angry as I now know that the security gate in Brussels (the one on the left as you go through to the UK flights) doesn’t work properly. And, if it doesn’t work properly, is it the only one? I suspect not.

And then there was the UK on the way back. Going through Birmingham security:

Female Security Person: Do you have a belt, sir?
Me: No.
FSP: Can you take your sandals off please sir?
Me: Why – that guy has just gone through with sandals?
FSP: Exactly sir, and it set the alarm off.

I went through sans sandals.

Whilst waiting for my stuff to come through, the next five people were allowed through with their sandals on!

I’m sorry but you are just being random. And random doesn’t make me feel safe. Random means lucky not secure. Random means you are there to annoy me rather than make me feel good. All this security rubbish has to stop.

So, Brussels security does not make me feel safe and Birmingham security are too random for me to feel safe.

At least with Italian security you know where you stand – I.e. they are fairly relaxed about it – but, weirdly, it makes me feel safer as, instead of concentrating on rubbish, they probably have time to truly observe the people going through and can spot someone who might be acting in a suspect manner.

Alan Bennett and other things

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I’ve only seen a couple of his plays on television, well, at least, some of his monologues. But D came over to see me and after lunch we went down to the Festival to see what was on.

After seeing Chris Patten, we went to see Alan Bennett.

He was very funny, reading some excerpts from his diary (which, I guess, is his latest publication). It’s a thing that real writers have, that I, as a blog writer, don’t. The ability to see the mudane and ordinary and, somehow make them interesting or, even, humourous. I wish…..

The weather remains warm and sunny. The new pair of sandals I bought in Goldworthy’s on Friday – to replace my favourite pair that I bought from there about 6 years ago and, eventually, this year became too difficult to wear, the insoles having become almost completely detached from the soles, the stitching being so undone in places as to mean I had to be careful putting them on in case the thread became tied up with my toes and now they could be safely called ‘Dino’s Sandals’ since I know how much he likes my old shoes – I am now wearing as I write this.

My feet feel a little cold but, when I get out in the sun, I hope they will feel OK. I know that by about 4 p.m. I should change and go back to shoes and socks – this is not Milan, after all – but at least I should try, I feel.

Looking out from Best Mate’s bedroom (The Smoking Room) window, I watched the booksellers laying out their stalls in the Butter Market over the lst couple of days. This morning was the turn of the Craft Fair stallholders. I wonder who buys all this stuff? And why?

I’ve been getting a newspaper every day since I got here. I like to be able to feel the paper as I read – it makes a change from the Internet – but I have decided that I really can’t be bothered to buy a Sunday paper this morning. I mean they are so large and, for me, so largely unread it is not only a waste of money but also paper.

And now, as I write this, I am doing coffee for Best Mate and I – and I hear the moka telling me it’s time to go……

Being back in Hay

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It’s been three years since I was last at the Hay Fetival. It’s nice to be back and it certainly helps that the weather is good. I’ve been seeing a lot of people that I know and it’s been good to chat with them over a coffee/pimms/beer/whatever.

Everyone seems genuinely pleased to see me.

Everyone seems to know about V & I splitting so there is the usual start to the conversation proper, where they are unsure as to what to say about it, but once I explain that we’re still friends and that, although I have custody of the boys, V is looking after them whilst I am here, they are much more relaxed about it.

I’ve been to one event today and will, probably, try to go to another later this afternoon, if I can drag Best Mate down there. I’ve hardly had anything to drink – just been talking, really.

Still, if Best Mate comes down, I feel a couple of beers coming on……….

What future parliament do you want?

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So, the Telegraph continues to hound the politicians who, whilst ‘sticking to the rules’, may not have been quite so saintly in terms of what they have claimed by way of expenses.

There are a few things here that I feel are worthy of comment.

  1. When the salaries were introduce for MPs, they were very high (compared to the average wage). Now it is not so. Therefore, like any of us, where we get the chance to be a little relaxed as to what we can claim by way of an expense account, they milked it for everything they could
    Now, what would we (you, in the UK, really) prefer? That only the people who can afford it, put themselves up to be MPs? Surely that limits democracy.

    Sure, they should have checks on the expenses that they put forward and I am not, for one moment suggesting that the MPs that have ‘made a mistake’ are not brought to book but I do feel we have to be careful as to the fall-out from this

  2. It was, indeed, a very stupid thing to have fought so hard to keep their expenses out of the public eye, for that only made people more suspicious. The seeds of doubt meant that, when eventually released, the expenses were going to be scrutinised carefully.
  3. They (the MPs) cannot expect that they will rule us (for that is, almost certainly, what they think) and demand that we are perfect if they, themselves, cannot live by the same rules. They are, after all, our representatives and make laws and rules on our behalf. They should be wary of making rules and laws to which they cannot stick.
  4. Who, in their right minds, ever thought it was the right way, to be the maker the rules of expense claims themselves. It had to, inevitably, lead to this!

To be honest they deserve this. However, as I say above, the consequences may not be exactly what we want. We should be careful not to hound them all to the point that the future MPs will either be only those that can comfortably afford it or those that are able to circumnavigate the rules. Either type do not lead to a healthy democratic parliament.

Worse still, we could end up with people like Berlusconi as PM. Surely you don’t want that, do you?

I am now a twit; Hot, Hot, Hot

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I have succumbed. Now let’s see how it works. It seems to be easy enough and, if it works as easily as it seems then I can see why it has become the thing of the moment.

On the side you will now see my Tweets. It might be useful whilst I am away, if I am unable to blog much.

Yesterday, in the late afternoon, whilst I was taking a break from sweating profusely (aka cleaning the house), I noticed that my Weather Pixie said it was 35°C. And that is at Linate airport, a few miles out of town from me. So it would have been a couple of degrees hotter on the Perfect Street.

To be honest I just love it although, unfortunately, Rufus is suffering a bit. Still, it won’t last for long.

And this morning, at work, when I went outside for a cigarette, I could only stand a few moments in the sun before having to move into the shade. For me, that is great.

And still no zanzare! I can hardly believe it, although the people who live in the Hinterland (suburbs) are starting to suffer them so I guess it’s only a matter of days now.

Update Apr 2015: I no longer have my tweets showing.

Things we never did

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We were, after all, very different people. That’s what made us good together. We offered different things to each other and to other people.

But, yesterday, I was reminded of the things we never (or rarely) did together. Of course, these were things that I liked to do but, for one reason or another, I usually did on my own. I suspect V has a similar list (and I can think of one thing already).

I suppose the positive side to this is that, as I usually did them on my own, nothing has changed. But, before, I always had the hope that “this time would be different” and that he would be there. Now I don’t have that and I find it quite sad. Not in a depressed way just in a “what a shame” way.

When is a question not a question? When it’s asked by an Italian!

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Sometimes, I just love Italians and the way they think. It’s like living on a different planet.

Having been to Mantova’s Festivaletteratura a number of times I have found that, given the opportunity to speak in public, they really don’t know when to stop or, worse, get to the point.

This is particularly true when they ask questions.

The night before last, I was honoured to be invited to my good friend Stef’s graduation, for he has worked very hard over the last two years and got his MBA. As usual, when he is pleased with himself (as he has every right to be), he just can’t stop grinning.

Of course, before the actual handout of the certificates, there had to be some speech by some guy and then he was asked questions from the panel of lecturers. The last question though, took about 3 minutes to ask and then, at the end, the question failed to materialise! They are a strange people, these Italians.

There was another guy who, I think, was actually doing the handing out – he actually started his speech by saying it would be brevissimo (very short). Of course, he was Italian so that was his own special joke and he continued to talk for over 15 minutes!

Anyway, aside from that it was a very nice evening with drinks and apero food afterwards. N & I managed to get quite a few prossecco’s down us and I met Stef’s parents and younger brother.

There was only one thing, and this is one of those little things that still smart after all this time – if V & I had been together and there, after the event, it would have been nice to go for a quick pizza. But we’re not together and even though I really fancied it, I didn’t go on my own. I did resist calling him which, I thought, was good, as it would have felt far too needy – at least from my point of view.