When a town is not a town

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It was last weekend when I went. It has the word ‘town’ in its name so, I thought, it must actually be a town. Seems reasonable to me. Being an ‘outlet’ town, I was expecting something similar to Bicester Village, Vicolungo or Serravalle.

I don’t really like them, as you may remember but this was one of the first in this area and is in Switzerland and, travelling by road, to and from the UK, I have passed it many times.

In fact, it’s only just past Como, so immediately, one thinks of beauty with the backdrop of the Alps.

And, as it was so famous, I did want to see it. It’s less than an hour from Milan and easy to get to (Motorway all the way unless you don’t want to pay the annual motorway fee in Switzerland.

Apart from the fact that it rained all day; we weren’t high enough to see snow-capped mountains; and the place itself – it was wonderful.

So, why didn’t I like it? Well, it’s not a town. It’s called Fox Town but, really, it’s a shopping centre (or mall, to you Americans). And a very ugly one at that. Everything seems Italian (the language, the people) except the currency which is Swiss Francs. The prices are not so cheap for the fact that it’s stuff that’s already out of fashion – certainly no cheaper than Vicolungo or Serravalle, although on the plus side, the guy assistant in Iceberg was rather cute.

Overall, much more of a disappointment than I thought would be possible. And then, back in Milan and my umbrella was ‘borrowed’.

To be honest, if it’s a nice day, I would prefer one of the other outlet centres, should you be visiting here and insist on doing outlet shopping.

A change in the air?

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change_in_the_air?

I can’t tell you of a phrase that V has often used to describe how he finds talking to people so easy (and I don’t). I mean, I could tell you but, really, I won’t. Even now, I cannot betray him.

That’s what comes of 20 odd years together. I know far, far too much.

However, there seemed, what with the retreat and so-forth, to be a change in the air. For a moment, I was caught up in it and started to believe it. Of course, I am reluctant to move too far forward or too fast and I’m glad I didn’t for it is not true.

Well, it may be true to some extent, but nowhere near true enough for me.

He was saying last year that we were going to get married this year. I always kept quiet at this point, not wanting to burst his bubble in front of others. I keep quiet when he talks about the retreat. I’m not such a bastard but I do want to shout out that it’s all lies, lies, damned lies.

He was an actor (before I met him) and I think he must have been quite good.

Rude? Embarrassing? Both?

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There have been some great, well-respected leaders in the world.  Clinton, whatever the Americans thought of him and, in spite of his infamous non-sex episode, was well respected.  Bush, unfortunately, was seen as a bit of an ass.  I can’t speak for British leaders as I am British and, therefore, have a biased view, although, from what I can tell and from conversations I have had here, Margaret Thatcher was also well-respected (in spite of the damage she did to the country).

When we are in meetings, it is quite common for the meeting to be interrupted by a phone call to someone, whether it be personal or work, people here answer it as if, whatever they are doing, is completely unimportant and the phone call is a matter of life and death.

If you visit someone at their desk and a call comes to their desk phone, even in the middle of their conversation with you, the phone call will take precedence.

At first, it was frustrating but now, I guess I am used to it.  It is, therefore, no surprise to pick this up from the BBC site.

And, whereas it is no surprise, I cannot believe that an Italian, at the highest level can be so bloody rude.  It doesn’t matter what the call was about.  It would have been easy, as the car stopped, to say he would call back in five minutes and, once inside, out of the glare of the cameras, he could have continued the conversation.  The only good reason for continuing it and keeping Merkel waiting was if his wife was about to give birth or someone was dying.

And for me, if a British leader did that I would be embarrassed for Britons and my country as a whole.

And the whole incident comes almost straight after acting like a hooligan at a football match, shouting Obama’s name at a reception held by the Queen.

Hmm.  I thank goodness I am not Italian for I would certainly, after the phone call thing, be hanging my head in shame.  I don’t care who you are, you don’t keep a head of state waiting and, certainly, head of state or not, a lady.

Meeting up with Helena Christensen

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We get invited to some charity auction thing at Tommy Hilfiger’s. The shop is quite close to our house and we shall be meeting friends, so it will be nice.

We are late, of course. V has decided to wear his kilt. I no longer care if he wears a kilt with me around as I am no longer responsible and he can look as ridiculous as he wants. It’s impossible to tell him that he does not look good, especially when the Italian women just want to feel him up! But, I’m sorry, he just looks like a prat. His legs look shorter and stubby. It’s not a good look.

We arrive and wait for our friend with a second home on the lake (FfC). She arrives by taxi and we go in. Unfortunately, the apero part has, to all intents and purpose, finished and they are on to the charity auction. The room is filled with Italians who are there to be seen and would-be models walking around expecting something (probably attention). They spend most of their time looking around the room to see who is there that might be important. V tells me that ‘there is the guy from MTV’. This is lost on me since I rarely watch MTV and care less about someone who presents on MTV.

Luckily, there are waiters who are serving drinks. The trick is to grab a drink as they go past or, since these are free and this is Italy, beating your way through the throng to grab a glass.

The same for the bite-sized food that they are serving although by the time we are in they are on to deserts. One I had was two raspberries sandwiched with the tiniest amount of whipped cream. You get the idea.

FfC goes somewhere. V and I are alone for a moment. V says, excitedly, ‘There’s Helena Christensen’. I know the name. I knew she was going to be there.

‘Where?’ I ask.

She is standing with her back to us about 6 inches away. V is exasperated that I fail to recognise someone I am not interested in. However, she is dressed in an off-white (magnolia) dress that does look rather nice. She is not as tall as I would have thought. She’s older than I thought. I’m not really sure what I was expecting.

FfC arrives back and V excitedly tells her, having failed to make any real impression on me. FfC is suitably awed.

‘I want to have my photograph taken with her’, V exclaims!

She is standing next to a shortish guy who is, probably, someone very important. Maybe Tommy Hilfiger or someone? I don’t know. They are talking and I’m thinking that V, acting like a little super fan, is just going to be a pain in the arse for her.

‘I don’t have a phone that takes photos, can you use yours?’ he asks me.

So, he asks Helena for a photo and, graciously, she says yes. I am holding drinks so FfC tries to take the photo but cannot seem to do it so I handed her the glasses and I took it. I’m afraid it is not a good photo – we were outside, the lighting was not good and it’s only a phone camera – but it will have to do.

V_and_some_woman_called_Helena_Christensen
V and some woman, who is famous or something.

[Update:  After downloading it, it really is a dreadful photo but the only one I have, so there!]

After that, of course, the floodgates opened and everyone wanted their photo taken with her.

Anyway, she seemed really sweet and waved to us after several more photos had been taken and she was escaping with the little man! Oh, yes, and she also thanked us for coming. Hey, Helena, it was free booze and, had we got there earlier, free food as well! And, of course, we met you! What more could one ask?

After we went for an Indian with FfC and, once again, V explained about the ‘retreat’ weekend and more of that later in another post, probably.

Sorry for the lack of posts

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So many things have been happening over the last few days. There have been so many half-written posts that never saw the light of day, having fizzled out, become pointless or just saying nothing. And then, at work and at home, I have been busy.

I am so tired. I feel that I am holding myself together, just. Major events that have been happening include:
An evening with Helena Christensen,
Further disclosures following the weekend of ‘retreat’,
A change to the air of things,
The quotes for the moving.

I felt these should have and, indeed, deserve, posts on their own so as not to make this one too long or unwieldy.

The Final Question – an update.

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I thought some of my regular readers would like to know – I caved in.

We had spent some days emailing each other and, in the end, actually sat down to talk. At the end of that, though I had got no real assurances except V’s word, I agreed to do it.

So, this morning it was (almost) done. There is a chance it won’t work out but at least I have tried. The only thing that may stop it is the fact that I do not have a Carta d’Identita. And, I don’t want one.

Last night I learnt that V’s weekend away was, so he says, a type of retreat. However, he was strangely quiet even though we were out to dinner at a friend’s house. Overall, there was an air of sadness. But he’s a good actor and I’m not entirely convinced.

When we were on our own, at the table, for a moment, he told me that he loved me.

I have two possible reactions to this: a) to take him in my arms and say that everything will be alright or b) to be a little snipey after all that he has put me through in the last four months.

Of course, there would also be the ‘be nice but be firm and stick to your resolve’ reaction, which would have been the correct one and for which one would earn £200 after passing GO!

I chose reaction b). Well, to be honest, I didn’t choose it, it just came out of my mouth and, even as I was saying it I SO wanted to go for reaction a).

The problem is that I then beat myself up about it and think that I am driving the wedge even deeper. Or not? I don’t know. The problem is that, to realise after all this time that, really, he should have not done the things that he did, is not, exactly, late but, well, you can’t expect things to just snap back into place because of the words ‘I love you’, can you?

It certainly is a long and winding road.

Borrowing – a loose term here, in Italy

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OK, so, to be honest, even we, in the UK, will say something like – “Can I borrow some sugar?” or “Could I borrow some paper to write on, please?” – when we really will not be borrowing it at all but taking it, using it and, probably, not replacing it.

However, here, there is an element of “borrowing” that one could say was stealing.

Continue reading →

Love and Affection.

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I don’t know why. As you have seen from the last couple of posts, as I am writing, some song or other comes into my head and I have to have it in the post. To be honest, given the current situation with You Tube in the UK, I’m not sure that my UK readers can listen/watch them.

However, I realised that my very favourite song of all time had never been posted by me and I thought it was time to right that wrong.

It also was (is) for me, the perfect song for ‘us’.

So, here it is. Enjoy.