Tag Archives: Drink

In the half-light, I could see the smirk

Posted on by
2

In_the_half_light_I_could_see_the_smirk

He tried, on the internet, to find a film in original language, bless him, even though I tried to explain that they did not have original language films on a Sunday any more.  They used to do it at the Odeon, near the Duomo but stopped it a year or so ago.  I guess not enough people went.

But he tried anyway and for that I was happy.  He had said he wanted to see the new film Julie & Julia, with Meryl Streep.  I told him that we could go and watch it anyway, even if it was in Italian.  In fact, I insisted we did as I knew how much he wanted it.  My Italian is improving, at least my understanding of it, mainly because I have less choice now and, although we speak almost exclusively English when we’re together, when we meet his friends or, in general, Italian is spoken much more often in my hearing.

We had had a rather lazy Sunday morning, including a quick trip downstairs to the nice café for breakfast followed by a quick trip round the supermarket for some essential items (including wine).  The clocks had gone back and so, effectively we had the extra hour – although, after so many days/nights like this, I was completely shattered and needed about 3 extra hours!

He was going to lunch with friends and then to see a flat that was, apparently, rather small but had a terrace and was on the top floor and, much more importantly for him, was 3 minutes from work.  This is not so important right now but the first three months of the year it is, as he works from about 8 a.m. until 10 p.m. every day.

I went home to spend some time with the dogs.  They are being a little neglected right this moment and so, when I’m home we go for longer walks and I play with them more.  Still, this week I have to spend some nights at home, which fact I still have to tell him.

We agreed that we would meet at the cinema. Before that I googled the film and got the synopsis and watched clips so that I would have a good idea of what the film was about.  It is more difficult to understand if I don’t really know the subject.  It looked a funny film.  I Skyped FfI who explained that Julia Childs was very famous in America – a sort of Fanny Craddock, I suppose.

So, when we met, I already had a good idea and could remember some of the clips.  We had quite good seats.  I did follow quite a lot of the film.  There were a couple of bits where I really didn’t quite get it but not so many and there was only one bit that I had to check with him afterwards – although I had got the gist of it after all.

Good film.  One of those feel-good films and one that I now want to see in English, to get all the nuances.  But I do think that he liked the fact that I went with him.  I hope so.  It’s all part of the strengthening of the relationship.  He also wants to see it in English.  At the end of all this, he’s speaking in English to me partly because he wants to improve his pronunciation and general command of English (although he is already very, very good).

On that subject (but see the bit about the bar, below), we went out on Saturday night to an Indian restaurant (The Dhaba, Via Castaldi 22) which has to be the best Indian restaurant I have been to in Milan.  Superb food and excellent service although, for those of you from the UK, a little expensive.

Whilst we were chatting over dinner I found that he doesn’t eat red meat – or, at least, not unless it’s minced up (ragù (Bolognese sauce to my English readers), sausages, etc.).  This would be a bit of a problem with Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding then?  Hmmm.  That’s a bit like really loving ice-cream and being told that you may never be able to have it again!  But he did tell me some funny stories of when he was a kid.  He still makes me laugh and I really like that.

Afterwards we went to a bar nearby (the corner of Castaldi and Via Settala) where a friend of a friend was having some special evening.  AfL, the friend, was there with her friend M.  AfL is married to an English guy and has lived in London for 5 years.  F asks me, when they have gone to the bar for another drink, if his pronunciation of English is better than AfL.  I tell him yes, of course.  It does help that it is the truth but he is immensely pleased with this.  He tries so hard to talk with a more English accent, bless.

I leave them to go and do the dogs.  I text him when I am almost back home and he tells me he is coming to pick me up in a taxi (as we had agreed).  In the taxi, on the way back to his place, he tells me that AfL (who will be staying with him next weekend) thought I was really nice.  This is good.  One should always be the best of friends with the friends and colleagues of one’s partner – certainly at the beginning.  You have all seen ‘Hitch’ haven’t you?  And the being friends with the friends is pretty crucial.  Luckily, all the ones I have met so far have been lovely so it’s not so difficult.  Anyway, I can be the perfect English gentleman with all the charm switched on, when I want.

Sunday night, after the film (we went to the 5.30 showing), we went to Al Basilico Fresco restaurant (Viale Abruzzi 21) where we had pizzas.  Nice place.  The pizzas are thin (like Pizza OK) but not so large.  Very nice and not so expensive.  I like that after the meal they give you a sorbet free of charge.  It is nicer than having a limoncello or mirto or something.

During the meal we were talking about films and cartoon films (which we both like).  His favourite was Ice Age, which I’ve never seen.  When we got home, he put the film on the DVD in the bedroom and we watched it.  It was good.  After the film was over, apparently, I went to sleep immediately!  And to be honest, I am very, very tired.  I’m almost looking forward to him going away for a night this week!  I need sleep.  Also, next weekend, it is very unlikely that we shall be together as, not only does he have AfL staying with him but also a dog, for whom he is dog sitting!  A dog who sleeps on the bed!

And, this morning, at about 6.15, just before the alarm went off, he again said that I should remember that he is like porcelain in the morning, but now I’m thinking that this may not be quite so true as, in the half-light, I could see the smirk on his face.

Trying to explain something.

Posted on by
Reply

We have texted and phoned during the day.  He agrees to meet for an aperitivo, at Bar Basso on Viale Abruzzi, one of the most famous bars in Milan.

I wonder, as I do, if, when I see him I will feel the same as before.  I know that, if we were in bed, I would feel the same but without that, how will I feel?  Will it be enough just meeting for a drink?

I decide that I will invite him to meet the dogs, since he has said he loves them.  I know that will mean bed and sex too…..I also know that he will know that……I am certain that he will decline because it’s a ‘school night’ and he knows it will not mean a good night’s sleep.  And I know that he won’t do that.

I am there early, of course.  I wait outside the bar.  I see him coming, he waves. I grin.  We kiss, on the cheeks, as one does in Europe, gay or not.  It’s a strange thing that I’ve never quite got used to.  I mean to say, not with men, anyway, not in public, not in the street!

He is wearing jeans, a striped jacket, done up, not with a button but with a big safety pin, a scarf, a top with a T-shirt underneath.  I feel the same.  I want to hold him; close; closer still.  I can’t stop grinning.

We sit down and order beers (yes, he drinks beer too).  He chats to the waiter.  I follow the conversation, more or less.  He is known here.  He is comfortable and in his environment.  That’s OK.

We talk.  I can’t tell you exactly what about.  We talk about the weekend coming (he is going to a concert in another European country to see a diva that he loves); his ex, currently over here and looking for a job; what he expects from a relationship (which matches what I expect); ‘almost’ relationships (which he explains to try and show me why he is wary and cautious); his job and what he’s been doing today; about how everything must be in it’s place (which is, absolutely, not me at all) and how he understands I will not be like that because I am English; spontaneity (something that he put on his profile) and how he is not but how, in his mind he is – and that came about because I did, indeed, invite him to see the dogs and he knew what it meant as I knew that he would; and he knew that I knew and that was why I was asking and he explained that he needed to take a shower – but with his shower gel and his stuff before he came over and that, maybe, we could do it next week, when he is back from his trip; and I said that he didn’t need to explain; and he said that he did and he wanted to and he kept explaining everything as if he wanted me to really understand and I tried to explain that I did understand and what I failed to say was that, I thought I understood him perfectly and, anyway, we weren’t a couple and that he shouldn’t feel the need to explain and he just kept on talking and talking and I couldn’t take my eyes off him (I had put my contact lens in again for this meet) and I couldn’t stop smiling.

And he touched my knee and I told him not to…..and then added that it was because it turned me on…and so he took his hand away and I had to explain that I was just joking…and I was joking about him not touching my knee but I so wanted him to do it again and again ……and he said he knew I was joking and he did touch it again, more than once.

And, yes, he was a little effeminate but not much more than V and, in fact, in some ways, more like V than was healthy…….than is healthy…and I’m not looking for V but, I guess, I’m attracted to the V’s of this world….

And he wanted to tell me about his ex and how, three months into the relationship, his ex had picked him up from work and they had gone to a bar and his ex had spent all the time looking at some other attractive guy and how he told him that, next time, if his ex came to pick him up and take him out, he should be with him and not looking for something else….and I agreed as I stared at him as he was talking, watching his face, his mouth, his eyes, not being able to take in everything but wanting to, so much……………and I know I would not do what his ex did because I never did it with V and I would never do it with any man that I loved…………if I do love him…………and I don’t know, yet……

But, and I really can’t explain this in words that make sense or in any words at all, but I was so very happy to be with him, even if it was cold, even if he wasn’t going to come back to my house, even if there would not even be kissing tonight.

Suffice it to say, I just can’t get enough of him.  In any form.  Even sitting opposite me over a table at a bar.

We have another beer.  I don’t want him to go.  I think he doesn’t really want to go but he is sensible.  This is what I meant before, when I said that I need someone to compliment me….it is good for me to have someone sensible….something, actually, that V did not provide.

Oh, and I know he’s not perfect – no one is, but, you know, he has something and I like it a lot.  And I will miss him like hell when he is away from tomorrow……even if I’ve only seen him twice…..it’s been a long twice (but just not long enough for me).

Spit Roasting and Irrationality

Posted on by
2

The spit roasts are everywhere, turning, slowly, occasionally to ensure even cooking – but the smell is all wrong.  The sight of so much flesh being burnt makes me take my glasses off so that I can’t see all this so well.  It’s ugly and I fail to understand it all.

The day was full of irrationality – irrational fears, irrational thoughts but not, thank God, irrational actions.  It was a promise made some time ago and that was a long time ago in terms of the feelings. Oh, true, I didn’t want to say ‘yes’ but did as I thought when the day came, it wouldn’t really happen but the day came and a promise is a promise.

Irrational fear 1.  I had got the name of a place from N.  I looked it up. I have no printer so could not print the directions but it looked straight forward enough.  In the UK I would have had no problems.  The signs would be easy to follow, the road numbers always marked, the names of the places logical and in order.  Here, that is not so.  And so I must memorise the way and what I very much hope are the correct things to look for.

I always thought that, as I got older, these things would go away.  It seems not.

So, I am nervous which, in itself, is so stupid but I force myself to do these things in the hope that, at some point, the irrational fear will go away.

As soon as we set off, I wish I were at home, in safety.

Irrational thoughts.  I eagerly await communication and get none.  Even making excuses for it to a dear friend, even when I know the excuse isn’t valid.  Don’t get me wrong here – I know there will be no communication but there’s always hope and, in my irrationality, I also know that if there was communication, it would change everything.  Well, maybe.  So I wait, with and without patience, it doesn’t matter which.

I am not looking forward to reaching our destination because at the destination there is Irrational fear 2.  It waits for me like a huge monster with gaping jaws, ready to swallow me.

I always thought that, as I got older, these things would go away.  It seems not.

I toy with the idea of getting lost, on purpose so that the destination would never be reached.  But that’s stupid too as anywhere in the vicinity of the destination would be good enough, so I might as well get there and get this bloody day over with – it has to be done, after all, a promise is a promise.

The journey is taking longer than I thought.  We set off too late but in my fears, I wasn’t as fast as I should be.

I nearly miss a sign and wonder at how, in all the time I have been here, I rarely miss a sign even if it is small and insignificant and, in this case, above normal ‘seeing’ height.

We arrive at the destination.  We got straight there with no mistakes, of course.  I wonder if it would be plausible to say we should leave immediately to go home, thereby alleviating Irrational fear 2 completely.  We go for lunch.  I can’t eat.  I mean, I eat but I’m just not so hungry, playing with my food, eating slowly.  I think the beer may help, although 3 or 4 would be better.

Irrational fear 2.  Lunch is over.  I have coffee, just to make it last longer.  But I know this is not going away

Irrational thoughts.  Every song that plays seems to have a personal message for me; every book or word I read seems to be saying something.  I know it’s not true – I’m just looking for stuff.  But, even if I tell myself that, it doesn’t make it better; even if other people tell me that, I can’t quite believe it isn’t true.

The heat is intense although, with a breeze, not like Milan.  I say that we should have been here yesterday when Milan was 40° and decidedly stuffy.

Irrational fear 2.  N had told me there were some free areas but these were a long way out and, anyway, it would be worth paying for it.  We pass a free place immediately.  We go to the next ‘not-free’ place.  The nice lady explains it will be €15 each plus extra for the things we want.  She then adds that, in any event, there is no place.

“I wouldn’t have paid that price anyway”, I was told.  That’s the English for you – but then, I am English and of the same opinion.  Plus, since I don’t really see the point of this at all, the whole thing doesn’t make sense to me.  To be honest, nothing makes sense to me these days.

We go back to the free place.  The spit roasting is marching on apace.

Everything glistens in the sun.  I don’t glisten.  I sweat.  I inherited this from my maternal Grandfather.  It all pools down into my belly button – an insect could have a swim.  I must look, within moments, like I have just come out of the shower, my hair wet, sweat running down my back, my neck, my forehead – getting in my eyes and making me curse.

Stones stick into my back, my arms, my legs.  I look around (with glasses) and wonder why these people do this.  The sight of bare flesh not an attractive sight – people always (well, normally) look better clothed.  Even me, now, with my flesh that has gone a little bit wrinkly and saggy.  But, at least I’m not as bad as some.  I take my glasses off anyway and everyone looks decidedly better

Irrational thoughts.  I lie back and close my eyes to the glare, feeling so uncomfortable because of the sweat, the stones, the heat.  I wonder if he has the same thoughts as me and, knowing that he doesn’t, hope for it anyway, playing out all the scenarios in my head (except, as I told someone the other day, the one where the answer is ‘no’ since that is over in two minutes and has only a future that I would settle for (and be happy to settle for) but is not the one I desire).

After some time I slip off my shorts.  After some more time I go into the water.  It is dirty and horrible but cooling, even though I know that within minutes of being out I will be the same as before.

After some time, we dress and go back to the same café for a drink.  We only have the ride home now.  I am tired, not having slept well with the Irrational everythings.

We arrive back, sleep for a bit, then go for a beer at the Belgian café, then a Chinese at my favourite place.  I am happy now since the day is over and can joke about going there again tomorrow, knowing that we won’t.

Irrational thoughts continue though.  The waiting continues.

The other day, someone said that, previously, I had been completely irrational at times.  It made me smile since, I am sure, I was completely irrational all the time – but it was a kind thing to say that all the same.

I always thought that, as I got older, these things would go away.  It seems not.

A Night Out with Best Mate

Posted on by
2

A_Night_Out_with_Best_Mate

Best Mate and I went out the other night. Well, it was the same thing but we actually stayed at home. In our own homes. And used Skype with videocam. I drank wine and she drank beer and we chatted and laughed and so on as you do when you’re out for a night on the town. Except we were in our respective bedrooms.

It ended up being for about 3 and a half hours. We had to have a break at one point so she could stock up on beer.

It was necessary. It was good. We talked about everything that’s going on right now, both in her life and mine. I was explaining why I am crazy and what the symptoms and causes were. She understood. She chided me where it was necessary and comforted me also.

It was a good night out with Best Mate…….

……who is looking and feeling much better and that makes me very happy. She will be over again in a few weeks and I am really looking forward to that.

Dog sitting, Flat sitting and watching Wimbledon

Posted on by
2

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!).

Drinking and Aperos

Posted on by
2

Drinking_and_Apros

Well, as I have told you in previous posts, as from tomorrow morning I shall be travelling to, or in, Paris. Gay Paris as it is called or as it was called before ‘gay’ took on a whole new meaning (and since then, amongst younger people another meaning entirely).

So, I probably won’t be blogging – but I shall be twittering (see side and down a bit), so do pop by if you want to know how things are going. I won’t be able to respond to any comments on the blog or on twitter – just so as you know.

I must just tell you about the last few nights.

Tuesday night, I met up with friends from the UK and we went to a few bars for a few drinks and some apero food. It was most pleasant. And, because of where they originally planned to ‘land’ in Milan, it was Corso Como and the surrounding area.

What I was struck with was that the prices, even in Corso Como, were not so steep. €7 per drink and some very nice food in the bar we stopped at in Corso Como. Then some good beer in the Birreria nearby and then another bar (near a new – I think – Princi) in Corso Garibaldi. Then I walked them back to their car. But a really enjoyable evening all round.

Last night I was out with another friend just for a couple of drinks and Apero food. This time, a couple of tram stops from my home at an Irish bar, Matricola Pub on Viale Romagna, 43 – Milano (MI). I had a couple of (pints) Bulldog Ale a great, not-too-bitter bitter and the food was very acceptable, especially their pizza bits.

The only downside to it all was that the staff were, at best, not happy whilst the girl waitress was downright miserable. The ‘landlady’ looked like the typical sort of English or Irish landlady, fake-blonde hair, swept up in a sort of loose bun, short, rather rotund and she could have been one of those overly-cheerful types – but she wasn’t. Instead she only smiled on a couple of occasions whilst we were there!

Still, the beer was good and being so easy to get to from my house, I can see myself popping up there more often! I shall have to see if they’re open on a Sunday lunchtime – after all, it would be a pleasant walk with the dogs and a good stopping place for lunch!

Not really missing the BBC; It must be summer; Looking forward to the weekend (almost)!

Posted on by
Reply

Not_really_missing_the_BBC_It_must_be_summer_Looking_forward_to_the_weekend_almost

Further to my post, I’m pleased to say that weaning off the BBC is a little easier than I would have thought. I always did enjoy the Guardian and now that I’ve had the chance to explore the website a little more, I am decidedly liking it.

I also like being able to comment on pieces, unlike the BBC which just had the “Have Your Say” which, quite frankly, was not really very good.

Just like in the UK, people here complain about the weather – often. At the moment we are getting above 30 degrees in the afternoon and they are complaining that it is too hot and too humid. Certainly, as we are in a city, the humidity is worse (but nowhere near as bad as in the UK) but really, it’s not so bad.

Well, at least, there’s one person in Milan who is thoroughly enjoying this hot weather!

And, I have to ‘fess up. I don’t like travelling for work any more (or, really, travelling at all); I don’t like Paris; I don’t like working weekends and I don’t like shows (even less if I am working the stand). But….. I am almost looking forward to this weekend when I shall be in Paris.

Don’t know why, really. Possibly because I will be able to have some really good food? Or a nice bottle of wine? Or get some of the cheese (Boursault – and I shall have to get some for V who is looking after the boys) that I really like? Or, the chance that I will be able to do some reading during the boring bits (which is likely to be most of it, I think).

On the plus side, I go to the airport directly from home (about 10 minutes by taxi) and from the airport, directly to the hotel. So I only have to put up with the ‘show’ for two days. Then Monday is an all-day job driving back. There will have to be frequent stops for cigarettes, for certain, as I shall be with a colleague.

But, still I’m not quite sure why I am almost looking forward to it. Very strange.

Is it Brunch or Lunch or just Italy?

Posted on by
4

Is_it_Brunch_or_Lunch_or_just_Italy

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.

Friends come round for dinner

Posted on by
4

Friends_come_round_for_dinner

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.

Being back in Hay

Posted on by
Reply

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……….