There are points in your life when you should fight. There are points when you should accept. It can be difficult to accept certain things. No one likes change, especially when change will mean stepping off the cliff, blindfolded – and you don’t even know if the wings will work or the parachute will open.
For the last few days, for some strange reason, I have had this hankering for a pizza. I will be having ‘pizza’ in our canteen at work today, but a pizza cooked in a proper oven is really what I’m talking about.
S & I agreed last night, you’ve got to try else what is the point?
So, we are both trying. It may get worse; it may get better; it may stay the same.
For me, it seems the dogs are a bit of a problem but not insurmountable. Come the end of January, I shall ask everyone I know in case they can help me. I don’t often ask for help as I am fiercely independent ever since I first left home at 18.
Actually, that was not the first time I left home. I left home several times. I had a small suitcase, brown and battered. I don’t think I ever had it from new but I have no idea where it came from unless it had been bought new when we went to Guernsey when I was about 5. I can imagine it was bought for that trip.
Anyway, the suitcase had been well used. I packed the suitcase with important items – a pair of trousers, a jumper, some biscuits and some orange squash. After all, I didn’t know how long I would be gone and I knew I would need sustenance and a change of clothes. I packed though the tears were rolling down my face; I packed with determination; I packed with courage – and fear, of course.
I left the house without saying goodbye, more like a thief than someone who lived there. I didn’t want any hysterics at my going – they would find out soon enough. I didn’t want any tears, except my own as I was the one who was hurting, not them.
We lived in the countryside, in a small village. I walked down the driveway and onto the road, turning right. The hill seemed very steep and very long. I don’t remember looking back as I climbed that hill but I probably did, fearing that someone would come after me – hoping that someone would come after me so that I could prove to them that I did not need them.
I reached the top of the hill and must have looked back before turning the corner.
Soon after I came to the crossroads – to the left was the road to the church, the right to the main road, straight on was unknown.
Fearful of the consequences of continuing what I was doing; angry at the world for treating me like this; determined that, one day, ‘it would all be different’, I turned round and went home. I was about 7. I was quite a stubborn barsteward even then!
Christmas is a time for reflection and for remembering things past. This one was no different. At various times over the period I remembered the Christmases we had in the past. The mountains of presents; shopping for the veg on Christmas Eve at “Wiggy’s” shop in Kington; having the open fire to sit around; and the people with whom we have shared our Christmases, including my sister (one time, I think).
However, it was also time to think of deeper things; things more hidden or, rather, not previously analysed.
I tried to get out of it but not so that it was obvious. My heart was pounding, my stomach muscles (what’s left of them) were flexed, almost painfully. I tried to relax. I forced myself to relax and it almost worked.
Being brought up in the UK, no-one said much about the choice of words you used. It was all perfectly understood.
It’s an age thing. I feel I ought to be able to say something profound with the experience I have. But there is nothing to say.
Ah well.
I’m just an ordinary, simple kind of bloke. I like food, beer and wine, the sun, relaxing, reading, watching a good film, having good times and conversations with friends, etc.
I don’t like football, ignorant and bigoted people, bad food, driving, smelly people, etc.
I don’t have hidden depths. Scratch the surface and there’s just more surface, nothing else.
Now, of course, I’m feeling hungry. At the moment, as I write this (it’s 2.15 p.m.), my mind flicks over between a nice panini (of course, I should correctly say panino since I am only thinking about one…..no, come to think of it, my mistake was putting the word ‘a’ in front of nice panini) to a plate of pasta. And then, A, bless her, has suggested we meet with her and another friend, B, for a Thai next week (and by that I mean, of course, dinner in a Thai restaurant – not some random person from the Thailand).
Of course, this is entirely all of my own doing – me feeling hungry, that is. I have noticed that, in the last few years a number of things are happening. None of them are really good but I put a brave face on them by saying something like ‘well, I am quite old now’ or ‘at my age why should I bother about that’.
I lie, not only to myself, but also to others, including V but V never reads the blog so I can mention it here.
So, I am not eating anything for lunch. Now, those of you who know me and, in particular, have worked with me, will know that I never really ‘did’ lunch. Lunch was for wimps. Actually, so was breakfast. The only time I ever did lunch was when I had to for business purposes and the only time I did both was when I was on holiday or stayed in a hotel for business purposes.
Not a new thing. I started this at the age of 14 (so more than a couple of years ago). You see, by that time I was hooked on the smoking thing. And, at 14, we moved to a new house and so, to a new school. The fantastic thing about this school was that, at the start of each week, we were given money to purchase tickets for lunch (we used to call it dinner money – strange that, since it was for lunch and not dinner).
But, of course, I soon learned that if I didn’t use the money for dinner I could go into the town and buy something that I really wanted – so that would be cigarettes, then!
And that continued for the rest of my life until …. we came to Italy and, more specifically, when I started this job. The problem was that I used to teach here. I used to do a class in the morning and another after lunch and they gave me free lunch and, since most of my classes seemed to revolve around food (important for both me and every Italian), the offer of a free lunch in the canteen here was really not something I could (or could be seen to) pass up. The other problem is that, on some level, it is still like I’m on holiday – but all the time.
And now I work here. And the canteen is good. It’s not a five-star restaurant, but G (the cook) does fabulous meals.
So, I always have the pasta course and the main course.
And there’s the rub. Because then I go home and we have a meal similar to those we had in the UK (in terms of the amount, not the quality).
Unsurprisingly, I have gained a little weight. Well, that’s true up to a certain point. Not only have I gained a little weight but it seems my body has decided to redistribute itself. Weight (fat or muscle, it’s difficult to remember what it was really) from my top half is going with gravity whilst weight from my bottom half is defying gravity.
They are meeting in the middle. Not really very good. This wasn’t supposed to happen until I was, say, about 70! And others can say that I don’t look my age, but when I look at myself and the redistribution that has occurred, I think only of my grandfather who is (was) always in his 70’s – in my mind. He had the same problem – but, then, he was 70+, for God’s sake!
So, now, I’ve gone from not having lunch (well, hardly ever) to having lunch every day to not having lunch every day. Providing that I don’t go anywhere near the canteen and cannot smell the food cooking, I am fine (more or less).
This week I have done really well. I had lunch on Wednesday. This was a determined effort by me since last week I ended up having lunch every day – and my stomach didn’t shrink. So, this week only Wednesday. To be honest, Monday was easy, Tuesday less so and Wednesday I gave in.
S came back from lunch and said that the lunch was OK (actually, Friday is not my favourite day, the choice is not so good) and I felt rather proud of myself that I had only had one lunch this week. And then that made me think of food and then I felt hungry. Oh yes, and I can’t get rid of the pictures of the very nice salami that is currently in the fridge and I even started thinking about having lunch tomorrow by having some of that salami!
People here have suggested that I only have one course in the canteen or have a salad. But I just can’t do it. G and P are so nice and although I have managed to get them to give me less, it is impossible for me to say no.
And this has been the most dreadful, rambling blog post that I think I have ever done. For which I apologise.
P.s. as I’m posting this, S has just offered me a small piece of chocolate, which, to be polite, I did not refuse ;-).
