Thes – Old English for "this", neuter of thes, of West Germanic origin: Mediolanum – old name for Milan: Lif – Old English for "life", of Germanic origin; related to Dutch lijf, German Leib 'body'
That will be the name, apparently. His name, to be precise. It’s always been this since the idea was first floated. It could change, obviously, but I think that is unlikely.
Apparently, I don’t pronounce it correctly. It should be said short and I stretch it out. So I am told, by the women in Purchasing.
So, Piero. I know, in my heart, that we shall want him as soon as we see him. That’s why they are always (?) cute, isn’t it?
He is about 4 weeks old now. We won’t get him until he is at least 8 weeks old. It’s another month. I keep wondering about Rufus. And having three of them if Rufus is still going strong – or just still going, which is much more likely.
Although, right at the moment and for the last few days, Rufus is definitely much better. I can tell by little things. He now pulls on the lead sometimes whereas, normally, he is right by my side so that the collar doesn’t pull on his neck. I imagine, without all the hair, that his neck would be scrawny and saggy, like an old man’s – like mine, a bit, I suppose.
If he were a man, he would have a zimmer frame by now. Or, at least a walking stick. But he’s not so he can’t so he does the staggering bit if he stands still for a few moments, unable to keep still and upright, his body ‘falling’ to one side and he having to correct himself – well, mostly. Except occasionally when he falls to the floor with a crash. Like the other day when he was eating. I heard the sound and went round to find him sprawled on the floor – legs spread out. Poor thing.
But he’s definitely a lot better. It’s a little worrying – the idea of having three of them. But, also, I know, it will be a few weeks afterwards before he can go outside. But three. Hmmm.
Still, I want him too. It will be better for Dino and, maybe, Dino will leave Rufus alone more.
All the thinking about it is irrelevant, really. At the sight of him, my heart will melt. I know that much. It will all depend on F, I suppose. But we won’t have the discussion that we should, I am sure. About the training required – about the things that must and must not happen – about the help I shall need. No, that won’t happen.
But, he’s sensible, right? Right? For in this situation, I can lose my common sense.
Probably, pictures to follow after Saturday afternoon. And are you doing anything just as fun and exciting as me for the weekend?
His English is not perfect, I know. He doesn’t say “I miss you” or “I can’t wait to be back with you”. It’s what he means though. He doesn’t say “I love you” but uses other ways to say it.
It’s been 11 days. He misses me. He wants to come over and stay with me but he also has a lot to do. He has to do the washing and get it all dry before ‘the bitch’ comes in on Thursday. The bitch is his cleaner. It’s her nickname and he doesn’t really mean it. She will do the ironing on Thursday, if it is all dry.
He will be tired. Normally, in the past, he would not have come to my place. I like that he says he wants to come because I know that he means it and I am happy for that. But, now that Rufus is better, I may suggest that we go to him. We shall see.
In any event, I am, almost, excited. In just a few hours I will see him coming through the airport arrivals door ………..
For those of you who have been reading this blog over the last 2 years or so, you will know that, having thought I had found my soulmate, I found that I hadn’t, apparently. At the end of it I thought that, given my age and, having already done it all twice before, I wouldn’t even be able to find someone else to live with but then I changed my mind. I decided that I DID need to be with someone and that there had to be someone out there, somewhere, who was looking for me. I did the internet dating thing to save myself having to go to bars and clubs, seeing it, as I do, as an alternative to those social places.
I was determined. I don’t know that I ever thought I would find my soulmate or, even, if that was important. What was important was to find the ‘person for me’. I had some preconceived ideas about who that would be. The criteria narrowed after a short while. They couldn’t be too young nor too old. In the end I found someone and, to be honest, that someone was a surprise and (partially) unexpected. But I remain intrigued about how people find their soulmates and, even, if that really exists or if it is your soulmate but only for a period of time (that period being undetermined and indeterminable).
I remember my sister. She, as I told her more than once, always tried too hard. Her criteria, it seemed, was always non-existent. If they moved and were male it was enough. Now I look back on that as probably her trying to hard to be straight and conform, since she has a girlfriend now.
I was at a friend’s house on Sunday. She is setting up this internet dating lark. She is very clear. She doesn’t expect to find the perfect man on the internet – only to determine exactly what she DOES want. To be able to refine her criteria. But, I wonder, is she just saying that?
Anyway, I was interested to read this:
Relationship gurus expend enormous amounts of energy debating whether “opposites attract” or, conversely, whether “birds of a feather flock together” – largely, it seems, without stopping to reflect on whether relying on cheesy proverbs might be, more generally, a bad way to think about the complexities of human attraction. Should you look for a partner whose characteristics match yours, or complement yours? The conclusion of the Pair Project, a long-term study of married couples by the University of Texas, is, well, neither, really. “Compatibility”, whether you think of it as similarity or complementarity, just doesn’t seem to have much to do with a relationship’s failure or success, according to the project’s founder, Ted Huston: the happiness of a marriage just isn’t much correlated with how many likes, dislikes or related characteristics a couple does or doesn’t share. Compatibility does play one specific role in love, he argues: when couples start worrying about whether they’re compatible, it’s often the sign of a relationship in trouble. “We’re just not compatible” really means, “We’re not getting along.” “Compatibility” just means things are working out. It simply renames the mystery of love, rather than explaining it.
According to the US psychologist Robert Epstein, that’s because a successful relationship is almost entirely built from within. (He cites evidence from freely entered arranged marriages, arguing that they work out more frequently than the unarranged kind.) All that’s really required is two people committed to giving things a shot. Spending years looking for someone with compatible qualities may be – to evoke another cheesy proverb – a classic case of putting the cart before the horse.
For F, of course, his most ‘successful’ previous relationship was with a blue-eyed, English, Taurean. He cites this often as if to explain why he is with me. He is saying that it is ‘inevitable’ that we would be together. Conversely, of course, it could also be inevitable that we will split up!
I look for things that we like ‘together’ and find few. I worry that we don’t have enough in common, the most obvious being my love of all food whereas he is so picky. As I said to my friend (mentioned above), if F and I had met in some bar or club, I’m not sure that either of us would have given the other a second look. We met only because we had chatted for some time first.
Yes, the pictures I saw of him – he was sexy. But, mainly, he was funny – he had the ability to make me laugh and feel better. He still does and may it long continue.
As his friend R said, he was ‘ready’ when we met. So was I. We both wanted the same thing and so, together, we can get the same thing from each other.
And, I suppose, that’s why V and I split up. We no longer wanted the same things. F is not V in any way. V wasn’t M in any way. F and M are not similar either. Being compatible or not seems, as it says, to be unimportant as to whether it works or not. You (both) just have to WANT it more than anything and be prepared to step off the deep end and see how it goes.
And that, together with making those small sacrifices to make your partner happy seem to be the only requisites to have a happy and loving relationship – for however long that lasts.
For the above ‘piece of advice’ plus other tips (that can replace your New Year’s resolutions) go here and enjoy
Well, further to my post below, Rufus seems much better. Ain’t it always the way? But I know better than to assume that he will remain this way for long.
Last night we went to Giacomo – it was F’s birthday. I had raw scampi to start (and some of F’s raw tuna) and branzino (sea bass) with artichokes as a main. F had the mixed raw fish to start and then a cooked tuna steak (he loves tuna and has it whenever he can). A nice bottle of wine, some mirto and then home.
This being a restaurant that is, as F would say, very fashion, there are the great and the good of Milan and many of the rich tourists or others who are here for business. In this case, there was a model who, apparently, used to work for Helmut Lang. However, I didn’t even recognise the name. Apparently, Giacomo has opened a new restaurant near Piazza Duomo, with views over the city. We are to go there for my birthday, I am advised :-).
Yesterday, I went to see FfC and go out for lunch. She is getting ready to return to work next week after months off whilst she had a baby. The baby is about 7 months old now. He is big. She suggested he looks like his father and asked me what I thought. As I’ve said before, babies, to me, just look like babies and not like either of the parents or anyone else for that matter. So that’s what I said.
Then, later, after we had been out for lunch, she was sitting on one of the sofas opposite me and the baby waved at me. Apparently they’ve been trying to get him to wave for a while so she was delighted that he had, finally, done it. She was going to phone R, the father, as soon as I had gone, to tell him.
She told me, during lunch, that she had, really, given up on the idea that she would become a mother and that was when she found herself pregnant. Maybe there’s a thing about trying too hard. We also spoke about FfI. FfI went back to her home country for Christmas and New Year. She planned to spend Christmas with her family and then New Year with her daughter who is in another part of the country. Her common line is ‘I hate Milan’, quickly followed by ‘I want to go back to my country’. I always thought – well, go then!
I email her to wish her a happy New Year. She emails me back to tell me that she cried every day (and that everyone except her one brother, she had fights with), she spent New Year’s Eve in a motel room all alone and that she was cold and miserable and couldn’t wait to get back to Milan. She also promised that she would never say that she hated Milan again. We shall see. To be honest, I feel sorry for her. What a dreadful way to spend Christmas and New Year! But FfC and I were talking (and we have much the same views on most things) and agreed that it’s really important to be ‘happy’ with what you have and where you are.
Milan may not be the most beautiful city in the world, nor with the best climate but it has charm and a character of it’s own. Without coming to Milan there are so many experiences that I simply would not have experienced, both good and bad, things that I would not have enjoyed and have made my life richer and more fulfilled as a result. Of course, the main thing is that I would not have met F and, for that, I would never want to change the past because it is the past that has led me here and to this point.
We also spoke (FfC and I) about V. She was quite disappointed when he didn’t turn up one evening because he was shopping for a new outfit for Christmas, after she had prepared food and everything – and he didn’t even text or phone but relied on FfI to tell her. It made me so grateful that I am no longer responsible, in any way, for him. I explained to her that my thinking on the reasons why he had, effectively, cut me off from his life was that (and I learned this from FfI) he had been telling the new boyfriend that ‘the breakup had left him with so much debt’. She was as incredulous as I had been. But it is his way and if I were too close, there would be questions from other people which would lead me to tell the truth and the truth would not be what he wanted others to hear. Ah well. At least, now, I can understand the reason even if it’s a poor one. I remember telling him, when there was the previous boyfriend – ‘don’t lie about stuff’. For lying always, at some point, bites you in the ass further down the line. But, with him, he always seems to get away with it. He is, as FfC says – always being ‘fabulous’. Fabulousness is all about show and does not necessarily have any substance. And it’s so true of him. I just hope that the fabulousness doesn’t wear off any time.
New Year’s resolutions. Never believed in them myself and, so, I just don’t do them. To me, if you want to do something, then do it – don’t decide to make a list and then complete half of them or stop doing it before the end of January.
And, so, I have no resolutions. I have no things that I simply must do. I’m grateful for every day that I have and each one is the opportunity to do something new or different or just to live.
Today I have texted a few people to wish them a happy New Year and phoned one. For those of you who read this blog – then a very happy New Year to you.
Things that will/may happen in the New Year are as follows:
1. We shall go on holiday. F is already looking at places to go and he wants to book it now. It’s a thing I’ve never bothered about (booking in January) but if he wants to do it I really don’t mind. And the important thing is that a) he’s excited about it and b) it’s the future – together.
2. Rufus will depart this world. Bless him, he is just not well. He’s not in pain but so thin and ill so often now. But he is almost 16 years old! Amazing and I would never have believed he would get to this age.
3. We shall move in together. Actually, I really don’t know if that will happen at all. It’s really not a problem living as we do and I am very relaxed about it. I never thought it ‘wouldn’t matter’ but it really doesn’t matter.
4. I will get fat – if I don’t drink less beer and eat a little less food. Unfortunately, my age is against me on this and, so, if I don’t cut back the pounds will, not exactly pile on but, rather, slowly increase.
5. I will have to buy a new washing machine, iron and fridge. I’m not certain but I think all three are on their way out.
6. It will be a good year. Well, as I’m no fortune teller, I can’t really say that but, overall, every year has been a good year in one way or another even if I couldn’t see it at the time.
7. We shall get a new puppy. Well, obviously, that will be after 2 has happened.
8. I will find a new job; I will become very rich; I will become very famous; I will write a book. These are just pie-in-the-sky things but, who knows? Stranger things have happened. Or it may be none of these things but something else. I like the idea of the ‘unexpected’.
9. It will snow and make my investment in snow tyres worth it! Well, it better had do!
10. I will be very happy. And that’s a sure thing
If you make resolutions, then good and I hope they all work out. If you don’t then I hope it all works out for you anyway.
In the end, it wasn’t just the four of us. Christmas Eve, I was chatting to one of my students on Facebook chat and she asked me what I was doing so I told her. Obviously, I asked what she was doing and she said that she was on her own. So, more obviously, I invited her to join us for Christmas lunch. Well, it is the season of giving and goodwill to all men (and women) and all that sort of stuff, isn’t it? The thought of someone I know (even if only a student) on their own on Christmas day would have been unbearable.
There was plenty of food. In fact we didn’t do everything that we had planned. But we did have antipasto and cold meats, followed by the lasagne (which was fantastic) and then my roast veal (which was OK – but not as nice as it should be) and the Yorkshire puddings failed – I have to find out why – it doesn’t make sense – but everything else was good – including my mince pies.
And we had presents. F was really happy with my main present to him. After the camera thing (that he decided to buy himself), FfI suggested I buy him a printer to print pictures – and knowing he likes doing compilation CDs for everyone, I bought him a printer that does photos and CDs as well. He was really happy. And I bought him a jumper from Zara that he said he had looked at in Madrid and nearly bought. So, a great success. Luckily I had also bought the scarf made by Lola – so instead of F getting it, I gave it to S (the waif and stray student). She was overjoyed with it. So, thank you Lola – without that I would have had nothing to give her.
So, although it didn’t all go as expected, I think it was a success. After we took the dogs for a walk and S had left, we went to watch ‘Prancer’ (La rene – in Italian) – that I gave F last year because it is his favourite film for Christmas. But he fell asleep within a second – and so we stopped watching it. Then there was Ratatouille (in Italian) on the TV. We watched it for a little. F fell asleep again. So I tidied up the kitchen and took the dogs out and went to bed. I was asleep before 11. F was still asleep lying on the bed, fully clothed. He woke up and felt cold so got into bed with me and we both went to sleep.
During the day he had phoned S (his ex) and we chatted for a few moments. S asked what we were doing for New Year. I said we were just staying home. He laughed and said that F never wanted to do anything except stay at home. And it is true. But now I realise he has always been like this. But, for me, it is fine. In fact, it is good and exactly what I like to do. I suspect that this thing was one of the reasons that they broke up in the end. After all, that was more like V &; I – V wanting to go out more than me.
And, we have had more of cleaning.
“I’ll just clean a little bit the flat”, he says. I have never corrected his English on this. It’s kinda cute and I like it a lot. There has been much ‘cleaning a little bit the flat’ – although the bedroom remains a major thing to be ‘tidied up’. In fact, this morning he says ‘That has to go’ – to a bag full of envelopes. It’s OK. It means he is much more comfortable here.
Rufus has been bad again since yesterday. And he ‘staggers’ sometimes – falling forwards or sideways – unable to stand upright so well. Poor thing. However, it’s a good job we didn’t go to Vienna with him like this. I would have felt so guilty. And it’s much more comfortable for him to be in his own environment – the place that he knows. Bless him.
And now F has gone to work. He has to re-do the shop window. I need to do some shopping and I have a lesson tonight, unfortunately.
In the meantime, I give you the photo of the mince pies :
I can’t find the post where I first mentioned it but I’m sure I did.
I certainly told a lot of people.
And then, yesterday, finally, it happened. It starts off like a normal day except that it isn’t a normal day at all. Firstly, I am on holiday. Secondly, I have found a recipe for mince pies – which includes making your own mincemeat. I’ve never done it before and finding all the ingredients was, shall we say, a bit of a challenge. In the end I didn’t find everything but I did, eventually, find stem ginger which for me was the most important part. Mixed spice doesn’t have to be mixed spice (but can be a mixture of spices I can find) – suet can be replaced by butter, special sugar can be replaced by other sugar, etc. But stem ginger couldn’t really be replaced. I found some and so it was a green light.
So, I start the mincemeat.
I had promised to go visit FfC, picking up FfI (who is now living, not in Isola but in V’s flat) so I could pick up my cushions for the sofa. I was late. When I got there, as usual, she huffed and puffed about the fact that it was too late and she didn’t think she would go now. I’m like ‘whatever’. It’s the cutting off the nose to spite the face thing and it annoys me a lot. I don’t bite. I don’t say ‘Oh. please come’. I really don’t care. If she comes she comes and it will be nice and if she doesn’t then it will be nice too.
She decides to come. I think ‘Don’t try these games on me lady – I lived with V for over 20 years!’
She tells me that FfC has done lunch! I wasn’t expecting that. We go. FfC’s mother is there, over from Canada. FfC now has a baby. It is lovely (the time, not the baby). I have a nice time and I really love FfC. Her baby is a baby. Her Mum keeps trying to give it to me. I decline. Several times. She asks me who I think it looks like. I explain that I don’t do that. Babies look like babies and I can never see any parent in them. They all look, more or less, the same – like a baby. I’m not really a baby person.
I agree to take FfC to the butchers so she can get her turkey. F calls and suggests that I call by at his office to collect boxes, as I have the car. I then drop FfI off at a bank and make my way to his office.
He has shoe boxes. A lot of them. We fill up the space in the car that remains after the cushions had been put in (they are BIG). We drive home to my place. He helps me with carrying stuff up and decides to stay rather than go home. In itself, this is unusual. But I like it.
He starts suggesting that, perhaps he should do a bit of sorting out of the lounge. Or the kitchen. This thing that he has been threatening to do for a while now (and for which I can’t find the post). I am nervous. We would have done it last Sunday but An couldn’t get back to the UK. But I’m not really prepared for it now. However, if he wants to do it ………..
It seems he does. He starts. I am supposed to ‘throw things away’. Hmmmm. He is shocked by my collection of carrier bags. I collect them to line the rubbish bin. We find so many I will never need to have another bag for a year, probably!
Things get put into shoe boxes with the contents written on the outside. Boxes get stacked in cupboards. He is going to be here next time my cleaner is here, he says, to explain to him how to clean properly. He is like a mad man. Every surface has to be cleaned. It is quite scary..
The kitchen is slowly re-ordered. Everywhere is cleaned. It seems he is in his element. All the items on the top of the kitchen cupboards get put somewhere else (inside a cupboard). All the bottles and things on top of the fridge get put inside cupboards. It is hard work and, mostly, I am watching!
I would have stopped after about 1 hour. He is going to finish it because ‘I won’t sleep if anything is left to do’, he says.
At half past ten, I take the dogs out. At midnight I go to bed. At 2 a.m., or thereabouts, he comes to bed. The kitchen is the same and yet changed.
‘I will check it once a week’, he says. I laugh. ‘I am serious’, he says. ‘I know you are’, I reply, laughing still – laughing because I know he will.
This morning, it being Christmas Eve, I must go to the supermarket and get the veg. He tells me I must also get some things for the bathroom. He is going to ‘do’ the bathroom. Maybe later today.
Tomorrow, he will do the lounge as I am doing the cooking and as he is preparing the dining table. He will too. He says he enjoys it. He is, in fact, quite crazy.
But, I wonder? What if this is the start of us living together? Maybe he has this idea, now that we spend most of our time here, that he might as well make the house more as he would like it. And if I can keep it more or less the same (i.e. perfectly neat and tidy), he will be happier to stay here. And then, his house becomes more like ‘a room’ that is his?
And, so, gradually, he moves in without there being a definite move, if you see what I mean? No point at which we are ‘living together, officially’ just a point at which he doesn’t really go to his home much any more?
Maybe? We shall see. In the meantime, the kitchen is better and I do, quite like it.
But now I must get on and make the Lemon Meringue Pie (for a birthday party tonight) and finish off my mincemeat and make the mince pies. The mincemeat, after being left overnight does actually smell like mincemeat now, too! I am very happy about that.
We’re still talking about it but it seems the fish is off.
The decision was made by F going and ordering lasagne – a meat ragù lasagne. Also with a little more information that I learnt the other day. He can eat (even likes?) veal. So, following the information about the ordering of the lasagne and the revelation that all meat is NOT a no-go area, as I was shopping last night, I checked, and they do rolled veal – for roasting.
So, I suggested that, if he would like, I could do a sort of English Sunday Roast – but, instead of beef, use veal (since it is the same meat, after all). And, so, unless there is a change of heart, that is going to be our Christmas dinner. I am very happy about that. I am, after all, a meat eating (and loving) person. We will also have Yorkshire Pudding with it. It will be the first time I’ve ever done Yorkshire Pudding for Christmas Day
The discovery of veal being OK also opens up so many more possibilities.
Perhaps, he has just said it for my benefit. I don’t really know. It is a possibility. We shall see if he eats it.
p.s. Yes, I don’t understand why you would pull a face at the mention of goose – and, yet, be more than happy to eat chicken or, worse, veal! Makes absolutely no sense to me and I really do think it’s just stuck in his head. Bless him.
“We could have this?”, he says. This, being a fish pie.
To be honest, I know it doesn’t sound terribly exciting but I’ve never actually made a fish pie in my life. And I’ve been around the block a few times. In fact, I’ve never really cooked fish until I met F. And I find it a bit of a struggle. Born and brought up in the wilds of deepest, darkest Herefordshire, fish wasn’t something that was really ‘local’. When my parents (and I) moved to Gloucestershire, near the river Severn, we sometimes had salmon – provided by the next door neighbour as they were caught up in the water filtration used for the nearby nuclear power station – and, of course, the obligatory (we are British) fish and chips – which I always hated, by the way.
So, fish. Difficult. But with F not eating any meat (except mince, polpette (meat balls) and sausages) it poses a problem for cooking. Lamb chops (my favourite) are a definite no-no. And, here, we were talking about Christmas.
The plan had been to go to Vienna for Christmas. F’s friend had a friend who has offered us their flat for the four of us (us and the two dogs) but with Rufus’ unpredictability with illness (although for the last few days he has been very well), we are thinking not. Not this year anyway.
So, whereas I would choose goose for Christmas, as last year, it is not to be. F’s face, at the mention of it, screws up in disgust with an ‘oh, no!’. To be honest, I’m not sure why. He is a bit fussy as far as food is concerned which is a little galling but not enough to make me not love him – after all, we go out quite a lot and then I can have meat. And I eat meat at work every day. So all is not bad.
However, I thought it would be nice to propose having fish for Christmas lunch. I know that, to those of you in the UK, it will sound very strange but here, fish for Christmas lunch is normal. I know, I know, it doesn’t seem Christmassey to me either but it’s a compromise and I’m happy to make it.
To stat with he suggested that I should do meat and he would just have vegetables. But I really can’t be doing with that – I would feel mean eating meat and him just having veg.
He had suggested lasagna (we can buy it Christmas morning if we pre-order it) and it would be lovely. After some discussion, about what we would have, as we were eating the above mentioned fish pie, he suggested that I do this very dish. And he would do a fish lasagna!
Again, perhaps it’s just me but fish lasagna just doesn’t sound quite right. And, anyway, I was quite looking forward to having a nice meaty lasagna. As I explained to him, eating a course of meat and then a course of fish is really no problem for me. And I am doubly surprised by Italians not going for it – they do have vitello tonnato after all (thin slices of veal covered with a thick tuna based sauce – which, incidentally, I hate – having a fish course followed by meat (or vice versa) is one thing but to mix fish and meat together makes me feel sick.)
Ah well. It’s one of the prices I pay. And it’s not really a great price to pay. It’s not like we shall starve or anything.
On the plus side, he really liked my fish pie (as you may have gathered) so now that’s two fish recipes I can do and that he likes (or, at least, says he does). And I know that he knows that I am making a real effort to make him happy – which I do not because I want him to know but because I’m glad to make him happy in the same way that we have gone to all-meat restaurants because he knows I love meat. It’s just the normal give and take. As you do. Or, rather, as you should do.
The headache was so intense that I actually found some Nurofen and took two. It made it better ….. eventually.
I hate Mondays. The problem is not that it’s a Monday but that I have a lesson that starts at 9 p.m. for an hour and a half. I take the dogs out afterwards. But, instead of being able to go to sleep straight away, I always struggle – thoughts going round in my head, etc. It’s just like if you have been driving for a few hours – you need time to relax.
Of course, it’s made much worse if F is not here. Even if the flat is not so cold, I feel colder without him. I don’t have him to cuddle up to, to be comforted and safe.
And, then, last night all these things (including the blasted headache) were there.
I got to bed about 11.15. I switched on the telly for a bit. Then switched it off – I thought sleep was almost here. But, of course, I was wrong. Sleep was not here. It was somewhere else. It was missing in action. It had escaped like a wayward cat and was not knocking on the door – even if I was so very tired.
I switched the telly back on, went and got the cigarettes from the kitchen (F is not here and so I can smoke in the bedroom if I want – he says, defiantly!) and came back to bed. I surfed through the channels. They’ve just made virtually all the channels digital (at least in Milan) and so there is a veritable feast of channels now available. It doesn’t make the programmes better, of course – a bit like satellite – there are just so many of them, mostly churning out the same pap. It’s the same in the UK except that the type of programme is slightly different.
There is, basically, a choice of two types of programme. There’s the singing programme where, in the main, there are some rather run-of-the-mill singers singing rather run-of-the-mill songs – probably with some half-naked dancing girls thrown in for good measure.
Or there is the interview/discussion panel. Here it allows the Italians to indulge in their favourite pastime (after eating, that is), namely navel gazing.
Apart from the Sara/Sabrina story which continues and is currently gripping this country, the rest is not of much interest – made much worse by the fact that I don’t understand so much, even if my Italian has improved.
I flick through the channels. Rete 4 is showing films. I pause. This looks interesting. It’s in black and white. No, wait. There’s a splash of red. Just one item, coloured red. I recognise this film. The volume is set low – if I manage to fall asleep with it on that’s OK.
Wait! Surely I misheard. It sounded like an English word but not ‘OK’ or ‘relax’ which are used here. Strange, I thought, so listened harder. Yes, they were speaking English. Well, American. It’s not dubbed as all the other films are!
Surely I know this film. The blonde-haired woman being beaten by some older, long-haired lout. He goes to the bathroom. As he’s taking a pee, behind him there is the bath with a closed shower curtain round it.
He shouts out something like “I don’t hear you making those calls”. This is to the blonde woman. We are looking at the back of his head. In the mirror in front of him, we see the curtain go back. Ah, yes, I do know this film. One of my all-time favourites. It is Sin City. I can’t help but watch it, especially as it is in English.
Even as I’m watching I think how stupid this is. I could, at any time, go to the DVD collection and get out the original! I could do this tomorrow and get some sleep now. But, already, I am hooked.
The film finishes (it was less than half-way through) although I keep thinking of a scene that wasn’t there. Or maybe that was a different film. I wonder if they cut it. Maybe.
I don’t turn the telly off although I do turn over and try to sleep. At some point, I do wake up enough to turn it off – without even looking to see what was on.
I sleep the sleep of the dead. It crosses my mind that these bloody headaches are for one of two reasons. Either I am so tired (which I am at the moment) or I am grinding my teeth again. Or both. Or it’s that I spend too much time in front of the computer. Or all of those and something else, like stress or something. Or it’s just in my head, so to speak. So, in fact, not one of two reasons after all!
I hear the alarm go off on my phone. It’s a piece of music that has a name but, I think, was especially composed by someone famous for Blackberry. I am sure that I pick the phone up and put it to snooze for five minutes. It is, after all, 5.40.
After a short while, I think I hear the alarm go again. But I’m not sure, aware, as I am, that the sound could just be playing in my head because I know it so well. I try to ignore it. It is persistent. Ah, well, even if it is not actually going off, I should get up. I reach for the phone. It is going off. I look at the time on the phone. It is 6.23! Not only is it going off but has been doing so for almost three quarters of an hour!
And, come to think of it, maybe I just dreamed that I put it on snooze. I am late. I still have my coffee after taking the dogs out. Rufus being a bit slower today and, possibly, after two days of feeling fine, ill again. Ah well, poor thing.
I have a shower and get ready. On getting to work (only 15 minutes late) I find that I have forgotten to wear a T-shirt under my shirt. And it is colder today. And I must book the flights to Copenhagen. Grrrrr.
No, I hate Mondays. And, so, I leave you with this. I’ve always liked the song.
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