I forgot to tell you.
I was wrong about the dog walking thing. He does it if he is not having to get up early. This morning he was doing pilates and so he was getting up early (early being after 7 – which is a lie-in for me!) and so I had to get up at 5.45 a.m.
Still, he does take them out in the morning, some of the time.
Tomorrow, I shall be on holiday. Maybe we shall take them out together? Maybe we shall have breakfast together in some bar? That would be nice.
I’m afriad both comments and pictures have been lost. Will try to find pictures and republish them soon.
Sunday was, of course, Easter Day. It is customary here, in Italy, to eat lamb. I am more than happy about that – lamb being my favourite meat. F doesn’t really eat meat but absolutely hates lamb. He says he doesn’t even like the smell of it.
We (mainly he) decided to go to eat at lunchtime on Sunday rather than in the evening. We went to Osteria Dell’Angolo (see link on the side). It is a restaurant I found in Pallanza and one that I love. The food is not like a really first class restaurant in Milan but it’s not far off. They did a special menu for Easter Sunday Lunch.
The day was warm and sunny. We ate outside in their covered area, surrounded by vegetation which, from the outside, makes it almost hidden. Certainly compared to the brashness of all the other bars looking over the lake, it seems hidden. And once you’re inside, it seems as though you have stepped into a different world. We booked on Friday evening. Since they weren’t sure about the weather, we got the last table. If the weather were to be good, we could, of course, eat outside.
The weather was great and so we settled at the round table in the corner, more or less, on our own.
The menu looked good:
We decided that, as there was a choice of two things for antipasto and primo, we would take one of each and share.
Both the antipasti were superb. The courgette mouse with tomato sauce (not Heinz, I may add) is a staple from them and I’ve had it before. It’s very delicate. The thinly sliced lake fish (whatever that may be) was even subtler but divine. We had half each.
Then came the primi.
First the ravioli filled with asparagus cream, simply done in butter with sage. Is your mouth watering already? It should be. Mine is as I write about it!
Delicate, I would say.
After half of that, we swapped plates and I had one of the rolled pancakes filled with smoked scamorza. To be honest, I usually dislike scamorza (a type of smoked cheese) but this was just perfect. I’m glad I had the primi this way round though as the smoked cheese was much stronger than the delicate ravioli.
As you can see, the pancakes were rather crispy. Mmmmmmm.
But then came the bit that I was waiting for. The Lamb!
This was my plate. I say that because we had about 4 pieces of lamb each but, as F doesn’t eat it, I got it all
I was very, very happy about that – although quite full afterwards.
For sweet, there was a piece of colomba with vanilla cream (which is actually custard although F refuses to believe it!) and a glass of spumante.
If I’m honest, I didn’t really feel that full although later, I didn’t really want any dinner.
It was lovely. I took the photos and that’s when it came up about the blog. I had to explain why I needed the photos. After being surprised I had one (although I have mentioned it before), he asked what I wrote about. I said everything. And then tried to explain that it was stuff in my head. He asked if it included him and I said that it did but that I didn’t use pictures of him nor his name.
I wonder if he’ll try to find it now?
Anyway, should you be on Lago Maggiore and near Pallanza, I recommend Osteria Dell’Angelo. It really is lovely. The service is good and the food is excellent.
Buon appetito!
Checklists 3, 4, etc. didn’t get done.
Checklist 3 would have been that the dogs went in for a wash and blow dry. Checklist 4 would have been that the flat was clean. Checklist 5 would have been that the car was packed and 6 would have been that the dogs were clean and smelling beautiful.
Non of these posts got made because of Checklist 4. F was here. And I couldn’t really be sitting at the computer whilst he was trying to super-clean the flat, now, could I?
Oh and there should have been other checklists too. Like 1A – Colomba ordered (and subsequently got). 2A – Eggs bought.
There were to be 6 adults, 1 baby and 2 dogs. I did think it was going to be a bit of a squeeze, even if the flat is big. However, sadly, B couldn’t come. And, so neither did her friend. And, I guess, that was why our mutual friend (with husband and baby) didn’t come either.
We did miss B an awful lot but it was nice all the same. F said, several times, that although he missed B, it is really good with it being just us. That made me very happy. And we talked about his house by the sea and how we should spend more time there and how we could get a place on the Lake (to rent), maybe, if it were cheap enough. Which is almost like getting a place together. And we talked about the dogs. And his dream about Dino dying and how he couldn’t stand it and that was why he never had a dog.
F bought another Colomba and we gave one Colomba and one egg to the Aunt that lives downstairs for her to share with the Aunt that lives upstairs. They are, after all so nice and I will never forgive myself (nor V) for having to wake them up at 1 or 2 o’clock in the morning to get V’s briefcase which he had forgotten.
The Colomba and egg were a little way of saying thank you.
And so, the weekend was great and the weather was, overall, very, very good and the dogs got lots of walks and we spent a lovely time together.
And we talked a bit about the blog. So that was good, wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it?
Unfortunately, any comments have been lost.
Car clean – check.
After all, we know how obsessive F can be. For me it was fine. For him it would have been terrible and even if he hadn’t complained, I would know.
Well, it didn’t really last long. Three days, in fact. Still, it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?
Isn’t it? Tell me ‘yes’, please?
Well sort of.
It was an uneventful yet eventful weekend. I mean to say, for most people almost uneventful. For me, quite major things were done.
In particular, I am talking about sewing.
Yes, this post may not be the most exciting ever. Please look away now if you are afraid it might be boring. If you do read it, you can’t then say I didn’t warn you. And it is looooong!
I am, as you may know (or have guessed), a gay man. Actually, an old, gay man. But I’m not really your typical ‘gay’. I am, as N would say, quite a straight, gay man. An old, straight, gay man.
I don’t sew. Well, I do but only when I have to and we’re talking simple things here. Buttons and stuff. Buttons are hard. But not as hard as real sewing. But, like ironing and cleaning, they take me a long time. And, just like ironing and cleaning, if I can, I put it off.
So, all the shirts that I had that lost a button or ripped or needed some sort of repair had been, over the last (OMG! I just realised over the last 18 months or two years!!) ahem, period of time, had been hung in a special part of the wardrobe.
But, I was ‘running out’ of workshirts and having to use the ones that F had bought for me. So, on Saturday morning I said to him that I was going to have to go out and buy some. And then, I thought, of course, I’ve probably got a couple that just need buttons so I should do them first and then I would know how many I really needed.
So, Saturday morning, after F left to go to his place and ‘tidy up a bit’, I thought OK, I’ll do it or, at least, look to see how many I could ‘reclaim’.
I really didn’t realise how much stuff I had in that wardrobe. It was a shock. I started looking at the shirts. Putting the ones which had ripped (usually on the sleeve or under the arm) in one pile as these were, probably, irreclaimable (at least with my level of expertise at sewing) and the ones that missed just a button (or two or three), in another.
There were 7 shirts that were reclaimable. It was a big surprise but welcome, nonetheless.
I started. It was cold in my kitchen. I found that threading the needle, normally a process that takes about 15 minutes for me, seemed to be easier than usual. This was a good sign. I found buttons in my little ‘button store’. And, where I couldn’t find the right ones, I found them attached to the shirts, at the bottom. Or I found one that was very similar.
I progressed well, completing the first one in about half an hour. That’s how slow I am. One down and 6 more to go. After the second one, I was finding it difficult. My fingers, hardly as nimble as they were, seemed to be ‘not working’. It was far too cold. I put on some gas rings on the cooker. It would soon warm up the flat or, at least, the kitchen.
The washing machine was on. I think I was doing towels. Or jeans. Something which meant a full spin at top speed.
I did another shirt. (Exciting, isn’t it?)
I decided to have a break from sewing. I took the three shirts that I had done to hang them in the wardrobe (they were already ironed). On the way back (not that it’s a truly long distance but it’s still true since between the bedroom and the kitchen I go through every other room in the flat – apart, that is, from the bathroom – however, the bathroom is on the way back to the kitchen), I stopped off in the bathroom.
I’m standing there, having a pee (I know you may not want to know this but it is material evidence for the next bit) and I hear a sudden crash from the kitchen. The washing machine is in full spin.
There’s not a lot I can really do, standing there as I am. It’s just not possible to turn off the tap, so to speak. (See, I told you it was material to the story). I finish and walk into the kitchen.
The trays which are on top of the microwave, which is on top of the washing machine were the things that caused the ‘crash’. They have fallen onto the cooker. With them, obviously, are the things that are on the trays. Not much, normally, but F, in one of his ‘tidy up’ moods last week, had moved all the stuff that was with my computer on the kitchen table, onto the trays.
This included some paperwork, some CDs, some DVDs, some pens and some other associated ‘junk’.
You may remember (it was on a few paragraphs back) that I mentioned turning on the gas rings to heat up the kitchen a bit? Well they are gas and, therefore, flames and, sort of, flames tend to do things to pieces of paperwork, plastic CD holders, plastic trays, etc.
To pieces of paper, even bank notes, they tend to send them up in flames. To CD and DVD boxes, the tend to melt them before setting them on fire.
The kitchen was full of flames. Well, the cooker was full of flames and not all from the burners.
I don’t know what happens sometimes in times of crisis. Usually, I react quite well. Sometimes, though, my brain doesn’t seem to work. For a moment or two I blew on the flames, trying to put them out. It almost worked but for one small but very important fact. I couldn’t blow the burners out, of course, and so blowing the flame on a piece of paper out had the effect of it going out for a split second before reigniting itself from the burner.
Hmmm.
At the same time as blowing, I start to move things (well, move isn’t quite the right word – more like grab and chuck) from the cooker hob to the sink which, luckily, was full of water for washing up, the washing up being in the water and not having been done by now because I am on that long, horrible job of sewing.
I do remember thinking that this really wasn’t the best day for this (but, then, when would be?). Not only am I sewing but it is also too cold for me. And I’ve had a bad week at work.
And my tooth hurts.
Although this may seem like a long time for me to ‘do the right thing’, in reality, of course, it was seconds. Seconds before I realised that, of course, before trying to extinguish the flames I should, in all probability, turn off the hob rings.
I do. Then I am blowing and throwing stuff at the sink at the same time.
The CD/DVD cases have started sticking to the black covers over the gas rings. And sticking to each other. In that plastic burned way. They also go into the sink along with the washing up.
I’m thinking that a wet CD/DVD is invariably better than a totally warped one.
I start to clean up the cooker. I fish things out of the water. Some bits of paper have fared better than others. Some now have no writing on. It seems pointless to keep them without anything on them, their meaning lost to the water. I hang others in various places to dry.
I start separating CD cases. The CDs themselves, look OK. I will have to try them. Possibly when they are no longer wet.
The plastic box full of blank DVDs is difficult to open since bits of the plastic seems to have become welded together. I prise the lid open. The DVDs themselves, seem OK. We shall see. Again, perhaps better to check when they are dry.
I make a cup of tea. There is irrational fear in turning on one of the gas rings to boil the water. I mean – REALLY irrational. There is nothing on the microwave any more. It all went onto the rings, into flames or was melted, then the water, then the drainer for drying out or thrown away for being of no use any more.
I have tea.
I re-start my sewing.
I finish the shirts. There are a couple of pairs of jeans that also need repair. They are my favourite jeans. They need repair because I am not sticking to my wine diet very well. And, also because the jeans were always quite ‘tight’ – even before I had need of any wine diet! One of them has come apart where the buttons were. It was either that or the buttons. The sewing gave first. I sew that up. Not well but, I hope, quite ‘strongly’. The other pair were not so lucky. The second button down – since they are not really buttons but those stud buttons you get on jeans – sheared in two. I have a stud from some other pair of jeans. I fix that in and hammer it together. I hope it holds. But I guess there will be another real button put there if it comes off. I guess there’ll be a button there soon, then!
Also, maybe as a result of the need for a wine diet, some shirts have ripped at the sleeve – underneath the armpit. They cannot be repaired. But a couple of them are good shirts and I don’t want to chuck them. I decide that I could just cut the sleeves off. They would be summer shirts. I try. the result doesn’t look so bad. Maybe they will be fine? I will show F later, maybe?
It has taken me all bloody day to do the sewing. The jumpers have not been done. They will have to wait. I’m quite pleased with myself at having done all this. F and I have chatted over Facebook when I was doing the shirt buttons. I told him I hate doing it, having forgotten how he told me that for S’s first show, various family and friends were up all night doing the sewing. He says he will do it later. For one moment I think of saying ‘yes’ but then decide not to. After all, I should be able to do all this myself. Maybe next time?
We went out for a meal. F was ill. The next day he stayed in bed until about eleven o’clock. Asleep. Then he got up and went home and went to bed and slept.
Yesterday, as he was sleeping, I took the dogs out for a long walk to the park. Have I mentioned that Rufus seems to have really perked up in the last week or so? Well, he’s still quite perky. I’m very happy about it even if I was writing him off only before Christmas.
Then, last night, I went to the supermarket. I love that, now, the Esselunga in Viale Piave is not only open on Sunday but also open after 6! Actually, I think it stays open until about 9 p.m. Italy is moving into the 20th Century. Just a little behind others. In fact, apart from about 2 days in the year, it is open every day and at reasonable times.
I had a hankering for parsley sauce. And roast potatoes. And leeks. I got everything, including some cod (because F likes that). Of course, the cod was salted cod and I didn’t soak it for long enough. The rest was perfect. I must try it again – with a more soaked cod.
And F feels a bit better now and has gone to work.
But he didn’t take the dogs for a walk on Thursday and Friday of last week (because he had very long days and was going to do Pilates), nor Sunday because he was ill, nor today (nor tomorrow, nor Wednesday nor Thursday, I suspect) because he was going to Pilates again. So it only lasted last week. And only for three days. Oh well. I’m sure it’s the thought that counts.
&
And some lost comments:
………phew. I hung in ’til the end. phew – and that’s because I love you you old straight-gay man you!!
Love Gail
peace…..
Well done, Gail! Loads of love back
Italy!
Sometimes, to be perfectly honest, it can be a real pain in the neck.
I was only chatting with R, last night, how, although everyone in Italy had mobile telephones the moment they were first introduced and a minimum of two when Britons were still umming and ahing about having their first, when it comes to the internet, they are a tad slow. So, whereas Facebook was a big hit in Britain, say, five years ago, it only really got a toe-hold in Italy in the last couple of years.
And web development is, to be frank, fairly crap here. It is almost as if they don’t really get the power of it. My colleague, S, for example, doesn’t like to book anything or buy anything over the net. So, using websites in Italy is quite hit and miss.
I needed to book tickets to see The Last Supper. If you haven’t been in the last 10 years or so, you really, really MUST. They have cleaned it up and it is, quite honestly, breathtaking. Any pictures you see of it really don’t do it justice.
But you should try to get tickets before you come. These days the viewing is strictly controlled. The number of people allowed in at one time is limited to about 20. You are only supposed to be in there for about 15 minutes.
It used to be quite difficult to get tickets anyway but now, with all the restrictions, it is definitely harder. You can book about 2/3 months in advance only. Even so, tickets are not that easy to get, especially if you are restricted to certain days.
So today, the tickets for July and August came on sale. And I learnt some interesting things that, should you be wishing to book, might help:
1. Getting through on the phone is almost impossible.
2. The website which shows available days, is updated ……… A LOT (so refresh the page as often as you can).
3. Pre-register with the booking site as, during the time you are trying to register, the tickets you thought were available will have been sold.
4. Do try the call centre again if you can’t find what you want on the site.
I had rung last month. The kind lady (there is an English section) told me that I couldn’t book for July, yet. Also, she told me not to worry as they always have tickets available in the call centre that are not shown on the site. I don’t rest easy with that sort of information. When people say ‘don’t worry’ in Italy, it’s usually the time to worry.
Anyway, this morning was the ‘time’ to get July tickets. I need them because D&S are coming over for their first anniversary. So it’s important that I get some for them. I suggested to F that, perhaps, I should also purchase a guided tour. He said, ‘No, I’ll do it’. ‘Really?’, I queried. But, apparently, yes. Well I guess he might know something about it since he did Art and stuff at college.
I got on the site. Until about 8.45 a.m. July and August were not even available as months to look at. Then July was there – but no days were available. Grrrr.
I try phoning the call centre. The line is engaged. I try again. The line is engaged. And again. Engaged. Engaged. Engaged. Engaged.
I get through. I press ‘2’ for English. They tell me, in Italian, that I have to be put through to an operator. I wait. They play a message apologising for the delay. I wait. They play another message apologising for the delay. I wait some more. They play a message that apologises for the delay but adds that the operators are all busy and so it is taking too long to wait. They cut me off.
THE BASTARDS! Having already spent money on the call, I want to wait more. Instead, I must phone again. The line is engaged. I try again. The line is engaged. Engaged, engaged, fucking ENGAGED! Bastards, bastards, BASTARDS!
I am now repeating the calls on both my mobile and landline. I get through! Hurrah!
The message about waiting for an operator comes on. I wait. I hear the ‘sorry for the delay’ message. I wait. I hear the same message again. I wait. I hear the same message plus the bit about ‘we’ve decided that rather than permit you to hold the line, we shall cut you off with no thought for you whatsoever and make you redial 6 million times until we get you get through to here, giving you false and unreasonable hope that you will actually get to speak to someone – but, at least, then, someone else can get through and they can have the false hope that they will get through. Anyway, it’s our joke because although this is called a ‘call centre’, in fact it is only one person sitting by a telephone’.
Bastards.
I go back to the website. I refresh. Well, you never know?
I didn’t know. This time, every day is available until the 13th July! WTF?
Ah, yes, of course, someone is just entering them by hand, right now! They are entering the available dates by hand because, well, this is Italy, and the thought of setting it up in a file beforehand so that the flick of a program makes them all appear at once is JUST NOT POSSIBLE!
Useless BASTARDS!
However, on a brighter note, it means that, if these dates have suddenly appeared, more dates will too. I hope. I sincerely hope.
I am now dialing the useless number that is always engaged and simultaneously, refreshing the page on the site.
The day I want comes up as available. Hurrah!
I select the date. Some times come up. I select a time. To continue I must register or sign on. Damn! I have signed up with this company before. I bought ballet tickets for V at La Scala. I can’t remember my username or password. Damn, damn! I try to register. I cannot. My email address is already taken.
I click on the forgotten login button. I will get an email. An email arrives. It has the username but the password is not there for security reasons. This is quite stupid. I wait for a moment for another email with the password. It’s not coming. I go back to the site. I go back a few pages – except I can’t. I am, in my head, screaming at ‘them’. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.
This seems to have little effect. I go back to the original page. OK there’s even more dates available now. I click on the same date and the same time. Of the 7 tickets available, there is now only 1. BARSTEWARDS!
I try a different time. I try to log on with my username and say I have forgotten my password. I go back to the tab with the email and click on the inbox to refresh it, every few milliseconds. I fail to notice that the email has arrived and so click once again on inbox. This only slows everything down.
You might guess by now that I am a tad frustrated.
I copy the password and paste it in.
There is a message in Italian. I do not read it. I have no time for this. It is not letting me go any further. I try a different tab. The same thing happens. I go back to the first tab and try again. I reload the page from the beginning and try it all again. No dice still.
I read the message in Italian.
I am already logged on somewhere else and so must close the tabs and start again.
I close all tabs. I open a new tab. I start again.
The date and the time I want is still OK. They have seven tickets, still. I want four. I sign in again. They do not have all the details they would like. Anyway, the address is wrong. It’s the one that I used to have in the UK. I change it. I have to look up my codice fiscale on my phone. I ensure I have entered all the required fields. I tick the box to say I have read the Terms and Conditions. As with most people, I haven’t, of course.
I am not allowed to go further.
You utter, utter, fucking bastards!
There is a field they insist must be filled even if it is not marked as required. They do not need this information. It is not essential to this transaction. Am I a man or a woman? Why must you know this to allow me to purchase tickets from you (which, incidentally, are going to cost me an extra €1.50 EACH!!!! because I am booking in advance)?
I am tempted to say I am a woman.
I don’t.
I continue.
It lets me pay. But now there is this new thing with the credit card. I must enter my password. The one assigned to the card.
The last time, even if I know I entered the correct password, it didn’t work and I had loads of shit trying to get a new one, eventually having to phone a premium line from my mobile to get it working.
I enter the password, making sure it is 100% correct.
It starts processing. It is taking a long time. I am not hopeful. Eventually, a message appears. The transaction has not processed. For fuck’s sake! I re-read the message. The password is correct, the transaction is being processed now.
Oh!
I get the confirmation that I have four tickets. I print it, not really believing that after more than an hour of phone calls and messing about on the internet, I have actually got them.
F sends me an email with the picture of a dog, a picture of a shower-head, the date of Friday the 22nd and a picture of a clock at about 10 o’clock.
I reply with a picture of tickets, of the Last Supper, a poster with the date that I have booked the tickets and a clock with 1:15 on it.
Underneath I put a picture of a finger pointing out of the screen (you) and a picture of a tour guide with a flag.
We are done.
So, in case you wish to book to see the Last Supper, you can (maybe) book through this site. In fact, if you check right now, there are even a few dates that have become available in April, May and June that, previously, were all fully booked.
Failing that, you can try the telephone number on that site. But only phone on a day that is not the first day of sales. They say ‘Not to Worry’. Of course, I have lived here long enough to know you should. Still, it is worth a try, isn’t it?
Anyway, this was only my experience. I’m sure yours will be better ………….
“You are very happy”, he says.
I hesitate. I mean to say, I’m not unhappy but ‘very happy’?
“Well, yes, I suppose so”, I reply.
“Now you are living together”
We are? I query in my head. But, nothing has changed. Why did he say that?
“I read your blog. He will be there all the time.”
Ah. It dawns on me. I feel stupid. I should have realised the significance of this. I did not. Maybe it was a seismic shift, after all? Hell, yes!
I can see the logic. It never even crossed my mind. But, of course.
He is going to take the dogs out every morning – except when he’s away or, maybe, if it is raining. To do that, he has to be there. To be there, he needs to sleep there ……. here …… in my flat.
So, we are, sort of, *whisper* living together!
Don’t say it loudly.
Of course, it will never be said. Like all things that he does, these things are kept within his head and not said. But the real significance of all this was only shown to me by Pietro – in the car park – as we were about to go home.
Thanks mate! I really hadn’t got it until that point.
The dogs get excited as normal.
Dino starts ‘talking’. He does that now. When he wants to ‘go’ or when he thinks we are about to go – somewhere, anywhere.
The light comes through the shutters. Yes it is different this morning. I go to the bathroom and shut the door so that there is no noise to wake F up. I turn on the light and start going through the usual routines.
Except this is not usual at all. This is all different and it feels very, very strange.
I wash and shave. When I come out of the bathroom the dogs are quiet again. They know this was a false alarm. This is a different day for them too. All strange and not as it should be.
I don’t know if this will work, I think to myself.
I make my coffee and sit down in front of the computer, checking stuff and then playing the game.
I feel as if I have overslept. Well, not exactly that but similar. There’s not the rushing around of having overslept; there’s not quite the same feeling. I finish my coffee and instead of going to get ready, I just have to put my tie on and then go. The timing isn’t right – and yet it is, of course. It is just not normal. Well, it WILL be normal, just not today. It is the new normal. The normal-to-be.
I go and put my slippers in the bedroom. F is awake. I kiss him on the forehead. He says he will have a coffee before taking the dogs out. I know that they will love it. Later he tells me that it was a surprise for them. I bet it was.
And it’s a huge change for me. Getting up three quarters of an hour later seems almost relaxed, like it’s the weekend. I will still do the evenings but he will do the mornings – at least when he can or when it is not raining. This is how it will be for most of the summer.
This is more sharing of stuff. It’s probably good. I’m sure it is good.
It will take some getting used to, though. And, weirdly, I already miss my morning walk with the dogs. Especially now that it’s summer. This was the time of year when I didn’t mind the morning walks so much. But this is easier and will make me less tired all the time. At least, that is the plan …….
“I’m not going to go to Vienna”, he says. “I’m going to go down and do the house”
This is, actually, quite an important statement, I think.
I mean to say, he seems to really want to make it a nice place to be. I have the feeling it was left to fend for itself in the last few years. Now he wants to put it in some sort of order.
“Then, when I am away, travelling, you can go down with the bambini on Friday night or even Saturday morning.”
It seems he really does want me to do that. What he doesn’t seem to realise is that, without him, it isn’t really going to be the same at all.
But there is a change in the way that he’s looking at things.
Don’t get me wrong. We are ‘together’ but it’s an ‘individual togetherness’. It’s not like it was before for me (and probably for him) where you planned your future together; your life together. We don’t really do the planning bit at all. We continue to be separate. Just conveniently together. I don’t know whether I like it or not. But it’s OK.
So, he intends to go down at the end of May for a week. I suggested that, as it’s a ‘long weekend’ for us (for Italy, really), I could come down with the bambini. It seems not. Apparently, it will not be of help, even if I did suggest I could do the garden. No. He wants to get the house (well, flat, really) cleaned and painted. He will get R to help. He wants it tidied up a bit. Then we can go down for the weekend. Well, the ‘we’ is without him, it seems. For me, that’s not nearly as good but, as he seems to really want this, I suppose it is good.
But, no, we can’t go down whilst he is doing this tidy up. We will be in the way. I suggested the garden thing since that is one thing I really do miss from being in the UK. It seems not. Oh well. I won’t push.
And it has to be right for our holidays since the first week we will be there. It’s nice that he wants the place to be a little spruced up for me and the dogs.
Just thought you should know.
Other things:
1. CV not finished but I needed a break.
2. Since yesterday morning there has been a real change in Rufus, for the better. He seems quite a different dog. Maybe it’s the warmer weather and, so, less of a problem with arthritis? Still, whatever it is, it’s very nice to see.
“Oh!”, she exclaimed, “we won’t be able to fit Rufus in. I have to pick up this other thing too and it will take all the room in the back’.
I turn from looking at the thing we had come to get – something like a washboard but not – and reply, “It’s OK, he can sit in the footwell with me”.
“No, no”, she adds, “I’m sure we can work it out”.
She is giving me a lift home. We are in a furniture restorers or carpenters place or something like that. F is not here. He is somewhere else. I’m not sure where. I don’t like him not being here. He should be here. I am uncomfortable with him not being here. It is the following day. The following day after the party or exhibition and after the after-party party or after-exhibition party at her house.
We had walked to her house from the party or exhibition. F had been there but not for the after-something party. It is disconcerting. I am not questioning why I cannot walk back home.
My worry about Rufus and whether he will fit into the car changes it all. I wouldn’t call it a nightmare – just a bad dream.
I wake up.
The TV is on. But it is silent – the sound turned right down. F is not there. I shout ‘Babe’ and he replies. “Are you OK?”, I ask. Yes, apparently he is. Except he’s not really as it’s almost 3 a.m. and he’s not asleep.
I can’t shake this dream even if the remembering of it is difficult. It has left me with a certain disquiet but for what, I can’t be sure. I get up and go to join him in the kitchen. I am really tired but know I have to get it all out of my head. Look at it logically – not that it was really logical – I know that much.
I grab a glass of milk and a cigarette. I ask him why he is up. He says he doesn’t know but he just can’t sleep. It’s not me or the dogs. He is playing ‘the game’ as we call it. He says that maybe it will help. I doubt it but say nothing.
I go back to bed. In the morning, when the alarm goes off, I put it to snooze and snuggle up to him. He got to sleep then, eventually.
I’m not even sure how the bad dream started. Something about a party or an exhibition. Rufus only appeared the following morning. It wasn’t Milan – nor anywhere I know. But it was similar to Hay-on-Wye. A group of us decided to go to the after party. I knew the people although, with the exception of F (who was never there but always just outside the picture) and one other, I can identify none of them. We walked up the hill. Maybe through fields. It was very late. F knew I was going and would join us later. We arrived with the girl whose house it was and who was giving me the lift back home on the following day. We started the party. Nothing really happened. More people came. It was nice. I worried about F not having arrived. I don’t know if I texted or tried to call but I think I did. I was worried anyway and really wanted him to be here.
Then V arrived. It wasn’t altogether unexpected. I mean, for some reason, I knew he was coming or, rather, might come. Somehow, he managed to avoid turning towards me. He was, as FfC and I say, ‘being fabulous’ as V does. But, still he wouldn’t look at me. I saw him across the room (with his back to me), taking off his jacket and talking to the woman. And laughing as he does. I was disappointed that he wouldn’t at least acknowledge I was there but other than that I didn’t really care.
He must have stayed for a bit and then he left, never once showing me his face. And then it was the next morning. And F wasn’t there. And, for some equally strange reason, I had Rufus (although not as thin as he is now) and we had to get home. And we were stopping on the way to pick up these things that the woman had to get. And then I woke up.