Tag Archives: Outside Italy

I don’t like Mondays

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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.

Thanks; Chiara Civello; Perfect Yorkshire Puds and some really good port

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Well, I’ve now been and it was lovely but, as I’m not from the USA (I guess), it was, more or less, like going to dinner at someone’s house.

I’m talking of Thanksgiving.

I’m talking turkey, mashed potatoes, and a rather glorious stuffing.

To be honest, I thought it was going to be an all-American affair (except for me) but it took on quite an International flavour. 3 Americans, 1 Canadian, 1 Australian, 1 Italian and me. The turkey (which I’ve never been mad keen on) was rather good and well cooked. The stuffing was fantastic. The wine and conversation flowed and we even had a rather difficult conversation with N & S all the way from San Francisco – the ‘difficult’ part being the connection which, unfortunately kept dying.

I got home at about 3.30 a.m. I then spoke to Ag on the telephone. She was in need of someone to talk to. It meant I got to bed about 5.30. I was, unsurprisingly, tired on Saturday. My headache was still here (but that could have been just ‘cos I’m tired).

F phoned me during the day on Saturday. He said that things were going rather well and he was going to be coming home that night so that we can go to a concert. He had booked it before he knew that he would be away and there had always been some doubt about whether he would be there.

He got home in the late afternoon and then we met up and went for a pizza at Liù (see link at side) – except Liù was full so we went to Time Out 2 instead. Then strolled down to Il’s flat and took a taxi with her to see Chiara Civello at Blue Note.

She was fabulous although I was so tired and we went to the second concert of that evening – it started at 11.30! He knows her because his ex, M, from Rome, knows her. After the concert we went backstage and I was introduced to her as ‘my new boyfriend’. I had been similarly introduced to someone who sat with us and was a friend from some time ago. She works for Moschino or somewhere like that.  It was then added that I was a ‘real man compared to S’ – which always makes me smile – although I never, ever make any comment, of course.

Anyway, there are a couple of Chiara’s tracks at the bottom. I hope you enjoy them. She was lovely, always smiling and the music is really good.

Yesterday, as F is away, I had promised A that I would do Sunday lunch for him and Fr – you know, the Roast Beef type of Sunday lunch, which F would not enjoy so much.

A had baked some bread which we had with something that was like a light pâté that F had brought back from Germany. There was goose-liver and reindeer – they were delicious and not at all heavy as pâté can be sometimes.

Then we had the roast beef and, with my new cooker, the perfect Yorkshire puddings – YAY! I will do a post with the recipe since it has never, except once, let me down. The only reason it didn’t work before was my old oven, I was sure – and this proved correct when, this time, they were well risen and light – just as they should be. Also, when I had been in France last year, I had bought some red horseradish sauce – and it was quite hot, which I liked.

After that we had Apple and Blackberry Crumble with whipped cream. This was all followed by cheese (including Stilton) and some rather fine port, bought for me by a colleague when he went to Portugal. The problem was that then I just couldn’t stop drinking it. I had to ‘force’ myself to stop, even after A & Fr left.

Anyway, they enjoyed it – as did I.

I spent the rest of the evening washing up :-).

F is back on Wednesday as that is the day that the new shop will open. I will be very happy when he is back, as will Dino. And Rufus who is a LOT better. Thanks for all your kind wishes.

Anyway, enjoy Chiara – these are some of my favourite songs of hers.

Some things

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Well, I can’t put Tags onto posts.

And if I empty the spam I have to log in again.

It’s just annoying. But at least it seems I can post things. Don’t know about accepting comments or replying to them yet as none of you have made any. But I guess I’ll find out.

I have looked into alternative hosters and, unless it’s fixed by tomorrow, I shall be going down that route, I expect.

Which is a shame – but it only really works if you can publish your website and then actually retrieve the website and write new posts!

I seem to be getting busier with the old English teaching lark. And, to be honest, I WANT MY LIFE BACK! I had forgotten how much work it actually takes. A says that I do too much for it. V used to say the same. I can’t do it differently though. I’ve also looked at doing the three kids and decided that I could do it – but I have put forward a price that is a little high. If they don’t want me to do it then that’s fine – after all, teaching kids will be much more work.

Anyway, enough of all this. No time, no time.

To get you a bit more up to date:-

I’ve got the Christmas Stamps! Yay! Now all I have to do is write the cards :-)

Rufus seems a lot better – since Monday, which is good.

F is working from tomorrow through to next Monday and, therefore will be away.

This means that I will have to go to my first-ever Thanksgiving Dinner alone (Friday night) :-(

It means that we might not go to the concert that he booked for Saturday night.

It means that I have invited A (and F) for Sunday Lunch (Roast Beef, Yorkshire Puddings, Stilton Cheese and a very nice bottle of port direct from Portugal) – there being far too much stuff that F doesn’t like in all that.

It means I will miss him :-(

It means I will get some sleep :-)

It means I can write the Christmas Cards :-|

In other news, South Korea and North Korea might be on the brink of war. Some miners died in a mine in New Zealand. The students are revolting (they should wash more hehehehe). Britain is to recognise my birthday by making the day a Bank Holiday.

Apparently there are also some other things happening on that day too, which I’m sure is pure coincidence. Checking, actually nothing much (apart from my birthday and the death of St Catherine of Siena) is going on. Oh, except there may be a wedding. Well, in fact, there may be quite a few. In the UK, I mean. Some woman called Kate and a bloke called Bill. Don’t know if I’m invited yet ‘cos they’ve only just announced it. Can’t go anyway, it will be me and F going to Giacomo, I very much hope. So, just in case you should read this, Bill (You don’t mind if I call you Bill, do you? Only William seems so, well, formal.), I’m really sorry we can’t be there. Anyway, the weather in the UK then is always a bit touch and go, especially on that day. You know, it could be raining, likely as not. Here it should be considerably warmer and sunny (I hope).

More stuff to follow (but maybe tomorrow if it’s all working properly)

Another joke!

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Well, I’m back …… sort of. I’ll explain more in a moment.

This morning, for the second time since I’ve been here, I understood a joke on the radio. And by understand, I mean completely understood :-)

It’s not really much of a joke but that’s not the point really. It goes like this:

A dog is ‘home alone’ in the house and the telephone rings. The dog answers the telephone.

“Bau”, he says (bau being the Italian equivalent of woof).

“What?”, the caller replies.

“Bau”

“What? Pronto?”

“Bau”

“What?”

“B as in Bari, A as in Ancona, U as in Udine”, the dog says (To determine letters as you spell them, Italians use cities).

Anyway, I thought it was quite amusing but I was more interested that I could understand a phone-in listener telling a joke. I’m not sure if I translated it or not!

Anyway, the reason for no posts is that the hosters I use had a hacker attack. As a result, they have blocked the IP address (from work). This means I can’t really do much. I’m now using a proxy but it’s not very good. They have said that they will add the IP as an exception – but, unfortunately, I can’t tell them what it is until tonight – I don’t have any access to them or their servers.

I’ve found a way round it ……. but it’s not ideal as it keeps logging me out!

Be back properly very soon (I hope). I have a lot to write about including the fact that, finally, it seems, the UK is recognising my birthday and they are going to make it a Bank Holiday :-)

Speak later!

Insolvable – Buzz Berlusconi

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Buzz Lightyear. He believed that he was invincible and was there to save the world.

So, too, with Berlusconi. (Aren’t they so similar?)

This latest news seems to affirm that Mr B and the Italian Mafia (in this case the actual Mafia from Sicily, rather than the Camorra or the Ndrangheta) were closely linked. I would be surprised if anyone thought this was surprising.

There’s a problem here. The Mafia (in all their forms) are powerful and have their fingers in many pies – illegal and legal. The latest thing, recently, is Roberto Saviano’s assertion (apparently because I was told by a colleague) that the Mafia own a lot of restaurants in the north of Italy. Again, not really a surprise. I would think it would be almost impossible to be completely shielded from them. Sure, they may arrest, from time to time, some top leader (as they have a couple of days ago – the guy living, it seemed, an almost normal life in his home town – for 14 years or something like that, without being caught!) but one man is not the whole organisation. Mr B is one, I suspect, of many, many people who have no choice but to pay off the Mafia to get things done; to build things they want; to ensure that their business interests are safe. The Mafia are in every walk of life here. Like you cannot separate the Church and State here, you can’t separate the Mafia from Italy nor the life nor the people here.

And there’s the rub. Is there anyone in power who isn’t or hasn’t given money, even if inadvertently, to the Mafia? Probably not. And, then there’s the ‘in nero’ thing that, I would think, all Italians do at some time or another. It’s almost a way of life, much more so than in the UK.

How can you ever get rid of an organisation that has its grip on Italian life and whose tendrils stretch everywhere?

The only Italian that I know here who regularly insists on having a proper receipt for e.g. a restaurant bill, is A. But he’s one in a million, I think. And, if you pay cash, without a receipt so that you get quite a good discount, how do you know that the money you are paying them isn’t, in some way, helping to launder Mafia cash through the system? Of course, you don’t. And how do you stop it anyway if it is so much part of the Italian way to be? In the UK, I never knew of a restaurant that would routinely offer a discount to it’s regular and trusted clientèle. Here it seems to be the norm – no questions asked – as long as you don’t need a receipt, of course. Happiness all round, it would seem.

Perhaps it happens in the UK too? I don’t really know. And, since, anyway, getting something cheaper and avoiding paying the government anything by way of the transaction tax is something that, even in the UK, is ideal, no one can say their hands are clean, I guess. And even A won’t be whiter than white, I suspect.

And the solution? Whatever solution is thought up, it has to rely on 90% of the people abiding by whatever rules apply. And I don’t think that’s ever going to happen here any time soon. And so the solution is that there is no solution. However depressing that may seem, if one accepts that, then one can concentrate on the things that are solvable. Insolvable things don’t mean that you can’t try and exercise some control – just don’t think they are solvable.

It’s stupid really; More of this?

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I’m glad I’m busy ……….. really.

It’s when he’s not here that it becomes a problem although, this time, it’s been less since I’ve had less time.  It’s in the quiet moments that it hits.  A feeling of panic, of insecurity, of fear.  Not of anything in particular – just a feeling for no real reason.

Not about us, for certain.  About us, of that I am sure.  It’s the rest of the world that makes me fearful and unsure.  It will be better on Saturday evening, when he’s back.  Then, from the moment he is there, I shall be fine and all these fears and worries will slip away as if they have never even existed – which is also annoying because I really would like to try and explain but, when he’s with me, they seem as smoke, drifting in the wind and becoming nothing within seconds.

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I don’t condone violence and never have, especially since I was about 13.  However, the student protests are, if not condonable, at least understandable.

When I left school for further education it was a) free and b) I got a grant for my living expenses.  I came out of it all with an overdraft of about £1000.

Over the years, the support for those in higher education has fallen and most students over the last few years have faced the debt of a ‘student loan’, which they pay off for years afterwards.  Now, with tuition fees of £9000 per year (or maybe it’s per term?), it means that, forget about living expenses, just the cost of the education will be £27,000!

I can understand that they would be a bit angry.  I can understand why they would want to march against this.  And, to be honest, with a future where you need a degree to earn a pittance in McDonalds, with little hope of paying off the debt in anything other than a lifetime, I can understand why they feel that the only way they will be truly heard is to attack some building.  I can empathise with their aims since I am grateful that I never had this additional ‘worry’ when I was in higher education.

And, to be honest, with the exception of Ghandi, most change has come about as a result of violence, so it wouldn’t be the first time.  After all, The UK and the USA changed Iraq by violence and are trying to do the same with Afghanistan.  They shouldn’t hold double standards on this.

And, as I read this morning, had it been a peaceful march, it would have caused no debate and no one would have taken any real notice.  Now, people are talking about it – it is being discussed and criticised or lauded.  Now the debate will continue.

At the end, it may not result in anything (much like the French protests against the pension reforms) but I don’t think it will end there.  There is time yet.

Any government holds power only because of the consent of the majority of people it governs.  If, however, the majority of people don’t want it or want some change, then it seems that violence is the only thing that will actually ensure the change is made.

I predict we are in for some troubling times in the next few years.  I predict more violence and more unrest.  It’s a shame really.  The government of the time (in the UK) had the opportunity, a few years ago, to make some real change to an economic system that cannot continue in the way it is.  They chose (or were bullied or were too scared) to prop up the existing system and, so, this is the result.  It is times like this where there needs to be a bit of realism and someone who has charisma to explain to ‘the people’ what really needs to happen – to permit the change.  To make a bright new world.  To step off the edge of the cliff into the void with a parachute which has not been tried and tested is a scary thing.  But, sooner or later, this will have to be done.  Until then, I expect to see much more of this.

Hmm. I’m really not sure.

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The first time I try to grab the ………  it twists and turns so much that it jumps out through my fingers. The second time I pinch a bit harder and quickly dip the translucent ……….  in the accompanying emulsion of brown butter. When it lands on my tongue it does a little hop, skip and a jump before I decapitate it with my teeth and swallow the wonderful blend of crunchy shells, soft tail meat and creamy sweet butter.

I pride myself on the fact that I have never actually refused to eat anything put in front of me.  I think, I could, almost eat anything, including grubs and insects (given the right circumstances – I am not, right at this moment hunting for a nice, big, juicy spider, for example.  I’ve just had lunch!).  There are things I might ‘struggle’ with like slugs (if they are even edible) or, in particular, dog (it’s OK, Korea is not high on the list of places I simply must visit).

However, after reading this piece, I’m almost certain I can now add ‘live things’ to the list of the unlikely things!

And you? Would you? (Italians are excluded form this as they’re almost certain to dislike the idea ;-).  Sorry Lola, Pietro, etc.)

How do you KNOW you don’t like it?

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“I think I’ve had this before”, he says, adding “and I don’t like it”.

It was very difficult to keep the disappointment out of my voice …. but I tried.

“Well”, I said, “try a little and, if you don’t like it, it’s OK, you don’t have to eat it”.

I had whipped up the cream. The cream was really for me rather than him. “You don’t like cream”, I realised this as I got it out of the fridge. Damn! I should have done custard. Ah, well, I thought, if he doesn’t like it anyway then it’s better I did cream.

I put a couple of spoonfuls of the sweet in the dish and added a little cream after he indicated it was OK to do so.

He tried it. It wasn’t the same as he had had before. He said he liked it. Then got some more from the dish. And some more cream. He asked about the topping. I explained that it was pastry, like for Lemon Meringue Pie but more butter and more sugar and without water so that it was crumbs rather than pastry as such. I tried not to be annoyed by the fact that he says he doesn’t like something before he has tried it first but I don’t say anything about that anyway. It took me a few years to train V away from that. I have time. I can train F, possibly, probably, hopefully. I am hoping, much like I did with V, that I can introduce things gradually and get him to trust that what I make is all right and worth trying. I’m not sure I have the patience for this but we’ll give it a go.

I said you can make it with any fruit.

He really did like it, it seems. I told him that he must tell me the truth because, if he says he likes something, I will do it again. He said he will.

I told him it was, to my memory, the first time I had made it. Although, to be honest, even if I can’t remember it, I am sure I must have made it in the past. Maybe Rhubarb Crumble and not Blackberry and Blueberry Crumble.

The next day, he texts me to ask what it was called because he doesn’t remember. Later that night I asked him why he had needed to know. Apparently, there was a guy there from the office in London and he wanted to tell him.

I see, in his fridge, there is a jar of Lemon Curd in the door.

“You can make Lemon Curd Tart”, I said, meaning I could make Lemon Curd Tart, of course. Later, he says I can take it home together with the Banana Curd he bought at the same time, when we were in Hay-on-Wye.

“You can make that cake with it” (meaning Crumble”), he says. I say yes, even if he has, clearly, not understood how Crumble works and that a Banana Curd Crumble just would not be right at all. Ah, well.

Serious training required

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“I want a new baby”, he says. He is slightly drunk. I love him when he’s drunk. He’s more affectionate and also quite funny.

“You mean a puppy?”, I ask.

It seems ‘yes’. “We shall have to talk about the training first”, I state.

Of course, I don’t mean the puppy training. The puppy training is not a problem. I mean the ‘F training’. Of course, I don’t actually specify that. He thinks it’s the puppy training. There will also have to be less of the ‘can you take them out tonight’ or ‘do you mind if I don’t come’ lines. However, one thing at a time. And, anyway, it’s not happening before Rufus goes. Three, as I found out one time, are just so much more work.

We had been out with the ex-parents-in-law to al Grigliaro, a predominately fish restaurant, not far from our flats. F knew it because, when they are busy with the showroom sales and working till late in the evening, they sometimes go there as a group.

And, the staff know F, which is always a good thing as we get a much better service and, usually, a discount off the bill.

I asked him, as we were walking down to it, why he had changed his mind about me coming, since it was a complete about-turn and I was interested as to why the change of mind.

“I rang S”, he says, adding “and he said ‘of course you should take Andy'”. And, so, here we were walking down to another restaurant I hadn’t tried before.

It is another Sardinian restaurant but nothing like the same as Baia Chia. For one thing, this is not as ‘rustic’ as Baia Chia. There is more room and many more tables. It is also more expensive. We wait outside for M and S. They are from the Manchester area. I have my expectations of what they will look like and what they will be like. They are, of course, not really anything like I expected.

They are very nice, middle-class, people from the North. They know, of course, that we are not just ‘friends’ as F had said. But, then, S is their son and, no doubt told them that F had a new boyfriend. But, later, when F and I went out for a cigarette after the main course, I learnt of actually ‘why’ F was a little concerned.

They had met some time after S & F split up. They went out for a dinner. Apparently M (S’s mother) started crying and asking if S & F would get back together. He was worried about the same thing happening; or her being disappointed with him being with someone other than S; or something like that, I guess.

In typical Italian style, the restaurant was very brightly lit. The tables and chairs were OK but nothing special. The food however, was really lovely and the service very, very good. S didn’t eat shellfish (and was a bit of a finicky eater anyway). F asked the waiter (owner’s son) to bring us a selection of antipasto, mainly hot but also a little of the cold antipasto.

Plate after plate came. Some poached salmon, anchovies with a celery and ginger sauce; octopus with tiny courgette-type vegetables, squid with a rich, creamy, tomato sauce and polenta, prawns with artichoke, etc. For cold it was rather large prawns (that blue colour that looks as if it was someone who spent a little too long outside in freezing conditions), clams and, my favourite, oysters.

We chatted about many things and I asked appropriate questions, as one does. They were very nice people. And they were obviously pleased to see F had someone, probably, particularly, as they will have already met S’s new American boyfriend.

By the time we had finished the antipasto, none of us were really hungry. We decided to have three portions of fish (one of each poached, pan-fried and grilled) and split them between the four of us. The best was the grilled branzino – as branzino is, by far, my favourite fish.

We drank two bottles of very nice white wine. We had sweets. We had mirto which they had never had before and they brought the rest of the bottle, which we finished.

It went well. We are meeting them again tonight. Also, probably, A who is over from London again, for work. Tonight we shall go to Baia Chia.

As we are going up in the lift, with him slightly drunk, leaning on me and wanting cuddles, is when he said he wanted another ‘baby’. I know it is true, even if he is not there all the time (having to travel – even more now, probably, for work).

But, as I say, there will have to be some serious ‘F training’ for it to work :-D