“Don’t worry”, he says, “we’ll sort it out afterwards”.
It’s like music. The sweet sound. It’s the ‘we’ that does it 
He likes the table. And the chairs. When I tell him that it cost me €250, he is really impressed.
I tell him that I’m not really happy with the arrangement though. I want him to ‘buy in to’ the flat, since we do spend a lot of time here. It seems that he is 
Looking on the bright side (as one should), I didn’t have any dreams – good or not.
That’s because I didn’t sleep at all well. And it wasn’t because of me, if you see what I mean. It was because F was feeling a bit poorly. And so, he tossed and turned all night, waking me up (what seemed like) every five minutes. However, looking on the bright side again, he cuddled me a lot more than usual, I think because he felt cold, as one does when one is coming down with a cold. Still, I loved it even if, because of the heat, I couldn’t stand it for long.
Last night, the plan was for him to come to me. The plane was late and got in at about 10. By then I had put up the table, rearranged the furniture (and in the process smashed the glass globe shade of the Saturn lamp – but it’s only a thing and so not really important – and, anyway, as usual, was because of my own stupidity), disassembled the desk and, whilst doing all that, made some pumpkin soup and some tomato soup – which is now in the fridge – to be transferred to the freezer tonight, if I can find the room, that is.
But it was raining – that solid, more-than-heavy, continuous downpour (raining cats and dogs isn’t enough) and he wasn’t feeling well. I took the dogs out and we all got soaked. I texted him and suggested that I come over (without the dogs) and he readily agreed (and, I think, was grateful for the suggestion).
I got there and he was about to take a bath. I sat on the toilet and we chatted whilst he bathed. He is a sexy guy and, at that moment, seemed so beautiful that I wanted to smother him with kisses. We chatted about his trip, about his friend An, with whom he had stayed, about work (his work) and about his time away.
I didn’t tell him about the table, nor the cupboards for the bathroom (which are still in their boxes), nor the smashed lampshade, nor the soup (one of which I will offer him tonight) nor the events of the weekend, nor anything – since I want it all to be a surprise.
He stands in front of the mirror, sucking in his stomach and flexing his muscles and then says that he must do something about it. I tell him he is fine as he is but he won’t have it. I do understand but there are more important things to worry about than that! And, to me, he is fine as he is.
He told me about the change in priorities of his job and how, since they plan to open more shops in this country, he will be travelling around more. On the plus side, he will be doing less of the sales aspect. He seems pleased with the change in priorities and, anyway, this is really his job and the bit he loves, more than the sales.
After he has his lemsip (just in case), we go to bed and he watches a bit of television and we go to sleep – or not.
He texts me this morning saying that I had had a terrible night because of him. I say it was fine. If I don’t he will suggest sleeping apart tonight and I would prefer to be with him, sleep or no sleep.
And, anyway, I don’t have a dream.
It happens every time he goes away. Every time he is away. He lights up my life in ways I cannot describe and when the light isn’t there, the gloominess, darkness returns. Of course, this mood is not helped by the weather. Miserable and grey and raining. Ugh! I hate winter. And so, the post below.
Which describes it all wrong. It gives the wrong impression. The weekend was fabulous. His family are so nice to me. The weather was fantastic and every day we were on the beach – one night staying until after 7 p.m.!
I think I’ve seen most of the close family now. One day, on our way to the beach (probably the weekend before last), as we driving from his house (probably to the beach), we stopped at a block of flats to see his cousin. This is the daughter of his Aunt and Uncle who live about 2 minutes away from their daughter.
The cousin had just (in the last few days) come back from holiday. I was introduced to her and her husband but I have completely forgotten their names (I’ve always struggles with names). I was shown some of the artwork that F had produced at college, proudly displayed on the wall in the hallway, framed and looking good. I was also shown some sculptures which were made by her father.
Later, at the beach, she texted F. He tells me what she says. “I like your new boy’. “She knows?”, I query. He replied in the affirmative. It seems that it’s only his parents that “don’t know” – even if, as it must be obvious to you, my dear reader, they know. I can tell he is pleased by her text. The meeting with the family members during these four weeks or so has gone well. In those few weeks, I have become ‘established’. He is relaxed about it, I can tell. He trusts me with them, I can tell that too.
And, to be honest, there has been a certain amount of ‘showing me off’, which is fine, since I did the same in the UK – and that’s what we do, as human beings, isn’t it?
I have been shown off to friends and relatives alike. I am not S and, even if I cannot communicate with them so well, I am forgiven by them and him by virtue of so obviously being in love with him. It helps that I am straight – well, straight-gay.
Last weekend, we are at a bar (at the bar that R, his best friend, favours at the moment or this season). A rather down-at-heel, beach bar. Food, which is not terrible (but neither anything to write about) is served on plastic plates; beer is from a bottle; music is, well, absent or dire; seating is with cheap patio furniture or else wooden benches against a wooden bar overlooking the sea. And yet is is favoured by a group of people who seem to be there most nights. As is R.
F tells me that it won’t last. Next year or, even, next week, R will move on to somewhere else; somewhere where, inevitably, all his ‘new best friends’ will be and who will be different ‘new best friends’ from the current ‘new best friends’ and the new bar will be much better then the current bar or the last bar or any previous bar. I feel slightly sorry for R. He “escaped” from the provincialism of the town – for a while – but circumstances took him back and circumstances or his own unwillingness to go outside the confines of the comfortableness of what he knows (or even the comfortable uncomfortableness of it) keeps him there. But then, not everyone is like me and I’m not sure that I should be feeling sorry for him. Perhaps that is better than my life. Let’s be honest, he has the advantage of knowing where he is and being close to family and friends and being a bigger fish in a smaller pond – and maybe that’s better?
Although I don’t think so.
So, we are at the bar, again. R comes, dressed up to go out. Top lip botoxed, eyebrows plucked into a perfect arch, a little make-up – looking plastic and nowhere near as handsome as he is, underneath it all. Still, that’s what some people like. I ask F if he ever wore make-up. His reaction was the same as mine would have been, asked the same question. One of shock and definitely ‘no’.
C comes. She is the one that read my hand (see a previous post). She is a slightly over-weight, pleasant enough woman. To me, she dresses like a Goth. Well, a bit. Black hair, straight and long, black clothes, dark make-up. Not truly a Goth, just similar. With her comes her daughter, who is 16. C is separated from her husband. J (her daughter) doesn’t get on with her father so well. R calls her, unkindly, the elephant. She is larger than her mother but you can see they are mother and daughter for she, too, is almost Goth.
>J comes with C all the time. At first, I thought that was lovely. That her daughter can be like a friend and she can be a friend to her daughter. But, every night? At 16, I felt, she needed to go and get a life. She’s not really interested in people of her own age since they are ‘too immature’, apparently. To me she seems a tortured soul or maybe really, a tortured and picked-upon teenager. There is a sadness about her. Her smiles, although pleasant enough betray, to me, a loneliness that comes from not having real friends. But girls can be so bitchy at that age, I do understand that.
F turns to me, at one point, to say that C had said that, if I should ever change my mind (about being gay), she would be first in line and that she thought I was handsome. I laugh and thank her. At the same bar, some weeks ago, a guy who is Roman but lives there now, couldn’t quite understand that I was gay since I didn’t seem gay. Of course, he was comparing me to R (and, maybe, F) and all the other people that he ‘knows’ are gay since, if you can tell they are gay, they most probably are. People really miss the point that how you look is not, necessarily, how you are!
However, F is pleased that C likes me that much. And he knows (I think), that, after over 40 years of ‘being gay’, it’s unlikely I would ‘change’. It makes me smile though. I like to be a bit different!
We both agree that the ‘bar’ is not going to be on our hit list of ‘great places to go’. R would like to take it over and really ‘do something’ with it. But he won’t – even if he had the money. It would be too much like ‘hard work’ and would curtail his going out on Saturday nights to some disco or other where everyone is ‘twenty-five or younger’, says F. Not F’s style nor mine. R didn’t take a job at a shop in Forte di Marmi because it would mean working, some nights until 8 or 10 p.m.!
M was at the bar too. She plays some musical instrument in a band. She is a striking woman with short hair, dyed in streaks (but lateral, not vertical) in shades of red. She is a nurse in ‘real life’. After all, except for R, this isn’t real life at all but the summer, with its visitors from other places and an atmosphere that can only be temporary. Most of the people there, now, are locals, enjoying the last days of a summer that, given that the holidaymakers have mostly returned home, is all but over. Until next year – and a different bar with different friends and different holidaymakers.
Another weekend.
Again, staying in the house. The house that’s really the ground floor of quite a big house.
It’s nice but it has that ‘unlived in’ feel as it is, really, not lived in.
It may have been almost 11 months but I am still wary, still not wanting to rock the boat, still not wanting to say all that I feel, all that I want, all that I need. I hold back. I wait, patiently, for him to say things or suggest things or do things. I feel ‘temporary’, as if, any moment, it will all finish. It’s not really good but I don’t want to be imposing nor, to be honest, am I unhappy about just drifting along. After all, we don’t live together. If there’s an escape (and it applies to both of us) then it’s an easy one to be made. Although it is all good, I don’t feel the commitment and, so, don’t feel quite committed, even if I don’t want nor feel that I want anyone else.
But I don’t feel that there isn’t commitment either. I don’t feel that it’s temporary when I’m with him and yet, I do. I guess I don’t really think about it. We’re not young any more. We don’t have our whole life in front of us – only part of our life even if that may be half! Not that I want to be young. I’m comfortable being old although I’m still waiting for the ‘feeling old’ bit to really kick in.
F said, last night, that N would be 50 today. I thought: Oh, that’s old – before I checked myself, having already passed that milestone. But that isn’t the first time that’s happened. I know that, not having children by which to measure the passing of time, the ageing process, means that it doesn’t really catch up with you. Most of my friends are my age, even if they are considerably younger. They’re my friends and so, my age. The only exception to this are the people that are half my age or less who are obviously more like children than real, grown-up human beings.
For the last few weeks, while we’ve been down there, he’s been talking about renovating the house, making it more habitable, more homely. He needed to discuss it with his brother who, as time goes on, I realise is not F in any way and I would not swap what I have for Johnny Depp even if I like the idea – it’s on a very superficial level only.
He discussed it. They discussed it. They aren’t the same person even if they are twins. They are twins in that they came out at the same time (more or less) but they have no special connection as twins sometimes do (or so I’ve read).
Johnny favoured one single house from the two flats. F says he couldn’t live with him (but he didn’t say this to him, only to me, several times). I’m sure that is true. Then again, I’m not sure who F could live with or, even if that person would be me!
When F suggested it be kept as two flats, Johnny suggested that they turn it into three flats. He was just being stupid or pretending to be so. F has ideas for his part of the house. Some changes he would like to make, that he could make now by taking a mortgage (not even a big one) and doing it and paying it off within 10 or 15 years so that, when he retires it will be done. I’m not mentioned in this picture. At first, I wasn’t even sure I was in this picture. That’s OK. Remember, I’m just drifting through; I’m just temporary. Sometimes, I almost feel like I’m not really here anyway, like it’s all made up and the next moment I will be somewhere else – in a different time, a different place, a different world with different people; unreal in my silent life.
But then, later, when he’s talking to someone (I can’t remember who) he says that he wants to get the place ‘fixed up’ so that we can come here more often; so that we have somewhere nice to go. He doesn’t say but he also means somewhere that he can make as he wants, with his furniture and his ‘stuff’ so that it will be more comfortable for us.
I don’t say anything. I never do. I hear but, maybe spoilt by my time with V, I wonder how much is true and how much is ‘just being said’ for someone else’s benefit, of course, not mine. I wonder, idly, on our way back, at what point will I feel ‘real’, permanent, a fixture rather than a cloud. I wouldn’t swap where I am and the problem is me and not us nor him. I should feel really happy with the ‘inclusion’ of myself in this future with the house, with the plans for Christmas and, although I do feel really happy, it still feels like ‘Sure, if we’re still together then’, even if I say ‘That will be lovely’ or ‘Yes, that’s a good idea’.
I said, early on, within the first few days, or, rather I wrote, that I don’t come with any baggage but I do come with two dogs. I recognise, now, that this is not entirely true. I come with the baggage of 20 years. Not bad years but years all the same. I can’t erase that and nor would I want to. I come to care less and less about V and, by his actions, I recognise that I have already been relegated to ‘someone he knows’, soon to be ‘someone he knew’. It doesn’t anger or upset me since it is where I want to be too. But I’m not yet in that state of belonging to somewhere else or, rather to someone else and I want that even if I don’t say that and instead say ‘we each have our lives’ since, really, I don’t want that at all.
But, then, I never wanted that although now, after two relationships, I don’t have the jealousy of ‘excluding’ anyone else from our ‘inclusion’. Our inclusion should not be exclusive to us. But, still, I want our inclusion. It’s not like he does any of this purposefully – at least I think not. He, too, comes with baggage. He, too, is wondering – at what point do we say – next year; the next ten years; a lifetime? I think. And I’m ‘the silent type’ – from his perspective. Not silent here, just silent in ‘real life’.
Following Lola’s subtle request, I will write something about ‘The Folks’.
I was, in a way, slightly apprehensive about meeting them. We had been together a long time. F doesn’t really say much about what he may have said to them. I know, before I meet them, certain things.
I know his father has been ill, a year or two ago and has lost a lot of weight. I know his Mum cooks. I have heard the story about S, the ex, begging F to stop the food coming (as he couldn’t say ‘no’). I know his sister talks. I know nothing about his brother (before we meet, really). I know there are a myriad of aunts and uncles and cousins and second cousins, etc.
I know his mother and father ran a dry cleaning and laundry place in the town and are now retired.
To be honest, it’s difficult to remember exactly how it was when I first met them. They are all, without exception (well, except for 1) utterly charming and so nice to me …… it seems. I say ‘it seems’ since a) I don’t speak Italian very well and b) apart from his niece (his sisters child), no one speaks English at all! This makes for, shall we say, short and shallow conversations.
So, let’s see. His father is a really sweet man. Kind, gentle and, well, tiny! But then, I guess, F isn’t exactly tall. He sports a moustache that would have been perfect in the 30s or 40s. He is slim (although F says he used to have a ‘pot belly’ but it is hard to believe. He cooks. He cooks some wonderful stuff. Now he kisses me on both cheeks as Italians do. I’m not sure if it means anything or not. He tries to hold conversations with me. I try to hold them back. His Italian is better than mine!
His Mum is lovely. She is the local ‘help everyone that needs it’ person, apparently. She is not thin but not huge either. A typical (for those of you from the UK) Italian Mum. When we were going to stay at the House, she immediately went to find some old curtains that we could use to put down on the floor for the dogs. Apparently, she likes me because I eat – i.e. I eat more than other people. This is true, I suppose. Although I have mentioned it before, I will say it again – when she cleaned the House for us, she made up only the one bedroom, with a double bed. She knows, of course.
Both his Mum and Dad have stopped mentioning S – at least in my presence. Not that it bothers me at all, but it is worth noting. It is almost as if, until I had been ‘sussed out’, I needed to know there was competition. It’s OK, I knew – if only because F did the same sort of thing. Now I am accepted or, at least, it feels like I have been. I shall, of course, remain polite and nice for many years yet – not that I get impolite or horrible, ever – just that I don’t get out of the ‘being on my best behaviour mode’! It’s a thing that I do.
They live in a large flat (for Italy). I’ve seen the other houses the family lived in as a child. Not a large family. Parents and three kids. Middle class as they had a shop/business although my parents would have looked down on it as something lesser, no doubt, even if my mother’s mother was a shopkeeper.
Johnny and A, I have described before. They were truly fantastic. Lovely people. I learnt afterwards that things have not always been rosy between F & Johnny and, from what I am led to believe, they didn’t speak for years. Although twins and, although they have a similarity, they aren’t really alike. I think (but this is only a guess on my part), there is some envy on Johnny’s part. F, after all, left home, has lived in the US, the UK and Austria, travels for work (and that is always exciting to outsiders) and, having left the hometown, has shirked his responsibility for ‘the family’ and, of course, like the prodigal son, every time he returns, the fatted calf is duly slaughtered. The fact that this is as much to do with F’s personality as to anything else, bears little weight on the argument. But his is just my supposition. Johnny and A know that F is gay and that I am the new boyfriend. It makes things easier.
B, his sister, is lovely. She is a large lady. She teaches disabled or disadvantaged children. The first time I was taken to her house, F showed me the living room. It was immaculate. He said that her flat was always perfectly clean and tidy. Ten minutes later, B gave me a tour. She jabbers at me as if I can understand every word she says. She jabbers away at anyone who will stay still, long enough to listen. We went into the lounge. She apologised for how she hadn’t been able to clean it and so how it was a mess!
She did a rice salad for us to take to Umbria. To have eaten it all would have taken an army of people or the two of us about 2 weeks. F complains about her and her incessant talking but he’s not unlike her in many ways. She has suffered from depression and the drugs that she has been taking over the years contribute to her size. She is lovely to me. I think she knows but, in any case, when we were talking, on the beach, Sunday afternoon, and F translated for her that he had told me that, even if he’s away and if the weather is good, I should come down anyway. Straight away she said I should come to her place ‘to be fed’!
She knows everyone on the beach. She probably knows everyone in the whole town(s). She lives just down the road from the House. He complains about her but I think he really has a soft spot for her. She is the ‘older’ sister and probably looked after the twins. She has a niece, named after F but the female version. His niece is about 18 and is going to or about to go to some sort of medical school. She is very sweet and beautiful. She sits with us on the beach. When I asked F about this he said that he was her favourite uncle and that doesn’t surprise me. He is always buying her presents and stuff and, from what he says, always has done. She speaks some English but is a bit shy – but, again, quite lovely with me.
B is married to Fa. He is the exception. Although quite nice and he does seem friendly, for some reason that escapes me, I can’t ‘connect’ with him (if you see what I mean – I mean to say, I can’t properly communicate with any of them but he seems, somehow, more distant). However, the Sunday before last we did have a bit of a chat over Sunday lunch. It was a difficult and awkward chat but at least we both tried. F doesn’t really like him very much, I think.
I’ve also met the aunt and uncle who live near to the House. Not to speak to really, just as we passed by and I was sitting in the car. We did go to their daughter’s place last Sunday (again, very close to the House). We didn’t stay long but later, when we were on the beach, she texted to say that she ‘like[d] your new boy’. Obviously, I asked if she knew and, yes, she did!
Many people said that I had ‘changed’ after I met F. Some implying it was for the better and others for the worse. And, yes, I’m sure I’ve changed. Some people recognised that I was happier, for certain. I wonder if they see that in F too? Certainly, in spite of the communication barrier, they seem to have taken me in and I’m ‘part of it’ as far as that can go – unless they always do that, of course, with any of F’s friends.
Still they are all nice and very friendly and I like them and, I think, they like me. I hope so and I hope they see that F is happy with me, which I think they do. We shall see. We go back again this weekend (another long weekend) and then again in a couple of weeks, F will fly from Spain to Parma on Friday night and the intention is that I go down that night too – if the weather is reasonable.
“You know that I don’t actually believe all this stuff, don’t you?”, I say. Actually, I don’t believe much of anything, I think, as I write this. Further, I never really have but, certainly, it’s taken me 50 years to get to the point where I believe less than I used to.
He doesn’t reply. Later I say “Oh, go on then, let’s see what she says”.
In the end, although I don’t believe it, I still want to know. It doesn’t even make any sense in my head either. I’m nervous – well, not exactly nervous but something lesser. It’s a kind of anticipation.
She holds both of my hands, palm upwards, F next to me to translate.
“You’re very sensible”, F translates to me. She says this a number of times. I agree that I am. Later, in the car, I say that I must be very boring. F doesn’t reply. Either he didn’t understand or he agrees. It’s not good. Perhaps I am too boring!
We had gone to the bar on the seafront again. This woman, someone that R & F used to be at school or college with, is there again with her daughter. Her daughter is a bigger version of her. She’s about 16 but looks older (the daughter, obviously). It’ll be the ‘goth’ look that she wears that will do it, I suppose.
They’re really nice. I forget names. Too many people that I met, really. The woman, I am told, reads hands. She reads someone’s hand. Another guy she takes away to read in ‘private’ at another table. That’s when I say that I will do it. I don’t believe it but I want to hear good things.
We sit at the same table when the other guy has left.
Apparently, I shall have a long life. This does surprise me given that I’ve been smoking for over 40 years! Ah well, I don’t believe it anyway. And, yet ……
F later says that we should cut down on smoking. I say why, since I will live a long life. He says that yes but I don’t want to spend the last 20 years in hospital. It makes me laugh but he has a good point.
See, my grandfather, whom I really loved and admired and everything, lived until he was 82 or 83 (in spite of my sister saying that he didn’t) and he smoked until he was in his sixties. So, although I don’t believe her, I want to believe her and it does fit in with my own theories.
She assures me that I am very sensible. This is true – to some extent. I want to say that whereas I may seem sensible on the outside, I did kind of leave everything to come here 6 years ago and that I am constantly pushing myself to NOT be sensible since being sensible doesn’t really let you experience anything. I did that for far too long.
She says I have come out of a very long and very painful relationship! Well, as my regular readers know, I have had two long-term relationships. the first for 10 years and the last for almost 21 years. I think OK but I didn’t think it was SO painful! But I can’t say that; F is doing the translation. I suppose that most long-term relationships can end bitterly or have years where one or both parties are very unhappy.
Apparently I started another long relationship. “That’ll be you”, I say, gleefully, to F. I know he is pleased by this.
>She says I am ‘transparent’. ‘Yes’, I say to F, ‘everyone thinks there is something that I am hiding and I keep trying to say no, this is me and this is it!’. I’m not sure he understood but I feel it’s a good thing that she’s told me – it means, maybe, to him, that he can trust me.
Again she says I am sensible. In the car, the next day, it suddenly hits me. Another of those bloody ‘false friends’. I say to him – “She didn’t mean sensible last night. She meant sensitive?”
He doesn’t know the difference. He tries to explain what it means. I explain what it means to him. “It’s someone who feels things more deeply. Someone who gets hurt very easily”. “Yes”, he replies.
So, it turns out I’m not as boring as I thought! Maybe that’s why he didn’t answer – he didn’t understand!
Of course, seeing as he’s met her before I was down and being as she’s a friend of R, who probably knows almost everything about F & I (at least, from F’s viewpoint), she may already know about the long-term relationship bit.
And saying you’re going to have a long life? Well, what am I going to do if she’s wrong? Ha!
And, I’m obviously with F and, since F’s previous relationships (except 1) haven’t lasted for more than 6 months, this would be quite a long-term relationship ….. for him. Perhaps she was telling him more than telling me.
On the other hand, if she wasn’t, then, maybe, it would help him to relax a bit more about ‘us’!
So, no, I don’t believe it. There was nothing bad. She ran out of things to say that were good, I think. Or, maybe, she saw me as the non-believer that I am and wanted shut of me? But the things she did say, although a bit general, made me feel good or confirmed my view. Maybe I should only believe the good bits?
I realised, reading back, that the holiday doesn’t really come across in the right way.
True, the journey down, the first night and most of the following day were terrible – but, after that it was truly wonderful.
>For the first time that I can ever remember, arriving home did not give me that feeling of satisfaction at all. I wanted to stay. I wish I had been able to stay. F is down at his home town for another week – maybe it’s that he didn’t come back to Milan with me.
OK so, in short – after the first day, every day was really nice or, even wonderful. Most of it was relaxing. 4 days in Carrara and some new experiences for me. Taking Dino to the seaside and having a dog that really wanted to swim was one of them. Having an ice-cream sandwich was another (but that’s for another post).
The first few days in Carrara were a bit different, in that we were staying at Johnny’s place, so it wasn’t just us. Plus there were family to deal with – not in a bad sense – but we went to see the sister, the parents, etc. Another post will talk about going to the beach. It was fairly relaxing.
>On the Saturday we travelled to the place in Umbria. This place was in the hills but with a wonderful view. The flat we had was nice and much bigger than we had thought. There was a small terrace overlooking the woods and the valley. The sun shone (after the Saturday) and it was hot. We would, most days, spend the morning by the pool, have a simple lunch on the terrace and then play cards and/or go back to the pool. In short, we didn’t do much expect for the one day of visiting. But it was so peaceful, so relaxing. No computer, so reading (again, for the fifth or sixth time) ‘We Need To Talk About Kevin’ and starting (again for about the sixth time) ‘The Blind Assassin’ – my two favourite books of all time. We competed at cards and at sudoku – it was fun.
I got a bit of a tan – not that I’m particularly bothered with getting one – but now that I have one, I remember that I quite like it :-).
And we didn’t stay at the pool every day. We visited Todi, Orvieto, Città della Pieve and, on the way back, Pienza (which was glorious and a real gem) – go and buy the cheese there – it’s a specialty.
Saturday night, we returned to Carrara but stayed in the house that is empty but is shared by F and Johnny. His mother had cleaned it and his father had cleared the garden (for the dogs). It’s in a small village next to Carrara. As I’ve mentioned before, his parents don’t know that F is gay. Well, they don’t know officially – however, it was interesting that his mother had only cleaned the one bedroom (we were instructed not to go into the other one as it was not clean) and the double bed was made up for us.
Sunday morning was back at the beach and then lunch with the whole family again (except Johnny and A) and then back to the beach for a bit and then I came home – with both dogs as I decided the responsibility and stress for F to keep Dino would be too much.
F wanted me to take a day off on Friday (tomorrow) and come back down – so I am – and I am really looking forward to it. This time I won’t have F huffing and puffing about bags or anything and it will all be easy and clear – well, apart from traffic, maybe!
Approx 12 and 13 August, 2010
We are both tired but we are both, it seems, eager, to be calm and not pick a fight. My resolution from last night (see previous post) is not quite as unshakable as it was, not least, because I am tired. I resolve that my resolution still stands – but that I shall wait a little bit before announcing it – I really can’t be doing with a shouting match this morning.
I had woken when Johnny left for work – it’s not like I was sleeping soundly anyway. I and the dogs went outside. True enough, F was asleep in the car. I smoked some cigarettes and wrote the last post – long-hand as I had not brought my computer – on purpose. I wondered if Johnny had noticed F in the car on his way out.
I would have preferred to have gone and taken the dogs for a walk but the gates are operated by remote control and I cannot leave. I would have preferred not to have been there when F woke but I can’t do anything about that. F awakens and seems OK. We don’t mention last night.
As the day wears on, I am less inclined to drive a few hours back to Milan. And, anyway, F seems almost normal – unlike the raging monster of yesterday.
A, when she wakes, makes us coffee and gives us a key to a small side gate so we can get out with the dogs in future.
We take the dogs out for a walk but it is later than we would like.
The next day, we get up early (again) but, this time, we can get out and we take to dogs out on the normal walk. We go to one of the ‘free’ beaches and see what Dino and Rufus make of it this time. There is almost no one around. Rufus hangs back from the surf coming in. Dino, on the other hand, wants to paddle. F decides to take off his shorts and wade in. Dino follows.
The waves are not big but they break into white surf as they near the beach. Dino, following F, jumps the first couple of waves. F goes deeper still. Dino jumps again only this time, unfortunately, the water on the other side of the wave is much deeper and Dino sinks.
Actually, ‘sinks’ gives the wrong impression. The jump that he took and the subsequent head-long thrust into the water looks exactly like he meant to do a dive. And like someone taking a dive into water, he plunged head-first into the water, scrabbling to resurface a few seconds later.
It was one of the funniest things I have seen. F just loved it. He now had a diving dog!! It didn’t seem to worry Dino overly much but, still, he came out of the water. Then, of course, he needed to dry out. Normally, if on grass, he will rub himself on the grass; if at home on the carpet – here? Well, on the sand, of course! He looked really funny but we had to stop him. Thank goodness there was no one else on the beach!
In the following few days, F expanded on the single dive he did to the fact that he ‘saw him dive three times’. I say nothing since it does no harm. We wished we had a video camera and resolve that, next time, we will. However, I’m not convinced the ‘diving Dino’ will be around, next time!
Wednesday, 11th August, 2010
It’s 6 a.m. Actually, I’ve had less than four hours sleep. I wish I were back in Milan.
F, though adorable, is too stressed and angry with, well, everything and this is too much like V. This is both unexpected and unwelcome.
For me, a holiday is to be a relaxing thing – I would worry about getting to the airport on time, if we were flying somewhere – but, in general, it should be relaxing. Unless you have something to ‘catch’, then let’s not worry.
F had to work and the dogs had to go in for a haircut – he took them. He called me. The dogs would be ready before 1 p.m. and could I go and collect them. Of course I could.
I arrive a few minutes before, having received the text at 12.45. Not too bad. As it turns out there were other people collecting too and, as usual, they were not ready before 1 but more like 1.30.
F had pre-paid the haircut. This is a little annoying but not enough to spoil my holiday. He meets us as we’re walking back – it’s a surprise – I thought he would finish later. He hasn’t packed yet. That’s OK. Neither have I! Or, rather, I haven’t finished.
I am slow at packing – that is to say, I can be fast – but if there’s nothing to catch I just can’t be really quick.
Later I go to pick him up. We return to my place and load the car. He is unimpressed by how many bags there are! And, whilst I do understand, we’re going by car. Most of the bags are dog’s stuff.
He takes some stuff down to the car and I am to follow with the dogs and the last few bags. He phones, asking if I need help – I am taking longer because I have to close up the flat, take the rubbish out, etc. and this is all taking rather longer than expected and, certainly, rather longer than he would like.
The dogs are already driving me crazy. They know that something is happening and are constantly under my feet. I admit to being a little stressed by them but I know that once I have them in the car everything will be alright!
I get to the car, laden with stuff AND trying to keep the dogs under control. We get the dogs in (then I know they will be fine), then I start to put some bags behind my seat. And this is when it starts. He is frustrated, obviously, and starts taking it out on me – complaining that I have too much stuff (which is, probably true – a ‘dog-walking coat (in case it rains), shoes for walking in the rain, a jacket in the evenings(in case it gets chilly – we shall be in the mountains/hills, etc.).
He grabs some of the bags I have just arranged and puts them in the footwell, at his feet (which means he cannot sit properly), grumbling and complaining – “Why have you got 4 books?”, as an example.
I try to explain that there is room behind my seat but he’s not listening to me.
We go. Most of the journey is in silence except for the CDs he has made and his ‘baby talk’ to Dino.
I am not stressed but I am silent since I don’t know what to say and I am not stupid enough not to know that anything I might say may spark him off. I lived with V for 20 years. I know he hates me driving (but hates driving himself even more). He needs to chill out a bit – in general. Of course, I could suggest that but I’m not that stupid. Still, the journey is good with light traffic, so not stressful – at least, not for me!
We arrive at his brother’s place and everything seems good.
As we get our bags out of the car he says that we look like gypsies – so many bags. There is no point in arguing – and I can’t be bothered to argue with someone who won’t listen – this much I’ve learnt.
A, his sister-in-law, has prepared something to eat and we sit in the garden drinking and eating. It is lovely but although the weather is warmish, it is considerably colder here than it was in Milan! We go to bed – early. Johnny has to be up for work early in the morning and, anyway, we are tired (and some of us are fractious, it seems).
We discuss taking the dogs to the beach and decide to wait and see what time we get up in the morning. He watches some television and I start to sleep. He switches the TV off. Unfortunately, that’s when it all kicks off. Dino, having had his ears (I mean to say, ear hair, of course) trimmed, finds, as in the past, that it is tickley. Every minute or so, he shakes his head vigorously, causing his ears to slap, rather loudly, on the sides of his head. Or, he scratches them – again loudly. Or, because he can’t settle, wanders round the very small bedroom, bumping into things. Whatever it is he is doing – it is keeping us awake.
F suggests, after much ‘cazzoing’ and ‘va fan culoing’, that he will go and sleep in the car. I say (because it is true), that I had already thought of me taking Dino there and staying with him. He replies that if I do that he will go and get a train, in the morning, and go back to Milan because ‘I am crazy like that’. He is angry – but what can I do? I say ‘I guess’.
He is obviously looking for someone to fight with.
He starts. ‘You made me come down here’. ‘You wanted to come and forced me to bring you’. Blah, blah. I wait until he is finished.
‘That is neither true nor fair’, I reply.
He gets up and leaves, taking the car keys with him. Oh well, if he’s going to be a stupid arse then let him be.
Dino almost immediately stops most of the scratching and head shaking and moving around – of course.
I resolve: tomorrow, after breakfast, I and the dogs are going back to Milan!
I wake at 6 a.m.
Of course, I should be packing now instead of writing this. But I am always ‘last minute’.
The dogs are in being groomed. I may have to collect them at any time.
F is at work. He is slightly peeved that I didn’t answer my phone straight away but it was on charge.
I’ve been and got the money from the scratch cards for him. I went to the supermarket to buy Autan because the vet suggested that this would stop the dogs getting bitten by sand flies (that pass on some dreadful disease, apparently) but I shall get a collar when I pick them up later too.
Whilst in the supermarket I saw that they had English milk. Well, not exactly from the UK but, rather, made in the English style. I drink a lot of milk. The problem here is that it is a bit watery for my liking. Proper, full-fat English milk would be great – except that they are in bottles. Not plastic bottles but glass bottles. So maybe I won’t. Carrying that back from the supermarket would be a real pain. Plus, it was expensive.
But now I must get back to packing. I don’t want to be doing it still when F arrives and wants to leave!
And, so, it’s unlikely I will post anything for a week and a half or so. I have decided not to take my computer. I have books and we have cards. The danger with the computer is that I will play the Facebook game – and that is time consuming and not something I should be doing when on holiday!
We have four days at the beach in Tuscany, followed by a week in Umbria, in the hills. It should be lovely. F wants to take Dino down to the sea because he thinks Dino will swim and enjoy it. I’m not so sure but it will be fun finding out!
And so, my dear reader, I leave you for this, our first real holiday together. I am so looking forward to it.
Whatever you are doing, have great couple of weeks and I will see you when I get back