A freezing hell?

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To be perfectly honest, it was, perhaps, the most stupid place to put it. Well, I suppose somewhere on the floor would have been more stupid.

It had been perched on top of the door-entry phone. Of course, when replacing the handset yesterday, it fell off. And broke. It’s not particularly pretty. It’s a small oval needlework thing in a small oval frame. I don’t know its significance but, the fact that it’s still here means that it does have some significance. It’s probably some very important heirloom similar to the “picture” I learnt was the only thing he has from this “aunt” that he loved as a boy. It’s a fake Japanese-type thing. The sort of thing that people would buy in the 70s and you now see in all second-hand shops.

The frame (which is plastic and gold coloured, broke as it hit the hard-tiled floor. As a result the plastic “glass”, the wooden back and the needlework itself, spread themselves over the floor.

I swear. For all his obsessive compulsive disorder regarding cleaning and putting everything away, he tends to leave odd things in rather odd places that, if I’m honest, I find somewhat annoying.

An example would be a bag (one of those which you might get when you buy clothes or something), gold, large which, since he came home on Sunday, has been left on the chest of drawers in the entrance hall. I thought something was in it but, when I checked this morning, it is empty!

So this needlework thing, perched precariously on top of the door-entry phone, fell off. And broke.

No problem, I think. There is some superglue and I can super-glue it together. It’s a couple of clean breaks. We’ll hardly notice the difference.

I go to my study. The superglue is there, where I left it, after I used it to repair my mouse a couple of weeks ago. I remember taking it from the package and carefully opening it (you have to “overscrew” it to make the opening so the glue will come out), using it and then ensuring that the cap was screwed on properly.

Remember the old days? When you used to open a tube of superglue and then, the next time you came to use it, all the glue had dried up in the nozzle and you had to throw it away and buy a new tube? Well, now it’s marketed that you don’t have to worry about that any more. This new cap solves this problem.

They lie.

I would prefer them to say “New Superglue! Special cap that allows you to think you will be able to reuse it next time. Use once and then keep for a while and then throw away and buy another!”

That would be the reality.

That is the reality!

I unscrew the special cap. I squeeze the tube. Nothing comes out for it is blocked solid. I try (as I always do, every single bloody time – you’d think I would have learnt by now but, no, it seems not) using a needle to “open up” some small hole to allow the glue to come out.

I spend 15 minutes trying to do this.

As every other time, I nearly break the needle but am not successful. There is glue in the tube. I can feel it moving. But it might as well be in some high tower of some castle, defended by fire-breathing dragons the size of small countries, the castle surrounded by a chasm full of fire and volcanic lava and so large that it would be impossible to traverse.

I will do what I do every time. Next time I go to the supermarket, I will buy another effing tube of this superglue, which is hideously expensive, to use a fraction of a drop to repair this frame, to save the tube for the “next time” I need superglue, to go through the whole effing process again.

And yet, I simply cannot just throw it away after it’s single use. One day I’m going to be shocked and surprised that it actually can be reused.

Or hell will freeze over first, I suppose.

*sigh*

Confused? You will be.

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It should be fairly easy. Or, at least I thought so.

We have a kitchen. It has water, a dishwasher. Now it’s all connected we can use the washing machine. everything must be washed – the removal men packed everything using newspaper, so all cups, plates, saucepans, glasses, etc. have to be washed.

The fridge needed to be cleaned. The shelves in the kitchen cleaned.

Everything needs cleaning.

Oh and the washing needs to be done and the bed changed and my stuff put away from Mantova and the dogs deserve a long walk and there are people to contact and books to put away and shopping to be done and, and, and ……

So, let’s get started, then, shall we?

Well, erm, yes.

So, I find myself starting something and then realising that in order to finish it I need to do something else. And then, I realise that I also need to put the next load of washing on. And, as I walk into the bedroom, I see that I need to make the bed, and then I can’t find the right linen because I didn’t put it away and so I don’t know where it is and, even if I DID put something away, I can’t for the life of me remember which bloody cupboard or, even, which bloody room it is in! So, in my hunt for this, I notice that I forgot to finish off something else, so I do a bit of that and that takes me to another room where I failed to finish off some other task so I do a bit of that but then find that I need something else and in that room find something that needs to be thrown away, which leads to something that needs to be put away but then the cupboard I was gong to use isn’t big enough and so I try to find somewhere else and that leads to another room where something else is part-finished, and so on.

Instead of being able to finish a single thing, I seem to have half a dozen part-finished things. Part of the problem (although not the whole problem, by any means) is that we, at the moment, don’t “think” in the same way. So the place/room that I would put something is not the place/room that F would put it. Now, I don’t want to move the thing he’s put “in the wrong place” but, it seems, it just doesn’t feel right where it is and so I don’t know what to do about it. So I do nothing and feel like doing nothing and so it’s not good. It’s like I’m confused by it all. It makes me “freeze” and leads to a lack of movement forward. Or a lack of movement.

Still, in spite of all this, many things HAVE been done. Bed-making, shopping, washing of much stuff, cleaning of the fridge, laundry, putting away of books, putting away of Mantova stuff…..

Oh, hang on, just thought of something that MUST be done. I’ll be back in a sec…….

So, I become disheartened and want to do nothing.

Mantova

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Mantova. 6th September.

I wake up, first, at about 4 a.m. The dogs seem excited and are ready to go for a walk. I try to get back to sleep. It must have been after 5 before I managed to doze off again. The alarm re-awakens me just before 5.30. I hit the snooze button a couple of times before getting up to take them out.

This the “normal” time to get up but, what isn’t normal, is that I went to bed after 1 a.m.

But, it’s not a work day, it’s a Saturday and, what’s more, I’m off to Mantova, for the festival. Sadly, without F. And, just sadly as the “background stuff” remains.

I get the leads and we leave the flat. As we exit, I see some bastard has called both lifts. I wait for one to become free and call it. It’s the slower one. Oh, well. As we’re waiting for the lift to arrive, the other one arrives on our floor! Since there are only 2 flats on our floor, this has to be our next door neighbour! And so it is. He’s obviously returning from his night out. Oh to be young!

He’s mid-twenties, I guess. And, it seems, he likes dogs, which is excellent. As he asks, I introduce the dogs to him as he strokes them.

I realise afterwards, that, although he now knows the dogs, we both failed to introduce ourselves! And, I guess, if he has the habit of coming in at this time, we may not see him so often!

The streets are almost deserted. There’s the newspaper stalls opening up, a few people going to work and a few, like our neighbour, returning home. We go for a longer walk than normal – I won’t be back until late and I’ve allowed extra time, as I do when using public transport.

Back at home, I make coffee and message F. He messages back. He’s on his way to the hospital, so he phones me and we chat about things. I tell him I’m not staying overnight this time. He says that he’ll definitely come next year and I realise that he understands it’s important to me.

I go to get the tram for the station and nearly miss one but the driver kindly waits for me.

And so now I am on the train, on my way. I’m thinking that some beers are in order, maybe (one of the reasons for taking the train, after all :-))

Tea and coffee make a house into a home. Apparently!

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F decides that he will be at home when I get home from work. He is going to go to Carrara. I told him that he didn’t need to wait but he wants to. I know he’s worried. There has been a bit of anger; a few tears. The problem with waiting for me is that he will hit the rush-hour traffic. But I’m not going to give him hassle. He doesn’t need any from me.

When I arrive, he’s there but he was late home and so is still packing. I have an appointment later and need to take the dogs out but I wait. After all, he waited for me. The kitchen has been finished. Of course, that means we can use the brand new dishwasher, the washing machine, etc. This is great news and I start to read the instructions for the dishwasher as I’ve never had one before. Apparently I need salt! 1Kg!! Damn! I don’t have it. It means I can’t start washing all the dishes, cups, etc.

He leaves. It seems he will be back sometime on Sunday, probably, unless something happens whilst he’s down there. His plane to Spain is on Monday. At least I will get to see him a bit.

As soon as he leaves, I prepare to take the dogs out.

Whilst out with them, I remember a small shop. This shop is a real blast from the past. It is run by an old couple who, by the looks of them, should have retired about 20 years ago. But they’re ‘hanging on’ in this supermarket age. The shop is full of stuff you might get from the supermarket – except fresh fruit, vegetables and meat. It’s the sort of shop my grandmother ran. I went to buy some milk and water from there once and, inside, they have some old cabinets that, it was explained to me at length, keep the milk at the perfect temperature. This time I am in a hurry as my visitor arrives in half an hour.

But this is NOT a supermarket. This is a place where regular customers come and chat. This is old-style shopping. This is not impersonal. He had been sitting outside chatting to a guy (more or less his age) when I arrived with the dogs. He gets up and tells me to go in (I am hesitant because I have two dogs). I ask if he has salt. Yes, he does. We go into the shop – but he doesn’t follow us for he is in conversation with the guy. He says he will be in “soon”. After a few minutes he comes in. He explains that he was having a chat with his friend. He likes the dogs. “Everyone who likes dogs is a good person,” he says.

I get 2 Kgs of salt. After all, if it uses 1 Kg now, for sure we shall need more. Plus, I’ve noticed, the water in the flat is very hard, worse than I’ve ever known.

This type of shopping takes time. Time is something I don’t really have but, I guess, it’s still quicker than going to the supermarket. Anyway, I feel somewhat obliged to use these types of shops. “Use them or lose them”, so the saying goes. I’m amazed this shop continues, to be honest but I like the idea of it, so I’m quite keen to use them from time to time.

We get home. I start to read the instructions and fill the dishwasher with the salt. I then “set” the hardness of the water. I set it to 5. The highest is 6. Maybe this will be enough?

But, now I have no time to load the machine. The kettle boils but there are no clean cups. It is only too late that I realise I also have a sink, so I could have washed a cup without the dishwasher. It’s been so long since we’ve had a fully-functioning kitchen, I seem to have forgotten what to do! Well, I will have to wait until later before I have my tea.

When she’s gone, I go back to the kitchen. I boil the kettle and load the machine. I wash a cup and make my tea. Whilst the machine is doing the first load, I go back to my studio and drink the tea. It is heavenly. It is the first cup of tea that I’ve had in over a month! I’ve missed it so much!

Later, I prepare the coffee machine for coffee in the morning. And, this morning, I switch on the machine. I do the milk first. It seems to steam better than before! I go to run my bath (I don’t have a shower yet which I’ll explain another time). After my bath, I come back to the kitchen to do the coffee. Except it doesn’t seem to be working! It’s making all the right noises, it’s just that there’s no coffee dripping through into the cup! I look inside. The coffee is damp but not “wet” like it should be. I replace the coffee holder.

I suddenly realise that, after cleaning the coffee maker last night, I didn’t actually fill it up with water! The water was the key. I have coffee.

Later, as I’m on my way to work, I feel much, much better. The full mug of cappuccino makes such a difference. I feel awake and alive.

And I realise that now, with a functioning kitchen and tea and coffee, suddenly the flat feels much more like a real home. Which, from a logic point of view, seems quite strange.

In which things don’t go according to plan

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Well, further to my post a day or so ago, F won’t be joining me at Mantova, after all.

The reason I won’t give but it’s all very sad and, although I still plan on going, it will put a bit of a dampner on things, even for me. He leaves tonight and I’m not sure (nor is he) when, exactly, he will be back, since he’s off to Spain next week for work.

Sometimes life is a bit of a bitch, really, isn’t it’

Guess what? The Internet is NOT a safe place for your private things. Who knew?

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So, according to the DailyHateMail, there has been O U T R A G E about some “private” photographs that have been “stolen”. People are comparing it to rape, stalking and the rest.

Well, in my opinion, don’t put anything anywhere on the Internet that you wouldn’t be happy to leave lying around on your coffee table when you’re giving a dinner party with complete strangers. And, by that, I mean any device that can access or be accessed by the WWW. This includes telephones, pads and computers.

Worse still is to entrust the safe-keeping of those personal affects to a storage place that is not, physically, in your house. That’s like leaving something important and personal in a secret hiding place somewhere down the road.

In the “old days” this was easier. After all, we were not “connected” and if you took a photograph on your camera and you developed the photograph yourself, you had complete control. If it was anything other than that, you were not in control. I’m not sure how we got to a place where we thought, even for a moment, that the Internet was safe? After all the stories in the recent years, too!

And, so, do I “feel sorry” for these celebrities that have had some nude pictures stolen and banded wound the Internet for all to see? Well, no, not really.

First: Why are you taking nude photographs of yourself? Or, why are you allowing someone else to take nude photographs of you? If it was for your personal pleasure, then they should be kept (safely) on your computer or camera.

Secondly: Why did you think that it was OK to put them on some central storage place or send them via email or message? Haven’t you heard about the revelations by Snowden about people screening all these places? Did you not stop to think that, if the NSA/GCHQ can do it, so can other (?less scrupulous?) people? If not, are you some kind of stupid?

Thirdly; You’re a celebrity. You can expect the rags like the DailyHateMail to try and get these private pics. And, if they can’t get them first, then they can be “outraged” that someone else got them first! Did you not hear about the News of the World hacking scandal? Have you been living on some distant planet?

So, the upshot is that it’s entirely your own fault.

But, I really want to know: Have all these celebrities really been busy taking nude pics of themselves? Am I now so old that I find it really quite strange? Have we developed into a civilisation the likes to create its own porn?

And, tell me why it is that (apparently) so many people are interested in seeing certain parts of celebrity bodies?

Let me go and have a look for some to find out ……….

;-)

Mantova Festivaletturatura

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Here it is, starting tomorrow, the sign that the warmer weather (what there was of it this year) is about to go away in a final flourish of summer.

Mantova’s (Mantua) literary festival is the signal for me that the holiday period is almost over and it’s a soft, gentle way to slip into Autumn.

But, the BIG news this year, is that F is coming! I am so happy about that. I am hopeful that we can get to stay 2 days because that would be nice. But even if it’s one single day, it will be good. I get to show him off. He’s coming even though he has to fly out early on Monday morning, so this is a bit of a sacrifice for him. Or, maybe a peace offering following an “incident” during the holiday?

In any event, I want to make the most of it.

Empty

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Afraid.

No. That isn’t the right word.

Insecure.

No, nor that either.

Lonely? Alone? Well, yes, kind of, to the second.

Lost.

Only in as much as the place is HUGE. No, not really. I’ve lived in places that are much, much bigger. Yet it’s almost as if I could be lost here at any moment. As if it is possible for me to become disconnected from the real world. From reality.

It echoes. And, yet, there is no background sound. Even the sound of the trams passing along the street at the end of the road don’t make an impact to the silence of the place. Some people talking in the street – and yet it seems separate from the place. It’s still, for some reason, NOT background noise. There IS no background noise. There’s the feeling of utter, utter silence.

I contemplate putting some music on to play in the background but don’t as if it would, by doing that, emphasise the fear, insecurity, loneliness, sense of being alone and lost that I already feel. And yet none of these things adequately sum up what it is that I feel.

The dogs are no help, even if they are in the room with me. Right there, at my feet. Yet we seem small in this one room, not least the whole flat.

Later I try to explain this a bit. “We’re not using the flat,” I say. “We haven’t got a kitchen we can use. We can’t even make a cup of coffee.”

That’s only partly true, of course. We could do it, if we want. But the kitchen is still half-finished, so is not a “complete” room. It’s a room that I pass through. That isn’t “lived in”. Therefore it feels little more than an unfinished corridor.

In addition, there are few pictures up. We don’t have the rugs back yet. We don’t have curtains up. These things deaden the silence. Make the absence of sound more manageable. F, of course, would prefer no curtains; no rugs; few pictures. But I can’t have windows without frames, walls which are completely bare, floors which are just too hard. I need some soft touches. Things that blur the edges; make things rounder rather than so square and angular.

This will take time. Not only do we have to get the things but I have some convincing to do. The rugs are easy. These are for the dogs. The pictures too, not too difficult. The curtains, more so. But, still, he hasn’t said “no”.

After we got back from the bar, he tried putting the television on. We connected everything but we get no signal. As if the aerial is not connected to the aerial socket.

We both agree that we’ve never had these problems living somewhere before. The buzzer from the front door doesn’t work; the bell at our door doesn’t work; there was no gas connected; the aerial; the boiler; the kitchen; etc., etc. Such little things but they just make it “not quite comfortable” – it all seems like so much work.

But until all these things are done or fixed, the flat remains a kind of large, echoing void. In need of some human touch to make it real. To make it our home.

Three books to finish off.

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23/8

Well, The Weekend is finished. A day! It was OK and much lighter than A Girl Is A Half-formed Thing but just not brilliant. Like most “gay” themed books, it seemed so shallow. No real depth to it. The characters weren’t rounded or full enough for me although, for a change, there wasn’t lots of sex which was nice, if you see what I mean.

So now on to The Haunting Of Hill House by Shirley Jackson. A different type of book again.

24/8
More than half way through Haunting. I was awake half the night. First it was cold and secondly, I had another one of my revelations (but more of that in another posts, maybe.)

Later: Haunting finished. Have to try and find the films now. It was quite good. It’s an old book (published the year after I was born) but stands the test of time quite well. I can imagine it could be quite scary as a film, hence the reason why I want to see the films. On the other hand, they could be dreadful.

Now for The Secret History by Donna Tartt.

Obviously, like The Goldfinch, this will take a few days and I don’t have a few days. But, I’ve made a start. Again, the descriptive prose and fullness of the character development and scene-setting are wonderful. I’m going to enjoy it. Maybe I’ll get chance to finish it next weekend when we’re back down?

Disturbing, difficult but good

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Well, that was hard – although I did finish it in less than 2 days.

Whenever I read books now, I think about Lola reading them in Italian. And, in the case of A Girl Is A Half-formed Thing by Eimear McBride, all I could think is that this book couldn’t be translated.

And then I wondered at how difficult it must have been to write! They are English words but not really English sentences. Sentences half. That are are. Half. Formed. If you see what I mean.

But also the subject. The usual Irish/Catholic angsts and problems but written in oh-so a different way.

Towards the end of the book, I had to keep putting it down every paragraph – the subject matter was too dark; too difficult – and do something else for a few moments.

But a really good book. I can see why it won prizes.

And now, I hope, something a bit lighter, maybe. The Weekend by Peter Cameron. We shall shall we. We see. Surely.