Tag Archives: Friends and Inimies

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.

Things take a turn for the worse…….

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For a more positive start though, it seems the hosting company did fix the problem :-)

So, now I am back, which is nice.  I can post properly, add tags and everything!

But now I’m going to talk about not being so well.  And first it is Rufus who has taken a decided turn for the worse.  After a couple of days of being more sprightly and perky, we started the day before yesterday with, whilst not exactly diarrhoea, definitely things were a bit soft and also, sometimes, a bit runny.  However, last night, when we got back from our early evening walk, we also had a bit of vomiting – and it was not at all pleasant.  He seems ok-ish this morning but I can’t be sure.

People have been asking me if I’m taking him to the vet but, no, at this stage, I’m not.  He doesn’t seem in pain but obviously his stomach is not so good.  But the vet can’t do anything, really.  Sure he could give him some antibiotics, I suppose, which will work – and then, after a couple more days, we’ll be back to the same.  Alternatively, if there is something really wrong (which is just as likely), what can the vet do?  He can’t have an operation, he’s far too old for that.  And he won’t appreciate being prodded and poked.  So, we’ll see how it goes (which is what I normally say, now, when it comes to Rufus).

But I will try, this weekend, to spend a little more time than normal giving him some cuddles and stuff.  Bless him.

And then there’s me with this bloody headache thing.  I went out with A for a couple of beers and a pizza – nothing excessive – and this morning – a head like I’d drunk every bit of alcohol in Milan!  This has been a couple of weeks now.  I don’t get it.  It is very, very annoying.  However, I do remember cracking my head on an open cabinet door in the kitchen so maybe it’s just all a bit bruised is all.  Let’s hope it gets better very soon because it is ticking me off now.  A lot.

Being a bit clowny but posticipating a meeting

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A few years ago, now, playing Scrabble with Best Mate and other friends, I put down the word ‘clowny’.  OK, I knew it was a bit dodgy but I stood my ground even if P was very miffed that I could get away with it and, although she was almost certain it was a fake, would not risk losing a go in case it was a real word.

It is my desire to make this word ‘real’ one day.  The more I mention it the more chance it has of becoming real.  Of course, if you Google it (see that’s a made-up verb) you will find hundreds of pages featuring the word.  That doesn’t exactly make it real, of course, but it’s certainly heading there.

And today, Pietro gave me another word that I really do like.  What’s the opposite of anticipate?  Why, posticipate, of course.

Having used it a few times now, I do understand why it was never a real word – it’s a bit of a tongue twister.  However, nice word and I really like it.

Thanks, Pietro :-D

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 half-written post….(subtitle: annoyed by being annoyed by something that I really shouldn’t be annoyed about)

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I promised, a couple of weeks ago, as I was deleting the many, many ‘draft’ (for ‘draft’ read unfinished, ill-thought-out, forgotten posts that never made it to the post button) that I would be better in future.  I would NOT keep starting to write about something that I had a feeling about, was angry about, was confused about or just thought was funny ………………….. and then just stop.

But it doesn’t work, really.

And, so, already, the unfinished draft posts are back and they are annoying me.

If you think this has no relevance to this post, think again.

This is another of these posts and the bit of rubbish above is just by way of explanation as to why this post will, in all probability, stay as another draft post.  Waiting to be finished until, one day, whilst doing a ‘clean up’ of the blog, I will carefully cut this paragraph and paste it into a rambling post full of bits that have never been published – because I think this bit is really good and explains why the whole post is full of disconnected single paragraphs.

So, I digress.

I wonder, in fact, if it’s supposed to be like this.  V is annoying me.  He’s annoying me by not having got in touch with me nor wanting anything.  He’s annoying me in my head.  and it’s even more annoying that I’m even thinking about him!

I keep saying ‘I’m not bothered’, to myself.  And that is true but it’s the truth of it that is annoying.  I really am not bothered.  But I do wish that he hadn’t originally treated it like he was bothered when, quite clearly, he isn’t.

I had hopes, at the beginning.  I hoped that we were old enough and grown-up enough that we could transcend the hurt feelings and the crapness of it all to make it through to another place that meant we could be friends.

But it just ain’t happening.

And, that annoys me.  But the problem is that, after so many broken promises (the ones after we split, I mean), I just gave up trying.  And, it seems, that’s OK by him.  And that pisses me off.  I know that there are other people who, over the last couple of years or so, have been caught up by him and then discarded, seemingly for no reason (although, trust me, there’s always a reason) and I wonder, sometimes, if I should get in touch with them.  Except, what would be the point, what good purpose could it possibly serve?

So, I won’t.  Probably.  They will find me if they want.

It annoys me that he’s not in touch with me.  It annoys me more that he has, in all probability, sold many of the things that we bought ‘together’ – though, in actual fact, we didn’t buy them together.  And, if he did buy any of them it was only because I bought almost everything else at the time – like food, fuel, paid the bills, etc.  Really, of course, I should never have just him get away with it – when we split – but it seemed like a good idea at the time and, in particular, as I was thinking of our long-term friendship, which has, obviously now, gone to pot.

I have conversations with him (in my head, as usual) except that nowadays, they’re not really full conversations – more like thoughts of conversations.  I don’t actually have sentences that go with the thoughts.  Either from him nor me.  And now, anyway, I know enough that the conversations will just never happen and, so, I stop them early.  And I find that annoying too.

We are, very nearly, at the end of it all – with no need for any ties.  Providing, of course, that I ignore the completion of the Final Question, the sofa cushions, his family and, generally ignore most people that he has any dealings with (which, with a few small exceptions, is not at all difficult).

Here I am, mentally, if not physically, slapping my hands together in the ‘all over and done with’ manner.

“The cushions are here for you to pick up”, she wrote.  My response was “I had given up on them, to be honest”.  Which is true.  I suggested that I might go over to get them in the next couple of weeks.  Which I might do.  And then she said that she got home about 9.30 and I thought that at that time I’m not sure I want to be schlepping half way over town to get them.  But that’s just stupid, I guess.  I should go and get them.  Probably.  But 9.30 is such a pain-in-the-arse time.  Maybe it would be better on a Saturday or Sunday.  Yes.  Probably.  Maybe this weekend.  Or next.  Or sometime later.  If I go and get them at least there would be even less reason to be in contact.  Which will be better.  Probably.

And, so, in summary, I am annoyed by being annoyed by something that I really shouldn’t be annoyed about.

And, yes, I will bloody well post it after all ……….

The Ferrari Potato Masher

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Fuschia.

Pronounced ‘fuskia’, here, apparently.

My kitchen has a white floor, an orange wall, white cupboards and an old wooden table which, in the past, was covered with blue formica.

But, I am very excited for now I will add fuschia to it.

At least I will never lose it.

Last weekend, making Shepherd’s Pie, after making the meat bit, I boiled up some potatoes.  I needed to mash them.  I realised, digging around in the drawer, that I had not taken the potato masher but had left it for V.  I’m not sure why, really.  Sometimes I kick myself for leaving too much stuff with him and not putting up a better fight.  Ah well.  What’s done is done.

But, here I am, needing to mash potatoes and no potato masher.  I used a fork.  I suppose I could have used the food processor but it always ends up much more like purée, here.  Too sloppy and not enough solidity and I like my mash to be well done but firm.  It was OK.  the fork did the job and I was pleased with the result whilst being annoyed that I hadn’t bought one before now.

So, the next trip to the supermarket and I looked for one.  But they don’t have it.  They had things that you squeeze but they just aren’t right.  I need to mash my potatoes in the pan, with a bit of butter and a little milk and, if I’m doing roast beef, a little horseradish sauce.

So, A (a colleague at work) and I were talking and she mentioned that she and another colleague were going to some shop to look for stuff for another colleague’s birthday.  And I remembered my need for a potato masher.  I asked if she could look for one, explaining very carefully how it looked and saying that nothing else would do (I can be a little hard-headed about certain things, I suppose).

And today she brought it in.  It cost €16 Euro, which is a lot but it is definitely a Ferarri of Potato Mashing implements and not a Vespa!.

It has the ‘mashing plate’ – the one with the holes in but this is on a spring.  Below that is what looks like the element in a kettle.  I guess the ‘element’ is to keep it flat to the base of the pan.  The spring is held within the very sturdy fuschi-pink handle.  A was very apologetic about the colour, explaining that it was the only one they had.  I said it would go great in the kitchen, explaining that I would never lose it being so bright and clashing so perfectly with all the other colours in the kitchen.

So, this weekend, to go with the Tiramisù, I have decided to do Swiss Steak with mashed potatoes and leeks.  This is a bit of a risk since it is meat in the form of, well, meat!  However, the meat is well hidden by the sauce which is thick and very tasty and because it is cooked so long, the meat just falls apart.  I’m hoping that I can get away with this (with F) and I think I might be able to.  I’ve got to try.

But I am very excited with the prospect of being able to use my super new Potato Masher.  It’s the little things that please me.

p.s. I’m a bit worried this blog is turning into a ‘food blog’, for which I am certainly NOT qualified!

Saturday, we’re having Tiramisù!

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I am, of course, expecting something different.

A few days ago, in the hunt for eggs for F, I had, following instructions from the Internet and then from some people who quite obviously lived in that area and told me with a lot of certainty where I should go, veered off track from my normal way home and, in the process, found myself on a real ‘track’, across fields, eventually leading to a farm with a no-entry sign, which I promptly ignored, to park my car and get out and, because I could see no other living being – human or otherwise, traipsed all over the farm and then onto another road where, after some time I found some people who had just driven up who told me that I should go somewhere else.

I gave up at that point and went back to the car and headed home.

Since we are talking Italians and directions and, given that there is so little in the way of sign posts (well, that’s not actually true – there are a million and one sign posts, normally pointing to things you really don’t want or, where there are ones pointing the way to somewhere you want to go, they are lost amongst the irrelevant sign posts or, worse, pointing ambiguously – so you never know you are on the right road until you see another sign post that you want (and since sometimes the sign posting just disappears for a bit, you can never be sure either way)), I asked Pietro (see his blog link at the side) if he would kindly phone this place that I couldn’t find and get the directions from them.

I was bloody determined.

You may wonder why I was travelling all over the Italian countryside for eggs.  After all, I can buy eggs from the supermarket that is about two seconds walk from my house.  Ah yes but, in line with some of the weird and wonderful things to do with F, it seems that not all eggs are, in fact, quite good enough.  It seems that unless you know the hens lineage, one never really knows what one is getting.  OK so I exaggerate just a little.  However, he never eats eggs unless he is at his parent’s home.  This is because, apparently, supermarket eggs are simply not fresh enough and he doesn’t trust them.  So, being the good boyfriend that I am (and, secretly, between you and I, because he has promised me a home-made Tiramisù – but only when he can get fresh, almost plopped-in-your-hand-from-the-hen’s-bottom eggs) I am trying to find somewhere I can buy them directly.  As I work outside the city and, so, travel everyday through kind of green bits (with things like farms and trees and stuff), I thought that I must be able to find somewhere on my way home.

I had visions.  I would find some little farm which had chickens walking about the farmyard with some farmer’s wife responsible for collecting said eggs.  She would be short and round with rosy cheeks and always be wearing an apron over her rather old-fashioned small-flowery dress, with slightly unkempt hair but kindly and I would ask for eggs and she would go the some outhouse where she had some eggs that were still dirty, since they don’t wash them and she would pick some for me and they would still be warm.

I explain to Pietro, jokingly, that, ideally, the eggs would still have hen’s feathers stuck to them.

He asked me why I hadn’t spoken to him before.  He usually does this.  He phones.  They tell him that they stopped selling fresh eggs some time ago.  Hmmm.  But then he explained that there was this place, just outside the town I work and, sort of, on my way home.

I go.

I drive up the lane but, as I approach, instead of a farm yard I see a car park.  The car park is full of cars.  And there are supermarket trolleys abandoned over the car park.  And there are lots of people.

In fact it was, what we would describe as a farm shop.  One of the large farm shops that you also get in the UK.  They sell everything and, were it not for the slightly less salubrious surroundings are, in fact, like a supermarket!

However, F is not with me.  I won’t tell him.  If he thinks, like I did, of a rosy-cheeked, slightly scruffy and old-fashioned farmer’s wife, selling freshly collected eggs from her kitchen, then why would I spoil that image?  Actually, he probably doesn’t have that image.  It was my image.  I still, sometimes, think of Italy as if it was the UK when I was a kid.  And when it isn’t, I feel slightly let-down, wanting it to be true to reinforce my idea that Italy has not pandered to this desire to be modern (except with it’s furniture and fashion and cars, of course).  I want everywhere to be a bit like rural Herefordshire – 20 years ago!

I enter.  The first place is full of veg.  I see signs on the wall for the different sorts of fruit.  I see one for eggs.  I wander over, looking at all the boxes of veg of various types on the way.  I get under the sign and look around.  I don’t see eggs.  What I do see, of course, are grapes.  I had mistaken ‘uva’ for ‘uova’.  It’s a bloody ‘o’ is all.  I feel stupid but, at least, I didn’t speak to anyone and, so, have ‘got away with it’ (or I would have if I hadn’t mentioned it here).

There’re no eggs in this section of the warehouse.  I go, past the tills, to the next section.  Here there is wine, cakes, biscuits, etc.  I see no eggs.  I wander down to the end where there are jams and stuff.  I see an assistant who is loading shelves.  I ask for uova.  She tells me they are held at the till.  I see the tills for this section of the warehouse.  They are on a semi-circular desk next to the door.  I go over.  I stand there, proffering my wallet until the slightly-harassed-looking assistant asks what I want.  I say I would like a dozen eggs.  She gives me two egg-boxes of eggs.  They look, well, much like eggs you could find in a supermarket.  Will he believe that I didn’t buy them at a supermarket, I wonder?

When I get home, I look at them.  On one of the eggs there is, indeed, one of those small wispy hen’s feathers stuck to it.  I am beside myself with joy.

When F gets back to my house, I show him the eggs and point out the hen’s feather.

Saturday, we are having Tiramisù :-D

How old are you?; Inside a Lava Lamp; Cooking and DIY; Rufus; Oh, yes, and I win the lottery

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Miserable bloody weather that it was ….. and still is.

We get the day off on the 1st November. Some catholic thing about the day of the dead. To me, it’s a holiday. And, at a really stupid time of year! I mean, October/November? I ask you, why?

And so, from Saturday night, it rained. And rained. And rained. And rained. Well, you get the idea. It was grim with a capital ‘G’. After today it will be fine …….. until Saturday, when it’s forecast to …..piss down with rain!

Still, it meant, more or less, a weekend at home. We had been offered a trip to the Turin area and lunch at some restaurant. F didn’t really want to go. He doesn’t like the bad weather either, really. Anyway, the trip was to be Sunday when the forecast said it would rain all day (which it did, more or less), so F cancelled our ‘booking’. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Friday.

A (his Milanese friend who lives in London) called. We were going to go for for an aperitivo at Polpetta (see link at side). He was just waiting for her to call when she was on her way. He phones/texts me about 9 to say they are on their way and would pick me up (since I live 2 seconds from Polpetta). On our walk there it is decided that we shall skip the aperitivo and go straight for the Pizza at Liù, which is just across the road from Polpetta.

Whilst we are eating, I get a call from M. M is F’s colleague and the second one I ever met. She speaks English at about the same level as I did before I moved here – if not worse. She is sweet and loveable and we get on really well, in spite of the language which, after a few beers, is not a barrier. She drinks like a fish (or like a cow, as F would say). Before I answer, I say to F that it is strange, her calling me (they are almost best friends, after all). I answer.

“How old are you?”, she asks in a clearly drunken stupor. There is someone (I guess L, their other friend) in the background shouting stuff at her. I know what she means. “I’m very well, thanks”, I reply. She talks some more. I understand nothing. I pass the phone to F.

It seems they are at some bar and want us to join them. The husbands/partners are watching football. M rang me rather than F because she knows F too well and knew he might not answer the phone :-). C is there too as her husband, Ma, who is English, is with the men watching the football.

After our meal we walk up to the Atomic Bar. They are waiting outside. F had told me, on the way there, that when he and S got together, they used to go there a lot. There are a lot of English people that go there. I cannot beat the description on the link – ‘Like hanging out inside a lava lamp”! We have a couple of beers. Ma joins us after the football. The music is too loud and I cannot hear people well, who, in any event, are all talking in Italian. I stand no chance. Plus, I am tired. We leave sometime after midnight, just after it starts to liven up a bit. Rather than English, I would say it is frequented by a lot of students. I am old enough to be their grandfather – not that I care but the loud music and stuff, although good, doesn’t fit well with how tired I am. I am glad to go.

Saturday.

The man came to put the cupboards up in the bathroom. These were the cupboards I bought from IKEA a few weeks ago. I assembled the cupboards but wasn’t quite confident to put them up – although, before I had assembled them I was so confident in my head. I mean, how difficult could it possibly be?

Well, apparently, quite difficult. As I watched him heave them up and there being a lot of cazzoing, I thought that, actually, I had been somewhat crazy to even imagine that I could have done this myself …… on my own! And he even had all the right tools! He looked at my light but couldn’t fix it (so I called the electrician – who may be there on Friday) and looked at my shutters in the bedroom (one of them wouldn’t close) and did fix that, sort of. But the important thing is that it now closes and (almost) opens.

Then, as I had arranged with F, we went to buy my new cooker. I had gone two weeks previously and found the one that I quite liked. It’s all gas, which is my preference but wider and slightly deeper than the current one but, more importantly than anything else, does not just have High, Low and Off but rather gas marks! I can’t wait. I shall be able to cook things properly with much less guessing. Anyway, Saturday was the last day for the offer for free delivery and free fitting which, with gas, is a must. Not really a DIY thing at all, especially for me! Also, the nice thing was that they will deliver on Friday! So I can plan a meal.

Saturday night we went to A’s place. F2 was there too although they are still not really ‘together’. F talks so much. Afterwards I said that he didn’t have to do so much talking. He replied that if he didn’t there would be nobody talking. I think this is not true but I think it is also when he is a bit nervous. The food was great, as usual. It started to rain just after we got there. And almost hasn’t stopped since. We left quite early as I was still tired.

Sunday.

The clocks went back. It means an extra hour in bed. Well, it would mean an extra hour – unless you have small children or dogs. I have dogs. The dogs didn’t put their clocks back. Plus Rufus is ill. I know this will mean a diarrhea mess in the kitchen, even if we do get up quite early. He can’t help it, of course. It does mean exactly that. We take them for a walk after I clean up. It is only spitting but, even so, we bypass the dog walking area – it is too wet and muddy for that. F didn’t have a good night. I did – it just wasn’t long enough.

He wants me to do Crumble again. This time I will do apple and blackberry. He also wants Shepherd’s Pie (as he calls it for, really, it should be Cottage Pie). He also wants carrots the way that A did them last night. I also want to try the Roasted Tomato Soup that I made a few weeks ago.

He goes home and I go shopping. They don’t have fresh Thyme, so I get dried. I forget to get bread (which I realise when it is too late). I get everything else I need. The supermarket (Carrefour in Via Modena) closes just as I am getting the last couple of things – which explains why it is so quiet in there – but this makes it a million times better than going to Esselunga, where I would have had to fight to get round and then queue up for about half an hour at the tills. I even manage to get a bus as I get to Via Castel Morrone! I am very happy.

I start the cooking when I get back. I think the tomato soup will be too much, so one tomato is omitted. I put too much black pepper on them (as I find out later). The Apple And Blackberry Crumble is both easy and will be fine, even if I don’t know how to get cooking apples, so it may be a little too sweet. The Shepherd’s Pie will be huge. I have just the perfect glass dish for it.

I am doing the Blackberry and Apple Crumble, the soup has been done and the Shepherd’s Pie is in the oven when there is the sound of a small explosion and steam comes from the cooker! Shit, I think to myself. I open the door of the oven. There is a lot of steam and hissing and the flames of the gas fire are yellow and bigger than they should be. It takes me a moment or two to realise that the glass was obviously not oven-proof as I had thought and has split. Shepherd’s Pie filling is all over the bottom of the oven. I turn the oven off and carefully lift out the remains of the glass dish. I put it on the side and the gravy starts dribbling nicely down the ‘curtain’ and onto the floor. Hmmmph! I think about it for a moment. Luckily, the glass has cracked (and come off) only on two of the corners. I can rescue most of it. Of course, to be certain I don’t have any glass in the part I am going to rescue, I need to leave quite a lot behind. However, there will be enough for the two of us for a couple of days, even now. I try to clean a very hot oven. Not very well but enough (I hope) to allow me to continue. Ah, well, the cooker goes away on Friday so who cares?

I have moved my computer into the kitchen, on to the kitchen table, since I need the internet to see the recipes. It works much better than me having to traipse from the kitchen to the lounge and trying to remember the next couple of steps. Also, I can listen to music or watch a film or something whilst I am cooking.

The plan is to eat early. I feel like I have been on my feet all day by the time F arrives at about 7.30. We sit down at 8. The meal is great apart from, slightly too much black pepper in the soup. The Shepherd’s Pie is the best I have ever done. The Apple and Blackberry Crumble is fantastic with whipped cream. I am very pleased. So is F. I decide I’m going to try Swiss Steak (a winter favourite of mine) and hope that he will eat the meat. I think I may try it at the weekend with my new cooker.

We play cards a bit, watch some TV, I take the dogs out (in the rain – did I mention that it rained almost ALL weekend?) and we go to sleep.

Monday (we are on holiday).

I am woken by, what seems to be, Rufus’ last breath. He has, what can best be described as, a very bad cold. It seems he is struggling to breathe. It wakes me up. It is 2.30 a.m. The long drawing of breath so loud as to wake me in the first place. I get up to check he’s OK. He’s OK but this is the second time in the last few days that this has happened. I worry that it’s not just a cold. I think that, just now, there seems to be something wrong nearly every week. He is very, very thin at his back end. When you rub his back you can feel every bone as if they are speed humps in the road. I decide to get up and have a drink. I go to the kitchen where, now, the computer is. I clean up the mess from Rufus. I have a drink and look at the computer. I chat with someone who is online through Facebook. They tell me to go back to bed. I do. I awake again just before 9. It is still raining.

F gets up to take the dogs out on a short walk. Short because it is still raining. Meanwhile, I clean up the mess from Rufus. I wonder when this will end. F has suggested that we won’t go to Austria for Christmas and New Year whilst Rufus is like this. I mean, whilst Rufus is alive. F says that he hopes he isn’t here when Rufus dies. I don’t tell him that, in all probability, it will be my choice and that I will take him to the vet, so he won’t see it anyway. I know that he won’t come. That’s OK. I worry that, just a little, I feel that I almost ‘want’ Rufus to go or get so bad that he has to go – just so I can go to Austria for Christmas. It makes me feel very guilty. But then, last night (well at 2.30 a.m.), I think that, anyway, it won’t be long.

However, I remember feeling just as guilty before, with Ben, while we were waiting for him to go before we came to Italy. That made me feel guilty too. In the end, I did it at the right time and I know I will do the same again. I won’t do it just to be away for Christmas – it doesn’t stop me feeling guilty though.

F goes home after breakfast. I sit in the kitchen, in front of the computer for a bit. Then I decide to clean the oven. It makes me feel much better. At least, when they take it away on Friday, it won’t be so bad and they won’t think me such a scumbag for having a dirty cooker! Then I sit at the computer a bit as some washing is doing. Then I decide to put up the new coat hanger I bought at the same time as I bought the table and which has been sitting in the hallway …… waiting for me to put it up. I drill the holes to the right length, put in the rawl plugs and put it up. I am very pleased although I know that I will be unable to open the front door fully. I think that, maybe, this will be a problem for the delivery of the cooker but then, I think, I can always take the coat hanger off, if I really need to. I write some posts but don’t finish them. As usual.

F comes over and we have a second round of soup, Shepherd’s Pie and Apple and Blackberry Crumble. then we watch Cinema Paradisio. I have seen it for about 15 years. The last time was when V & I were doing Italian at night school and the teacher lent it to us. I knew I loved it but couldn’t remember it at all. It’s lovely but we have to have a break at 10.30 so I can take the dogs out. We get to bed just before midnight. I will be tired tomorrow, I think. F says that I need to sleep. It’s true. I have two English lessons after work as well tomorrow night. I sleep.

Tuesday.

The clocks going back have made no difference to the fact that is is pitch black when the alarm goes off at 6.40! Or maybe it’s because it’s still bloody raining! OK, so not raining so much, but, obviously, it’s also dark because of the black clouds. Rufus has not made a mess. Well, that’s one good thing. I end up being late for work. I forgot to tell you that I did win the Superenalotto….everntually. I got three numbers on Saturday night. That’s €16.24. This morning, I go to the tobacconist below my house and play again (even if I promised that I would stop when the jackpot was won, which it was on Saturday – exactly when I won €16.24 instead of €177,000,000). Mau is there as usual. He’s promising to ring me about English lessons too. He needs it for the TOEFL test.

I get to work. I must leave home earlier than I do at the moment. I do the lesson log for M-T, my student for tonight. I am annoyed at myself for not having done it last week but it doesn’t really matter.

As I write this, it is still raining. It is supposed to stop in a couple of hours. I will not finish teaching before 8.30 tonight. Maybe, I think, I will take the whole day off on Friday, when the cooker is delivered. Why not?

I am tired.

It seems I come first, after all!

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“It’s OK”
“Don’t worry about it”

Well, that’s what I wrote. Apparently it wasn’t her fault. Well, I thought, then let’s not beat about the bush. “When is the wedding?”, I write.

“What wedding?” and then, “He’s not getting married”.

OK, well that’s enough then.

I just write, “How strange”

Of course, I was asked why it was strange. I explained that several people, to whom I have mentioned ‘the wedding’, were just surprised I knew about it rather than not understanding what I was on about – which is what you just did (although I didn’t add the last bit – only thought it).

“There’s no date set”. So, and the “What wedding” and the “not getting married” bit, then? What was that?

Basta

And don’t be thinking of getting angry with me about the short shrift. I can’t stand lying and you, as one of the people who were there at the time, should know better. It seems not.

It’s not that it’s a massive surprise but, still ………….

________________________________________________

I’m doing stuff. I mean, sorting stuff out. Much to do. Very busy. Some physical (putting up cupboards, buying new cooker, etc.) and others just practical (paying some bills, sorting out companies, etc.) – but, the important thing is doing it. And it makes me much happier.

Last night he got home really, really late. He lost his way on the way back. Too busy talking to his colleague! Hah! And, so he was very late. He texted to say he would drop his stuff off at home and come to me. I was surprised. I thought that, as he was really tired, he would not come. I can’t go to his place as Rufus is quite ill at the moment and, although on medication, it seems to be taking a while to clear. Up until recently, he would be ill (diarrhea and stuff) about once a month for a couple of days. Now, it seems like once a week. I thought it was eating shit in the dogs areas at first but now I’m not so sure …..

And he is getting so thin. He is just a bag of bones now, especially at the back end. I know it’s how it is but, you know, it is sad to see. Still, he is still walking OK, not falling over (except every so often) and, generally still looking healthy (ish).

But, as he is currently a little ‘unpredictable’ with his toilet there was no way we could go round. Still, I was very happy that F had to decided to come round to mine.

I took the dogs out (it confirmed that Rufus was still ill) and then had a shower.

Then he phoned. Would I mind if he didn’t come round? He was really sorry but he was so tired. If he had known it would be like this, he would have come straight to mine. I do understand. It was a surprise when he said he would come over in the first place. I said not to worry and that I understood and he said:

“Yes, but I wanted to to be with you and the babies”.

It seems I come first, after all!

Untold truths make for a lonely world

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I’m sort of glad that I didn’t write this post earlier. It would have been a bitter and angry post and, rather than that, this morning, driving to work, I suddenly reached a better understanding of it all.

Now, rather than feeling bitter or angry, I feel sorry for them. It doesn’t detract from the fact that I don’t like lies and feel that it isn’t right to lie, especially to me, but I cannot change people and I have to accept it for what it is.

Still, I learnt some things on the way.

The Final Question remains unresolved (but not from my side, you understand) and I now accept, as I said to a mutual friend the other day, that it will always be so. I must now learn not to think about it; to put it out of my mind.

And, anyway, it’s not so much lies. It’s more things left unsaid. Things that should, by rights, be said, aren’t said. They are avoided. My one last (but even as I write it I know there will be one more) act of defiance at these untold truths was a couple of days ago. It was cruel, since I now know the truth and I feel slightly ashamed. But only slightly. After all, even if I had not known the untold truth, it would have been done that way. It only remains ‘cruel’ because of what I now know.

And the untold truth leads to other untold truths and the whole thing becomes an untold truth. And it’s no longer that they are untold truths, in themselves, but rather that the untold truths mean that the whole thing is put into doubt and no truths can be told because to tell some truth may unravel the neat untold truths and it would then be seen for what it is – a life of lies.

“I can’t stand all the fabulousness”, I was told. It was meant that, it’s difficult to stomach all the fabulousness about everything when you know, because you’ve been told, because you know, that underneath all that fabulousness is ‘not-fabulousness’.

But, for me, it’s not even that. What these untold truths mean is that you can no longer talk to someone who, at one time, you were happy to call a friend, about your concerns and worries; you can no longer ask for help; and when something good really happens, you can no longer tell that either because to tell that would imply that, after all, it hasn’t been that fabulous after all; and that would mean to imply that, perhaps, you had not been previously telling all the truth.

And so, you say nothing. You cannot say anything. The communication can start but cannot continue. And so I send an email. And I get a reply. And then I send the reply with the cruel question – for now, I know the reality. And that’s where the communication stops. Or else, as some text messages in August prove, the question or query or statement that you send is completely ignored as if it was never written – because, of course, there is no answer that can be given that is either logical, fair or true – and if you know that much, how can you respond?

And I started out being angry and then became bitter and then I realised that, actually, it was not me that was suffering as a result of this but rather them. And, at that point I actually felt rather sorry for them and thought that, for me, even if I could lie (or not tell the truth) which, in any case, I don’t do well, I would not be able to stand the fact that I could not talk to my friends about the things that were hurting or the problems I was facing and nor could I celebrate when I was triumphant and, in any of those circumstances, I would be missing something and would feel more lonely as a result.

>And, so, in the end I felt so sorry for them for the untold truths make for a lonely world.