Tag Archives: Relationships

F has an idea!

Posted on by
Reply

“I’ve had an idea”, he says. I have many ideas, most of which I keep to myself. I now know that he does too.

He doesn’t tell me straight away. Cleaning teeth, playing the new game on Facebook all go towards a delay in telling me. It isn’t until we get into bed that it is explained.

I should, perhaps, first explain that, the holiday plans go something like this:

We go back to his home town and stay with his brother (AKA Johnny Depp) and sister-in-law, taking our dogs (I can say ‘our’ now – see previous post). We go either next Tuesday afternoon/evening or Wednesday morning (possibly early).

We stay there until Saturday (so three or four nights).

On Saturday we (the dogs and us) go to the flat we have booked in Umbria. We stay there until the following Saturday.

The following Saturday we return to home town and he said he wants to go and stay at his parents place. He has an extra week’s holiday. I come back to Milan and go to work and the following weekend I go back down for the weekend and to pick him up and we return to Milan.

You may notice that the dogs are absent from the last paragraph.

I had thought that, maybe, I could leave the dogs with him – that was until he said he would like to stay at his parents’.

I had not mentioned my idea – but although Dino was really good on both car journeys last weekend and was not sick and drooled a lot less than normal, I didn’t fancy a couple of hours back to the home town and then another 2 or 3 hours to Milan. Dino, however good he may be, may struggle with that one.

But, as I say, my hopes were dashed, somewhat, when he said he would be staying with his parents. Luckily, I hadn’t said anything.

Back to his idea.

“Perhaps I could take the dogs for the week when you come back to Milan”, he said, continuing “but I’m worried about Rufus”.

His worry about Rufus (and there is another post coming up on him worrying, probably) is because Rufus is old and I know things that Rufus does that other people (actually only him) worry about but which are fine, really, because I know Rufus. When he does the teeth chattering thing, for example – it’s OK – I know why or, rather, I know the cause. So when F gets worried, I assure him it’s OK.

We need to see the other house that he and his brother owns. We aren’t stopping there not, as I thought, because the flat is not clean but rather because the garden is overgrown and, therefore, is full of mosquitoes and other parasites that might affect the dogs. I’m not overly worried – but I need to see it first. Perhaps next week.

I suggest that, if he would like, he can keep Dino and I just take Rufus with me since Dino and F have that special bond – they love each other so much.

I also suggest that it would be OK and I would take the dogs back with me because then he can have more of a relaxing holiday. The key (for me) is the other house. I need to see it to determine if I can allay his fears or if he is correct. Maybe next week.

Still, I’m glad that he came up with the suggestion and I thanked him for the idea. I also said that he shouldn’t worry about Rufus and, anyway, I was only a telephone call or text away and, if anything really bad happened, I could be there within a couple of hours.

They have two dogs.

Posted on by
2

The differences between us and the Italians are many. I think we Brits like the idea of Italy so much because of these differences. They are little things; in themselves, of no importance but adding them together, there is a whole world waiting to be discovered or ready to trip up the unsuspecting ex-pat from the UK (and, probably, other places too).

Take one as an example. We have lunch – in the garden, in the gazebo, under the trees which are ten times the height of the small ‘holiday home’ but which help to lower the temperature to a very comfortable level. We spend nearly all the time in the garden. The dogs enjoy it and we enjoy it. We sit and chat (or, rather, they sit and chat – I sit and listen…mostly) or play cards or eat.

Lunch was what one would expect. Simple but beautiful food – slices of tomato with a slice of mozzarella on each, drizzled with good olive oil and sprinkled with parsley; slices of prosciutto and coppa; good bread and foccacia; lettuce leaves coated with the same olive oil – and my favourite – celery and parmigiana with some seasoning (I must find out what). All served with wine or beer and water, of course – siamo in Italia.

It wasn’t the meal that was different. Hell, in the UK we have similar, if not quite so good and fresh. No it was afterwards. And this bit I have never known happen in the UK – we got in the car to drive to a café for coffee! And, of course, not like you do it in the UK – it wasn’t a big thing in itself – we stood at the bar and drank it within a few minutes. The big thing was that it was run by the daughter of someone that F had gone to college with. But I’m not sure that’s the reason we went!

But we would never have gone out for coffee in the UK. It is strange but nice but always reminds me that I remain a stranger in a strange land.

Of course, no one knows that F is gay. Well, apart from his brother and sister-in-law. Oh and his sister (and, I presume, brother-in-law and nieces). But his parents ‘don’t know’, apparently.

So during the birthday lunch, his sister-in-law was talking to his sister. They were comparing animals.

“We’ve got two dogs and one cat and you have four cats”, she says, before adding “and they’ve got two dogs”.

F turns to me, excitedly, and says “You see, she said “they’ve got 2 dogs”” – meaning that everything was alright and everyone knows anyway, even his parents – which, of course, they do and on which I had very little doubt! And, also for him, the fact that he is included in the ‘ownership’ of the dogs is important. Which is fine by me!

Too fast? Too slow, more like

Posted on by
Reply

“It’s all too fast”, he states.

“Not for me, it isn’t”, I reply.

“At our age you have to take things more slowly”.

“Really? Why?”

And I mean it. Really? Why? Why does one have to take it slowly? Surely, one should take it slowly when you’re very young – when there really IS enough time. Now, we should be rushing and going as fast as possible.

He suggests it is because of experience but concedes that that’s not in my experience – so outside my knowledge. Later, I think that I should have said that, more or less, when I was his age, I started a relationship with the guy I just spent over 20 years with – and, if I had my life over again, I would do exactly the same.

“But it’s been over nine months”, I attempt to justify to him. He has this habit of not looking at me. Of moving his head in such a way as to appear blind – like blind people do – looking into the air and moving their head from left to right – see Stevie Wonder, for example.

He doesn’t look at me when he says, “C’mon Andrew, 9 months is very short”.

I won’t argue with him. He doesn’t understand. To be, possibly, meeting the family after 9 months together is not fast. It’s slightly more than snail’s pace.

But then, as I pointed out to him, no one in the UK at the age of 30+ (or, even 20+) would consider spending the two/three weeks of their holiday at their parent’s house. Christmas, probably. Easter, maybe. But your summer holiday? Going home and spending all that time with your parents? Are you crazy?

So we may look the same but, mentally, we’re very, very different.

Even in little things. We got to the bar and there were empty tables at the far end, outside. I sat with my back to a huge fan they had going. A sat opposite me. The fan turned and, at one point in its cycle, the air blew, quite strongly, on to my back and the the back of my neck.

“I can’t sit here”, he says. “The fan will mean that I will get a [stiff] neck”, he says, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, the part not being affected by the wind from the fan. Still, he got the waiter to adjust it, all the same. I’ve only ever really seen that here. No one in the UK gets that bothered by a bit of air movement. How can we? It’s so windy so often!

And, talking of the UK, I’m wondering what to take F to see and what to avoid. Should I go to my parent’s house (just to look where it is, not for any other reason); or just stick to Worcester – walk round a bit – Hereford we can do after the wedding. I will go to my Grandfather’s grave – just for a few moments – he was/is still my hero.

But, I want him to see where I’ve ‘come from’, so to speak. I don’t know why. But it might be boring. I have to be careful. We shall, hopefully, meet up with the bride and groom the day before and some other friends just afterwards and then, I hope, providing she can do it, go and stay with Best Mate for a few days.

I would like to go and see V’s Dad – but probably won’t get the chance. I would like to see Corrine but, again, it might be a bit much for F.

Or, perhaps, we should just suck it and see?

Jealousy – yes but no but yes but no …… oh, I don’t know. What do you want me to say?

Posted on by
2

Yes but no but yes but no

There is the usual shaking of the head. And the usual “you’re not jealous?”, said with an incredulous voice.

“No, why should I be?”, I normally reply, continuing with “and anyway, I trust him”.

Of course, this is so. I do trust him. I think this relationship is more important to him than anything else. He expresses things by actions, as he has always pointed out. He doesn’t go down to his home town because of me and the dogs. I get invited to almost anything he goes to. He stays at my messy place even if it must irritate him a lot – his place being so perfectly tidy and all.

He doesn’t really do words. He’s a visual person. An action type of guy. Words, to him, are meaningless if the actions say something different – so he chooses to express everything by action rather than using words.

I keep it all under control. But, still, sometimes it’s difficult.

After all, the response I give is usually, 99% of the time, true.

But, occasionally it isn’t. But that’s a little like the exchange – ‘How are you?” – “I’m fine thanks”. It’s the way I am. I have to project happiness and be positive. Negativity annoys me.

But, as you, my dear reader, will know by now, what goes on inside is not the same as the projected Andy. The inside Andy is full of doubt and insecurity and, yes, jealousy!

“Some people said ‘But what about Andy?'”, he reports.

Yes, indeed. What about Andy? Do you honestly think he feels nothing? Do you think that comments like ‘It’s only sex and as long as he comes back to me and doesn’t fall in love” or “I don’t care” make him feel better?

The other thing is – what did he see in them? Or is it that I am just the different one? I am a reaction to the ‘norm’.

“No, he’s not in fashion. That’s good”, he tells someone last night. They all agree. It’s much better if I have nothing to do with the fashion industry or art or something ‘gay’ like that.

But, then, that means we have even less in common. That means that he has plenty of opportunity and I don’t. Or something like that.

I was jealous of Si, his colleague. Si is very nice. He says things to me like “He loves you very much”. He says the things that F doesn’t. Si is straight, apparently. But this is the fashion world. Worse still, it is the Italian fashion world with the men who are Italian and who think that being married or having a girlfriend doesn’t exclude them from having casual sex with other men! But I’m no longer jealous of Si. He is a really nice guy. I know that he and F are close. But I don’t think there is anything else.

Again, I wonder what he sees in them. Unattractive, camp, over-effeminate guys.

I dislike a lot of gay people – because of this and their seeming inability not to involve casual sex in their conversation at some point or other.

The guy says; “I love Gay Romeo. You can chat and then you have some nice guy come round and have sex”

Actually he didn’t quite say that. The person he was chatting to, in this story, which happened two days ago, had a girlfriend and wanted money for the sex. Apparently they negotiated. He was explaining how this was the first time he had paid but how it was so much cheaper in the long run because he didn’t have to buy the cocaine and the drinks that would have been invariably required. And, apparently, the guy smiled and was nice all the time. He told the guy to keep every Wednesday free.

It’s not that I feel that I’m missing out – I just have never wanted that type of life. Nor, really, do I want to hear about it. It’s not that I want to shut my ears to it. It’s that it is, for me, quite depressing to hear. It worries me that I would end up like that. It’s the same with homeless people. After all, the sex part is not important, it’s the lack of real emotion, of intensity between two people that’s important (even if the sex would be ‘intense’ – it’s not the same). Surely?

And then I think – maybe it’s not jealousy. Maybe it’s insecurity? Yes, not being sure, perhaps? Maybe?

I’ve never understood why, when people get really jealous, all their rage is taken out, not on their partner but on the person their partner is with (or they think is with). That has never happened to me. If I got jealous in the past, the only thing is that I don’t want to see the other person. But I’m not angry or anything towards them but towards my partner.

Perhaps it’s not actually jealousy. And perhaps that’s why I don’t understand it?

Perhaps I should have kept the original subtitle to the blog. The one about coming here to find the passion and that it is here, all around me but that it never really touches me inside.

Perhaps I just can’t get the same feelings and I am mistaking one for another?

Holidays and weekends away

Posted on by
Reply

He says, in Italian, something like “Andy sends his regards” or “Andy says ‘hello’ or “Andy sends his best wishes” or “Andy sends his love”. They use one single phrase, more or less, whereas we have hundreds and each one has a slightly different meaning and depends, to some extent on the relationship you have with the person receiving these words.

I don’t know to whom he is speaking. Obviously someone that knows me.

After the call he tells someone who we are with that “I will be going to Tuscany, maybe next weekend”. In this way, he reminds me of V. Saying something with no real meaning.

Immediately before that comment he had told me that it was A, his sister-in-law and that she had sent her best wishes to me. She is sweet. I wonder what he has said to them about me?

Later he says that we can go down and stay with R&A – perhaps this weekend? I had got it right when I overheard them talking in the car on the way to the concert. I mean, I knew I had but I do like the confirmation. He says that we would go down on Saturday morning and come back Sunday night. I have my new car now.

He says that it is a bit difficult because next week he will still be busy but it will be easier than the last couple of weeks. I suggest that, maybe, we go down the weekend after we come back from the UK. He thinks that might be good because then it will be his Dad’s birthday (end of July).

He also tells me later that, during the first week of our holidays, after the dogs have been washed and brushed (for they have a booking on the Tuesday) we can go down to stay with R&A for a few days on our way to Umbria.

It’s all I can do to stop grinning. Not only had I fully understood but now I really get to go down to the home town. I am very happy about that. I get to meet some friends that I know but have never met; some friends that I know and have met. I get to see his home town, where he grew up. I get to see his brother and wife (although, of course, that’s full of other issues as I have already posted). We get to have a longer time together.

I think he has, somewhat ‘engineered’ the invite from his brother. It makes me smile. Bless him.

I am a bad, bad, BAD person.

Posted on by
6

I feel like Smeagol. I am a bad, bad person.

I’m going to tell you a secret and it will just be between you and I. It is too weird and complicated and freaky.

So, here goes.

I am walking towards the entrance. There, standing, waiting is a vision of loveliness. He seems quite tall; he’s wearing black jeans, slightly faded, with smart, black shoes; he sports a black shirt which immediately brings to mind the song, Camice Nere or whatever it was (I probably spelt it wrong and there was a lot of controversy about it but the song itself was wonderful and I didn’t understand the words anyway – first off I didn’t even know it wasn’t Italian and secondly I thought it was talking about a black waitress – until I was told about it (so, go on, laugh – it is quite funny, really)); the shirt open till about halfway down the chest; the chest, smooth and a deep red-brown colour that was so perfect, as if he had stepped out of an advert for clothes or perfume or something; his beard was half-grown – designer stubble as we say; his hair, brown but not too dark, maybe lightened by the sun, straight and long, parted in the centre, flowing down to his shoulders, curling very slightly at the ends, outwards; he wore red-framed spectacles but, unusually for me, they weren’t a turn-off; he gave an air of being casual, yet sporty, yet intelligent – all in all, the perfect man for me.

He could, almost, be Johnny Depp! There, you have the picture.

As I approached, I recognised him. Of course, I couldn’t be 100% certain but I was 99% certain. Maybe it was the nose, which in any event was ‘there’ and prominent. He did look younger than his 41 years even if, later, I saw traces of grey at the edge of his beard.

I became 99.9% certain it was him as I rounded the corner and found the woman sitting there, on the small wall.

I go to the buzzer and ring the bell. I am let in but ask about the guy and have confirmation that it is, indeed him. I am, already, racked with guilt even for my thoughts.

I try my best (and it is a very poor best) to confirm that I know who he is and would they like to come up.

We introduce ourselves and go up.

F is there in his underpants, as usual when he is at home. He is gorgeous and I love him. But the man on his sofa, with his shirt almost undone, now, is like the perfect version of F. I wonder if he shaves his chest and decide that he probably does. Men are so vain these days, straight or gay. The black shirt against the exposed chest and stomach make them, well, perfect.

We talk. Well, I talk little. Everyone speaks in Italian but it is well-pronounced (they are all from Tuscany) and, it seems, not talking in dialect, which would be impossible for me anyway. I wonder if they are all talking slower because of me or they normally talk like this.

R takes off his glasses. I can’t believe how stunningly beautiful he is

I say that they look alike. Apparently, no one else thinks so. But, although they are not actually exactly the same, they are alike enough for me to know they are brothers although I would not have said twins. I think it is the nose that does it.

F gets dressed and off we go. R drives with A and F in the back seats – I am in the front cos I (sort of) know where to go.

I get into the passenger seat and imagine that I reach my hand across to place it on his leg. As I think that, I know that I am only thinking that because it is a bad, very bad, thought. I catch myself glimpsing his crotch and wondering if there are any other likenesses. Again, I only do this because I know that I should not.

But they are nice people, R & A. We chat (well, they chat) and I follow almost all – occasionally F chips in with some translation for me or helps me if they ask a direct question of me.

It’s easy – not difficult. They seem very relaxed in my presence; nothing is awkward nor strained. I don’t follow the conversation completely, but I think they asked why F had not been down and he explains about the babies and they say that we can stay with them and that there is a garden and, anyway, they have two dogs (female) and one cat so it will be fine. And it would be fine, of course. I know that nothing would ever happen but, still, he is stunningly good looking and I imagine things even if, at the same time, it would almost be like incest and is too icky to even contemplate.

But knowing that and knowing how bad it is, I still can’t stop looking at him as he drives!

F and A go to take our seats whilst R & I go for the beer. We are in Italy but neither of us think about it. I ask him what he does. The language is a barrier to real conversation and it seems we have an interminable silence but it is not really so. We are nearly at the front when R realises that everyone else has a receipt – i.e. we should pay first. R rushes to the queue to pay and get the receipt. He returns at the same moment as I need to order the beers.

A talks almost as much as F does. They talk about the pets, the houses, the family, etc. As one would. I sit furthest from R. I look at him from time to time, amazed at how perfect he is and being disgusted with myself at the same time. Even with his glasses on – I am shocked that I can find someone with glasses so attractive – take away the other problem that he is, more or less, the equivalent of my brother-in-law!

At one point, during the concert, I whisper to F that I love him. Which I do. R is not a possibility and anyway, even if he were, it would not happen for I do, truly, love F. R is simply a distraction and is not F, even if they are similar.

After the concert, we walk back to the car. We learn that A is 57. F says she doesn’t look it. I echo that. But she does really. I mean, she looks like a granny – a rather hip granny – but a granny, nonetheless.

She walks more slowly and, for the walk back, whilst the two brothers walk ahead, we lag behind. She talks to me, sometimes in English but mostly in Italian, telling me all about them, their age difference, her first (and only) daughter (with her first husband when she was about 20 years old), her wish not to have more kids but if it happened then it would be fine (but I don’t think it will happen now) and her daughters wish not to have kids and the problem with the world today.

We drive back. I don’t look at him so often – on purpose for I know how wrong it is. I ask, F if his brother’s hair is naturally straight or if he straightens it. It is naturally straight. They are, it seems, nothing alike and yet ……….

They park the car and we walk them back to F’s flat. They feel bad that they are taking F’s flat but F had already explained that we live so close and we either sleep in his flat or mine. There’s no surprise with that but neither is it expanded upon.  There has been no talk or questions about us. Maybe that will come later? Later, next time, I mean. After all, they are also in an unusual situation and I don’t think they can or would criticise us.

At the entrance to the flat we say our goodbyes. They ask why I haven’t been down. F tells them in Italian that I always say that ‘I haven’t been invited’! They officially and formally invite me. We laugh.  We kiss cheeks.  Everything is normal AFU.  OK, only AFU in my head not theirs nor F’s.  Our first week of the holiday may be secured – see I am a really bad, bad person.

But I really like them. They have been so nice, they are seemingly open and friendly and have been very, very nice towards me.

I look forward to meeting them again. I think the whole issue of him being so perfect will be different next time. I hope so. For certain, he is not perfect.

I am shocked at myself. I am disgusted with myself. I hate myself. I am, mentally, beating myself – and I deserve it!

I hope you do not judge me too harshly but I have to tell someone. I am frightened I will say the wrong thing to F. My mouth must stay firmly shut on this. Sometimes, damn my brain!

I’m not sure this is right!

Posted on by
2

When I met V he used this lightening cream. It’s not that he was ‘black’ black but rather red-based black, meaning he was a lot lighter than a lot of other black people.

I learnt many things about what it is to be black. The creaming every day to stop one’s body from having dry skin, which on most white people is just a bit irritating and, well, white, whereas on black people is, well, white and, therefore, just a tad more noticeable; the attention paid to the hair – using oils and stuff to make it softer, without which it resembles wire wool both to look at and touch.

But, in addition to all the other ‘stuff’ that V used, he used the lightening cream, not wanting to be white, just not wanting to be too black.

Really, of course, it is a type of bleach. I was quite worried about it. I mean, it wasn’t as if I had any problem with his shade of black for that was not what I was looking at. Black people’s skin is beautiful and almost always smooth – but there is a price to pay – this whitening cream seemed a little too much of a price to pay. Bleach, even in small doses, I reasoned, could not possibly be good for the skin, for you, if applied every day.

And so, I applied my reasoning to him, wanting him to be happy but not to have problems later in his life, which is what I thought should happen. And if he applied it after shaving, it burnt him. Now that can’t be good, I thought.

And, so, he stopped using it after I had suggested it could not possibly be good for him and explaining why I thought this.

There is a product, currently on sale here, that is aimed at men. It seems to be advertised everywhere. It reminds me of the old wild west of America when coke and tomato sauce were invented and initially promised great things in terms of health before being seen as the confectionery they actually are and with no significant health-giving properties. I mean, coke cleans up dirty old coins – how good can it really be for your stomach! Although, as we all know, a coke and a bag of crisps (for the salt) are brilliant when, say, travelling in Egypt to avoid or cure the ‘holiday tummy’ problem one often finds.

But back to this product. It is a cream. This cream will, apparently, reduce your bulbous stomach – a way of slimming, simply by applying the cream every day.

F is not stupid but sometimes seems a little too hopeful. He does have a slight stomach, that, actually, I find very sexy. I don’t know why, it’s really not like me at all!

However, he promises me it only came on after last year’s summer holiday in his home town, when he ate and drank far too much. Mainly ate though as he stayed with his parents and, so he says, his Mum cooks – a LOT.

But now he wants to get rid of it. I say he should leave it – but to no avail.  He does the dieting bit from time to time but it is a little difficult for him. He likes his beer too much – and his food! So dieting is out really.

And now he’s found the cream. “But is it working?”, I ask. He replies that he doubts it but it doesn’t stop him putting it on each night, rubbing it over the stomach and, like the lottery, hoping that he is the one person that wins, against the odds.

Last night I got in to his flat. He is ‘fanning himself’ with his hands. It is hot – but as I mentioned in the last post, cooler now. But he is very hot and there’s a reason. the cream of this miracle product is burning!

“It can’t be good if it is burning”, I say, trying to be gentle about the fact that, if it were me, I would stop immediately.

“No, it’s OK”, he replies in the standard way that he does – at least to me.

“But”, I say, trying to be a little more forceful, “I am sure it’s not supposed to burn when you use it!”

“Don’t say that”, he replies, “else I shall be worried about it”.

I laugh but hope that he is right and gives it some thought. It cannot be right. The motto ‘No pain, no gain’ is right but surely not for something that you rub on your stomach?

He’s not the only man in Italy using it. I know of several other people that are trying this out. Hmmm. Still, it can’t be right, can it?

Twins and Exes

Posted on by
2

This week may be interesting.

First, I get to meet some of the family. The twin brother, in fact. Plus wife, who is, apparently, just a little younger than me and means, of course, the chances of children are slim. They are coming to Milan to go to a Pat Metheney concert with us and, I guess, will stay over at F’s flat whilst he stays at mine.

His brother, apparently, knows about F being gay. I’m not sure whether he’s the only family member but I think F’s sister knows as well. And, anyway, once you tell one it soon spreads, so, probably, everyone knows. I don’t think anyone knows about me, as such. F is quite funny like that.

It will be interesting. I’ve never known so many people who are one of a twin as I do here! F’s twin has to be different from him and I think I’ve seen a picture once.

Then, later in the week, I will probably get to meet the last boyfriend. He has shops in Rome and comes up for the showroom sales (which are on now). Apparently, he will stay at F’s flat and we shall go out for a meal. I’m not sure where F will stay. He says that he usually stays and that there is no sex involved. I’m not sure why he tells me this. I didn’t think there would be. And, anyway, I trust him.

M (F’s Ex) was the one who said ‘I love you, I love you’ for six months and then, one morning, got up and said it was all over. It all made F a bit wary and he didn’t understand why it changed overnight. I don’t think he does now. M, in fact, suggested a holiday on an island off Africa somewhere. It was to include both of us. He knows about me. In the end there weren’t enough takers so the holiday was off. Anyway, I couldn’t have afforded it. And then there were the ‘babies’ to think of.

In any event, two important people will be coming – important to F and, therefore, important to me. It should, as I said, be interesting.

Some stuff

Posted on by
Reply

I have had it sitting on my desk, with a stamp on, for weeks and weeks. To post it, it meant a trip down Via Castel Morrone to the post office. Post boxes, here, always seem in such short supply.

I keep meaning to do it. It’s not crucial. It’s the acceptance to the invitation to the wedding. The wedding is at the end of this month but they know we’re coming, so it’s not crucial.

But, apparently, the Bride’s mum likes getting them back and mine has an Italian stamp – so more exotic, I guess. And, anyway, the stamp’s used now so I might as well.

OK, I say to myself, I WILL go the the post office tonight.

I take the card from the desk and have it in my hand as I walk round the corner to the car. I will put it on the seat of the car to remind me to go there tonight.

As I walk round the corner, I almost bump into a post box! I never knew it was there. I walk past it nearly every day, sometimes twice a day and never noticed it before. We men are crap. As my mother used to say – we can’t see for looking.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

I don’t know whether he forgot it ‘on purpose’. I knew, that morning, that he wasn’t going to come. Sometimes, I think, I am beginning to understand him.

He gets up to his alarm. It is 7.30 a.m. I would like to stay in bed and would like to get more sleep but probably won’t. But Saturday and Sunday are the only two days I get to sleep in.

I get up to let him out and then go back to bed. But I know sleep won’t come now so get up anyway.

I see his phone. Hmmmm. I think to myself that it would be easier for him not to come tonight if he doesn’t have his phone. He could say that he needed to go and get it or that he couldn’t tell me what time he had come back or that he wasn’t sure whether we had gone somewhere else, etc, etc.

I go onto FB and chat to him. I tell him I have his phone. He says not to worry. I say I will bring it round. He says he will be fine without it. I say that if he doesn’t have it I cannot tell him where we go and what time, etc. I say I will bring it round shortly.

I take the dogs. After all, it is ‘cooler’ at this time. We walk the normal way. We go through an area between the trees in a quieter street. there are, usually, at night, a couple of homeless people, possibly of Asian descent, that sleep on a couple of benches. If they were there last night then they got up earlier. They are not there. I guess, that Sunday is much like any other day for them – possibly less people to beg off – if they beg.

But they are gone. In the distance, at the end of this patch of green and trees, on the end bench I see someone lying down, probably asleep.

As I approach the bench, I see at the side of it, the obligatory empty beer bottle. I think he may be the guy who I often see on that bench. The one who doesn’t seem to be homeless as he’s always sitting there, not sleeping there – as far as I knew.

As I approach with the dogs, the guy wakes up, or, at least, gets up. He looks homeless. He has a shirt and trousers but they do look like they have seen better days.

As we come aside the bench he reaches in his pocket and pulls out his mobile phone!

What?????

OK, so maybe not homeless after all – or someone who is homeless but rich enough to have a mobile phone?

________________________________________________________________________

Dino has two, very annoying habits. He licks and he pulls on the lead. The licking (as I may have mentioned before) I can’t seem to stop. The pulling I can but it takes time.

And so, at least at the start of every walk he pulls and he’s quite a strong dog – about 25Kgs of solid muscle! I yank him back and make him walk beside me until he stops pulling.

But it couldn’t last forever.

His collar is a material (cotton) collar. It starts to break. So now, tonight, I have to go and buy a collar. First a bigger one as his neck is much thicker than Rufus’. Secondly a leather one as a leather one will last much longer!

_________________________________________________________________________

Update:
He didn’t come. He could have but he didn’t. I didn’t think he would.

I am walking home and I am tired. I phone him and it seems like he cut off the call. Maybe he’s asleep already. I text to say I am going home and then taking the dogs out and then going to bed as he seems asleep.

I get home. It seems he’s on Facebook. I chat to him that I tried to phone and that I have sent a text.

I take the dogs out. I come back and am having a quick glass of milk. He calls. The phone was on charge in the bathroom. He left the computer on. He was watching telly in the bedroom. Am I coming round, he asks. If you don’t mind, no, I reply. I am ready for bed. He says the phone did not say I had phoned.

Ah well, anyway, he seems to have bad nights with me or, maybe, because of the heat, I don’t know. Still, it does no harm for us to spend the occasional night apart – or is that wicked of me?

Back to the grind; a little lopsided

Posted on by
2

Well, finally, I’m on my way! Yessssssss!

I met my first student yesterday. Very sweet and, I think, it will be a lot of fun. Then, I was telling FfI and it might be that she can put some work my way, which would be very cool.

And I did some things I have been putting off; tidying stuff in the house and sorting some things, so I feel like I really did something this weekend, which also makes me happy.

Now, tonight, I must start digging out the stuff I need to teach English and start doing the photocopies and stuff.

Saturday night, we went to a ‘new’ restaurant – Piero & Pia. We sat outside as it was warm but with a nice breeze. I had goose liver pate with some warm, sweet bread, followed by rack of lamb (and for once, here, in Italy, it was cooked right – pink) with roasted potatoes and then a thick, creamy rice pudding with a sprinkling of sultanas and a light dusting of coconut for sweet. It was all delicious. With wine and water it was something around €50 per head. Not outrageous but not cheap either!

The only problem was at the end. F insisted on paying for it all. It’s just that I really can’t afford it right now but I’m annoyed at myself for being in a position where we can’t go ‘dutch’. This is one of the reasons for going back to English teaching. It will just give me the spending money I need and, hopefully, will just give me that bit extra for our holidays. I know F can afford it (the occasional meal, etc.) but that’s not really the point.

Ah, well – soon it will be different :-)