Tag Archives: Experiences

Move along, please. Nothing to see here.

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Shhhhhhh!

It’s only a thought and not at all definite but ……………..

We went to see a flat last night. F had already seen it whilst I was at The Visit and was taken enough with it that he arranged for us to see it together, after work.

Of course, now that the clocks have gone forward, it is light when I get home and so possible to see things straight away rather than waiting until Saturday. It’s not far from the “Perfect street”, so very close to where I live now. The street is much quieter. The flat is much larger than our two flats together. The rooms are huge (well, not the kitchen but still big enough to fit a table) and there is the room for me to shut myself away (if we fit some doors to it – for some reason, apart from one bedroom, the bathrooms and the kitchen, doors have been removed!)

It needs us to fit a kitchen (a fairly normal thing here). We could find some old doors to put on my “studio”. It’s lovely and big and very light (F’s requirement) and has four balconies of various sizes (from quite small to quite large) – meaning plenty of spaces for the dogs.

It’s in a 1930s building – not the best I’ve seen but still nicer than something new. There’s a doorman/woman until 6.30 every evening (which means I don’t have to wait for parcels until Saturday) and, it will be cheaper than our two flats.

There’s just one thing – it’s on the 4th floor. The 4th floor is OK (it’s at the top of the trees in the road which is why it’s quite light) but it’s also a long way down when you look over the edge of the balconies.

Anyway, we’ve discussed pricing and offers and stuff and now F will do his stuff.

Oh, and it has another advantage – 3 months’ deposit but only 1 month’s rent in advance and then pay monthly – which does make everything much, much easier.

And, so we’ll see. But don’t say anything, just in case, eh?

The Visit

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It was like attending a very important job interview.

My hands were sweating and it was difficult to concentrate on anything much.

I arrived at least 10 minutes early, as you do. At first, the receptionist thought that I was trying to make an appointment but when she gave me some date in the future, I realised. I couldn’t even really understand her – my little Italian had deserted me somewhere in my mashed-up brain.

The seats in the waiting room were the usual plastic chairs, arranged around the walls, a single coffee table in the centre of the room with some reading stuff which I didn’t read. The receptionist informed me that she wasn’t here yet. Hmmm.

I tried to play a game on my phone but I just couldn’t concentrate. About on time, she arrived and I was told to go in.

Of course, on principle, I don’t ask “permesso”, since I had made the appointment and so she was expecting me and had been informed that I was there and had already asked the receptionist to show me through. So, why ask permission to enter? It never makes any sense to me. By all means, do it if you are not expected or have not been invited or have not already let someone in to your building (so you know they’re there.)

Anyway, she was really nice. Asking me questions that, most of the time, I didn’t know the answer to or had some idea but couldn’t be sure. But that was fine.

Then I asked my questions and, more or less everything was OK. I only asked about 3 questions, so not too harrowing for me.

However, as expected, there are more visits to come. Which is a pain.

And I was in a bit of pain but I didn’t let it show. I “did my back in a bit” when brushing Piero on Sunday. My own fault. Still, I didn’t want her to see I was in pain.

And, so, on to the next visit!

And I survived, which is good :-)

Someone’s Day

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It’s always someone’s day and today it’s Mother’s Day (in the UK).

Today is the day when you think of your mother or remember your mother or give her a call or a card or a present or all these things.

A mother gives birth to you and then brings you up, sacrificing many things for you. Loving you beyond reason. Looking after you; being there when you need someone and everyone else has let you down or worse. Someone who loved you whatever. She would be so proud of your successes. Would support you when there were failures. Would just “be there”.

I read about them. Mothers. How there is some special bond between them and their children. How people miss them when they’re gone. How much they love them when they are alive.

I always wanted a mother.

I mean, physically, I had one, obviously. And I lived with that woman for the first eighteen years of my life. I understand other people’s relationship to their mothers. To a point. But, of course, without that, one can’t fully understand and so I understand and, yet, don’t understand. I see it but I see it from outside – like a kid looking in the window of a sweet shop but who can’t get in. You understand the sweets are nice and, well, sweet but, having never tasted one, how can you really know the sensation of eating one?

Of course, I could ring V’s mum – who always treated me like her son and would tell everyone that I was – even if that was impossible. But I won’t since that seems too presumptive and intrusive. After all, she didn’t give birth to me and didn’t raise me for the first eighteen years of my life. She met me when I was 30. And, in spite of the fact that she was always sweet and lovely to me, we don’t have that special bond that can only be with a mother. I always thought she was just saying that, to make me feel better. Which it did as I realised the niceness of it.

So, I won’t be phoning the woman who would be known as my mother. She’s quite vindictive and hateful. For most of my life, she hasn’t been there. She’s a shadowy figure best forgotten.

And some of you will think that’s sad. But that’s because you have a mother that isn’t/wasn’t like that. You had someone you loved deeply and who loved you back. Therefore your feeling of sadness comes from the fact that you didn’t have the a mother like I did. And, for that you should be grateful. And there may be those of you who never knew your mother. And perhaps you feel that I should be more conciliatory. But, then, you never knew the woman who gave birth to me. We can never really walk in someone else’s shoes. Never experience their experiences for we are all unique. And all mothers are unique, even if you never knew them.

So, I say happy Mother’s Day to all mothers who are/were truly mothers. But for one, I can’t say that.

It WAS all damned lies, as I thought

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I don’t know how I feel.

I mean, the feelings are all a little mixed up.

There’s a feeling of anger but it’s not so strong.

There’s a feeling of sadness. Not for anything that was “missed”, since it wasn’t. For the people involved, I suppose.

There’s a feeling of relief. After all, there’s now no way that I will be found, nor even looked for. And there’s a kind of finality, an ending, a closing off. A closure.

And, there’s a feeling of hate, of course, for certain of those people involved. Hate is not a good feeling but it’s not something I can stop. But, to be honest, I expected nothing better from the females.

It would have been better, of course, if, as I had expected, my name was not even mentioned. But it was and that was to be specifically excluded. Other people who, perhaps, should have been mentioned and who I expected to be mentioned, weren’t. That was unexpected. But, still, they weren’t specifically excluded. But I was. Well, of course, it was my fault for even wanting to see it, I suppose.

Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now and I wouldn’t have done anything about it even if I had known it would make a difference. Not that I expect that it would have made any difference. Then or before.

But, I suppose what gets me the most is the lies. The lies from all those years ago and from the time when I gave someone a chance – but who was lying all the time. Still, that’s sales people for you. It’s what they do. Lie.

And, yes, it smarts a little. But not really a lot.

After all, it’s reciprocal.

And all these feelings will pass and I’ll be back to the same and at least now I know and it’s exactly, more or less, as I thought. Except for one thing. There is no future (for this thing). There’ll be no surprising call or message asking for a last meeting or anything. Something that had been worrying me a bit since I couldn’t work out what my response would be. Well, now I know.

And, I also know there was no feeling for me and that’s OK. In fact, that’s better for there was none from me either.

But, still, the hand-written addition, excluding only me. Their final message to me. But, at least it’s final and done now.

And time to get on with my life.

A concert, the weather and the dreaded Visit.

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Well, I managed to book for Kate Bush ….. eventually.

Not the date we wanted, nor, even, at a weekend but at least I got some. I saw her on her first (and only) tour back in 1979 (in Manchester) and I remember it quite well. It was an amazing concert. Obviously, this one won’t be so “energetic” but I imagine she’ll do a good show in any event.

I have been so busy of late. So much so that this weekend will be a relaxing weekend. The temperatures should be in the 20s (°C) and it should be sunny – so that means a walk with the dogs, at least.

Of course, there’s the nagging thing about “The Visit”. That hasn’t gone away. The list is quite long now, which is to be expected. Few people know about it, which is the best thing.

Of course, it’s unlikely to be just this one. I’m expecting some other “visits” will have to follow. It’s almost like I shall be “sucked into” this thing. Like getting stuck in whirlpool – going further and further down, getting completely caught up in rounds of “visits”. I’ve avoided all this, so far.

Other things are being “sorted” but much more needs to be done before everything is ready. Still, one thing at a time, eh?

Update: And, apparently, I was lucky to get any tickets!

The Visit is booked.

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Well, it’s been done now.

Or, rather, booked.

And, even though it’s over a week away, it is, kinda, scaring the shit out of me.

Which is stupid, I know, but that’s the way it is.

Of course, I have a list of things to talk about given that’s it’s over 15 years since I last paid a visit. And it’s the list that’s been growing in all those years.

And, then, of course, she’ll be Italian with all these weird, Italian beliefs.

And she’ll want me to do things that I don’t want to do (apart from the obvious things, I mean, that I won’t do anyway).

And I suppose most of the things on my list are, well, more or less, nothing. But you never know. One of them might actually be SOMETHING. And I would prefer if none of them were anything at all. But it isn’t as if I am 20.

I’ve thought about writing the list down. So I don’t forget. Or, rather, so I don’t clam up and am unable to remember any of them at the time that I’m there. Or after I mention the first one.

And, anyway, what’s the most important? How do I prioritise them?

And, of course, there’s one that I just might not mention.

I know I should but I’m not sure that I’m ready. At least, not this time. Maybe next time? If there’s a next time.

Of course, there has to be a first time.

And just because it’s booked doesn’t mean ……….

Well, you know what I mean.

But i must try to overcome this resistance. This internal resistance.

I mean, sooner or later, it has to be done, doesn’t it?

Or, does it?

Well, let’s see how I feel next week.

Maybe I’ll feel better about it?

Although I doubt it, to be honest.

It’s just an ordeal.

To be gone through.

To be suffered.

I guess I’ll suffer, then.

Maybe.

And there’s another thing ……..

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The weather, at the moment, is lovely. During the day it’s been getting up to the mid-20s (°C) and the sun has been shining.

Until about the week before last it had seemed like it had rained since before Christmas, non-stop.

As you may know, cold, wet weather is not my thing. I like hot and dry and with the sun shining.

And, being British, I am used to people complaining about the weather, particularly when it is cold and wet. Interestingly enough, the Italians have also been complaining about the weather.

And, now that the cold, wet part is over for now, they have continued complaining – about it being too hot!!!!

I keep saying that it is not too hot but it makes no difference. It’s too hot, too hot for the time of year, or something similar.

So, the fact that it was cold and wet for months and months is all forgotten.

There’s just no pleasing some people!

p.s. and this includes F, who was, in fact, the first Italian who said it was too hot and has continued to say it!

Occasionally, Italians are REALLY annoying!

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As I have mentioned before, I quite like food.

OK, so that’s an understatement. I bloody LOVE food. I mean L. O. V. E. it. Especially food that is bad for you although I also like food that is good for you, I suppose (I like vegetables and stuff).

Coming to Italy, one would think then, was really just the perfect place for me. And it is, in many, many ways.

But, as I have probably mentioned countless times, the Italians, themselves (with notable exceptions such as F, Lola, etc.) are so SMALL-MINDED when it comes to food. In fact, over the last few days, I have become quite incensed about it. So much so that this morning, when I brought flapjacks in for my colleague, S, to taste (and many thanks to Amy for reminding me about the fact that flapjacks are made with Golden Syrup), when she said that she loved them and wanted the recipe, I had my little say about Italians always complaining how nowhere else can do food properly and that it wasn’t true as can be proved by some of the things that I make and that Italians like.

And the reason I was so uptight about this was some random article about foods you SHOULD NOT ask for in Italy.

One of the things was an Hawaiian Pizza (boiled ham with pineapple as a pizza topping). The article was certain that none of the foods mentioned were available in Italy. I pointed out, quite rightly, that I have had this pizza in a couple of places in Milan (and, with fresh pineapple rather than the tinned variety and really top-quality ham it is NOT the same as any I’ve had in the UK but a million, zillion times better).

But Italians will be so effing conservative when it comes to food! So I’ve had many comments railing against such a thing and saying that this is done only for the tourists (when I specifically pointed out that these pizzerias were NOT in any tourist area!) and that Milan is not a typical Italian city. The most stupid thing is that they think it is horrible – without even tasting it! And yet a fishy mayonnaise sauce is the perfect topping when spread over a thin slice of veal!!! And Melon goes with cured ham. Or figs.

They just close their minds to tasting something new without some preconceived ideas about what is right and wrong. In fact, if it wasn’t invented in Italy then it’s obviously wrong.

Sorry (Lola), but they’re just plain wrong!

And it makes me just a little irritated, to be honest.

Grrrrrrr.

Tony Benn – remembering my parents!

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When I was a kid, my parents rarely talked politics.

Or, there again, maybe they did but I just didn’t notice or ignored it.

I knew my maternal grandmother was a Liberal (of the old-fashioned Liberals) as she was a councillor on the local town council.

I knew, somehow, that my parents were Conservative.

And, the one thing I DO remember, was there utter hatred of a Labour guy – Tony Benn or, as I think he was known then, Anthony Wedgwood Benn. He was, I think, in their terms, bordering on evil.

I couldn’t understand it. I didn’t take any real interest in politics but I failed to understand how you could hate someone because of their beliefs and the words that they used.

Of course, one must remember that I was a very rebellious child. And the effect of them disliking something or someone tended to mean that I would be more open to that thing or that someone. On the contrary, the things that they did were so odious to me that, as an adult, these are things I don’t like to do. And so, things like packed lunches for when you go somewhere; carrying a lot of stuff with you all of the time – to the beach, in particular, are some examples.

In fact, I’ve listened to Tony Benn a number of times and, whilst not always or fully agreeing with his point of view, I can’t knock him for his right to have those views nor for his conviction in them, nor even for the intelligent way he would argue his case. Hate him? Certainly not.

And today he has died and tributes are pouring in (as they do). And I wondered, for a moment, if my mother had any thoughts on this (my father having died already)?

Still, that moment has now passed.

Without the drinking!

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There used to be this thing.

I went out and got very, very drunk.

The next day, I was would worry about what I had said or done whilst I was drunk.

Maybe it’s happened to you too? (No, not you, Lola as I don’t think you’ve ever been THAT drunk.)

Anyway, I think (hope) it was a kind of “normal” thing.

But that’s stopped now. Well, for one thing, I don’t really do “let’s get plastered” any more.

However, now this thing happens more often – even when I haven’t been drunk and can remember (I think) more or less everything.

Like today.

It’s just bloody stupid and I realise it’s my mind playing tricks on me.

Or that I’m going mad.

Or that I really have said/done something but I have forgotten and all that remains is this nagging doubt that I HAVE said/done something bad. Well, not necessarily “bad” but certainly not “good”.

As long as it’s not the last thing, then it’s OK, I guess :-)