Tag Archives: F Says…..

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.

How do you KNOW you don’t like it?

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“I think I’ve had this before”, he says, adding “and I don’t like it”.

It was very difficult to keep the disappointment out of my voice …. but I tried.

“Well”, I said, “try a little and, if you don’t like it, it’s OK, you don’t have to eat it”.

I had whipped up the cream. The cream was really for me rather than him. “You don’t like cream”, I realised this as I got it out of the fridge. Damn! I should have done custard. Ah, well, I thought, if he doesn’t like it anyway then it’s better I did cream.

I put a couple of spoonfuls of the sweet in the dish and added a little cream after he indicated it was OK to do so.

He tried it. It wasn’t the same as he had had before. He said he liked it. Then got some more from the dish. And some more cream. He asked about the topping. I explained that it was pastry, like for Lemon Meringue Pie but more butter and more sugar and without water so that it was crumbs rather than pastry as such. I tried not to be annoyed by the fact that he says he doesn’t like something before he has tried it first but I don’t say anything about that anyway. It took me a few years to train V away from that. I have time. I can train F, possibly, probably, hopefully. I am hoping, much like I did with V, that I can introduce things gradually and get him to trust that what I make is all right and worth trying. I’m not sure I have the patience for this but we’ll give it a go.

I said you can make it with any fruit.

He really did like it, it seems. I told him that he must tell me the truth because, if he says he likes something, I will do it again. He said he will.

I told him it was, to my memory, the first time I had made it. Although, to be honest, even if I can’t remember it, I am sure I must have made it in the past. Maybe Rhubarb Crumble and not Blackberry and Blueberry Crumble.

The next day, he texts me to ask what it was called because he doesn’t remember. Later that night I asked him why he had needed to know. Apparently, there was a guy there from the office in London and he wanted to tell him.

I see, in his fridge, there is a jar of Lemon Curd in the door.

“You can make Lemon Curd Tart”, I said, meaning I could make Lemon Curd Tart, of course. Later, he says I can take it home together with the Banana Curd he bought at the same time, when we were in Hay-on-Wye.

“You can make that cake with it” (meaning Crumble”), he says. I say yes, even if he has, clearly, not understood how Crumble works and that a Banana Curd Crumble just would not be right at all. Ah, well.

Finding the joy again

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The weather is dreadful. Well, I say that. It is October, after all but it’s grey, wet and miserable and cold. The heating (where there is central heating for the whole building) has been turned on – except, not in my building! It only gets turned on Monday :-(.

F is still ill. The ‘cold’ he picked up in London is not going away. Added to which, he has a bad stomach (most of the time) and got pains in his lungs or some muscles near his lungs and so he is a bit worried. Then, this morning, he coughed on his way back home – and put his back out! Still, I learnt that the Italian for cough is ‘colpo di tosse’ – who would know? I also learnt that the Italian for ‘heater’, such as the one I have running almost full-time now, is stufetta. I won’t remember them but two new words/phrases in a day is quite good.

Since the success of last weekend’s meal and the fact that, given the evidence, F actually really liked it (this is supported by a) his telling of the meal to everyone in his office (his boss, who is English, was craving for the Lemon Meringue Pie) and b) his telling S’s parents that I cook really well) I seem to have found my joy of cooking again.

And, so, this weekend, I tried Leek and Potato Soup. It seems OK. I’ve finished it and now there is enough to feed the whole of Milan! Unfortunately, with F having a bad stomach, we didn’t have any last night. Nor the crumble that I haven’t made yet, but have all the ingredients for. But there is a certain pleasure in, not only making the stuff, but actually going out and buying the ingredients! This part was very unexpected but I find that trying to find the ingredients almost as much fun as cooking with them! Weird, huh?

And with that, I will now start my recipe pages to which I will add photos (with my new camera) as I do them. For the first recipe I will put up Lemon Meringue Pie. I have now photo now but will add one next time I make it. I will put the recipes on a page of their own so you and I (on the right hand side) can link to them, as we like. I hope you enjoy them.

Serious training required

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“I want a new baby”, he says. He is slightly drunk. I love him when he’s drunk. He’s more affectionate and also quite funny.

“You mean a puppy?”, I ask.

It seems ‘yes’. “We shall have to talk about the training first”, I state.

Of course, I don’t mean the puppy training. The puppy training is not a problem. I mean the ‘F training’. Of course, I don’t actually specify that. He thinks it’s the puppy training. There will also have to be less of the ‘can you take them out tonight’ or ‘do you mind if I don’t come’ lines. However, one thing at a time. And, anyway, it’s not happening before Rufus goes. Three, as I found out one time, are just so much more work.

We had been out with the ex-parents-in-law to al Grigliaro, a predominately fish restaurant, not far from our flats. F knew it because, when they are busy with the showroom sales and working till late in the evening, they sometimes go there as a group.

And, the staff know F, which is always a good thing as we get a much better service and, usually, a discount off the bill.

I asked him, as we were walking down to it, why he had changed his mind about me coming, since it was a complete about-turn and I was interested as to why the change of mind.

“I rang S”, he says, adding “and he said ‘of course you should take Andy'”. And, so, here we were walking down to another restaurant I hadn’t tried before.

It is another Sardinian restaurant but nothing like the same as Baia Chia. For one thing, this is not as ‘rustic’ as Baia Chia. There is more room and many more tables. It is also more expensive. We wait outside for M and S. They are from the Manchester area. I have my expectations of what they will look like and what they will be like. They are, of course, not really anything like I expected.

They are very nice, middle-class, people from the North. They know, of course, that we are not just ‘friends’ as F had said. But, then, S is their son and, no doubt told them that F had a new boyfriend. But, later, when F and I went out for a cigarette after the main course, I learnt of actually ‘why’ F was a little concerned.

They had met some time after S & F split up. They went out for a dinner. Apparently M (S’s mother) started crying and asking if S & F would get back together. He was worried about the same thing happening; or her being disappointed with him being with someone other than S; or something like that, I guess.

In typical Italian style, the restaurant was very brightly lit. The tables and chairs were OK but nothing special. The food however, was really lovely and the service very, very good. S didn’t eat shellfish (and was a bit of a finicky eater anyway). F asked the waiter (owner’s son) to bring us a selection of antipasto, mainly hot but also a little of the cold antipasto.

Plate after plate came. Some poached salmon, anchovies with a celery and ginger sauce; octopus with tiny courgette-type vegetables, squid with a rich, creamy, tomato sauce and polenta, prawns with artichoke, etc. For cold it was rather large prawns (that blue colour that looks as if it was someone who spent a little too long outside in freezing conditions), clams and, my favourite, oysters.

We chatted about many things and I asked appropriate questions, as one does. They were very nice people. And they were obviously pleased to see F had someone, probably, particularly, as they will have already met S’s new American boyfriend.

By the time we had finished the antipasto, none of us were really hungry. We decided to have three portions of fish (one of each poached, pan-fried and grilled) and split them between the four of us. The best was the grilled branzino – as branzino is, by far, my favourite fish.

We drank two bottles of very nice white wine. We had sweets. We had mirto which they had never had before and they brought the rest of the bottle, which we finished.

It went well. We are meeting them again tonight. Also, probably, A who is over from London again, for work. Tonight we shall go to Baia Chia.

As we are going up in the lift, with him slightly drunk, leaning on me and wanting cuddles, is when he said he wanted another ‘baby’. I know it is true, even if he is not there all the time (having to travel – even more now, probably, for work).

But, as I say, there will have to be some serious ‘F training’ for it to work :-D

On being uncomfortable.

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“I’m worried that it will be uncomfortable for them”, he says.

Yes, I can see that he’s worried but I wonder if the ‘uncomfortableness’ won’t really be his.  It isn’t about explaining who I am since no explanation will (probably) be necessary.  No, it’s the fact that I would be there.

“Do what you feel in your heart”, I say.  He feels like I shouldn’t go.  I tell him that that is what he really feels (for he won’t say it). He agrees. “Then I won’t go.  It’s not a problem”.  And it isn’t.  And I understand.  After all, I didn’t go and see V’s parents when we went over to the UK for almost the same reason.  My thought was ‘What do I do with F’.  The choices were to leave him for a few hours (but that was unfair) or take him but I felt that was unfair on both him and them and so I avoided it and didn’t go.

So, I really do understand and I really don’t mind.

So, tonight, he will be going out with them. They want to eat fish. I think he was genuinely unhappy that I wasn’t going to be there. He, at one point, said he would phone S to see what he thought. I’m sure S would have said to take me – but I know that, even then, he would have been concerned.

It makes me think that this was one of the reasons it took so long to go down and see his family. Maybe he thought it would become difficult. As it was, me being on my best behaviour and all, it was all easy. As this would be too – but he has to have the confidence in me that would permit him to take me anywhere and meet anyone. He will learn and it will all be OK in the end and, at the end of the day, however nice they may be, I don’t actually need to meet the ex-parents-in-law :-).

UPDATE: Sometime later in the afternoon.

He’s taken the ‘babies’ for a wash and brush up.  He phones me to tell me that I will be angry with him for they have shaved Rufus’ head (well, his snout, actually).  He is worried.  I say it’s fine but I want pictures.  He doesn’t want to do that.

Then I get an email of photos.

We exchange emails.

Then he says – ‘We are going to a new restaurant tonight – Al Griglia’.  This is with his ex-parents-in-law.  I reply saying that I’m sure it will be nice.  I add; Will I see you tonight before you go or are you coming back to my place?’

He replies that he will bring the babies back home to mine about 6.30 (they are in the office with him), then go and get ready and then I can come to his and we go from there.

I am, a little, surprised.  I thought we had agreed that I wouldn’t be coming.  I say so.  He says no, I am coming too.  It’s difficult to explain that, even though this is all by email, he seems happier about it all – or maybe that’s just my projection.  Or maybe it’s because I really didn’t mind and was so understanding, last night?  Or he has spoken to S?

What is quite funny is that he doesn’t say or ask me directly – just puts in an email that I should come to his place at 8.30 and we would go from there!  He makes me laugh and that’s one of the reasons I love him so.  More exciting than anything else is the new restaurant.  I’ve checked on the Internet and they do fish and meat (yay!).  It seems it is a Sardinian restaurant.  I will let you know.

La Brace

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And, whilst we’re talking about restaurants and food, I forgot to mention that, whilst we were on holiday, we went to F’s favourite restaurant.

Following a twisty road up the mountainside outside Carrara, one enters Liguria and up and up, to Montemarcello, clinging precariously to the mountainside and a small but perfectly formed restaurant.

Unfortunately, I have forgotten exactly what I had (I had lamb). I remember it was wonderful. F, who doesn’t eat meat, as you know, loves it all the same and has whatever vegetable options they have. The meat is cooked on an open, barbecue-style, wood-heated grill. The meat is first class. the whole meal was wonderful and we had a lovely time.

La Brace is well worth a trip if you’re anywhere near the south of Liguria. And, if it’s warm enough, sit outside under the pergola – a great atmosphere.

No words

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“I really hope we go on and on”, he writes. He has had a wonderful year.

I am annoyed with myself that I didn’t get him a card now.

However, the cardigan was well accepted, so that’s good. And he added that he likes almost everything in Zara, so that’ll be the shop I use. He got me a camera which was lovely.

Saturday night we went to Taverna dell Lampara. Now, first off, I could not find any website in English where there was any review and so the link is only to Google Maps. We’ve been there a few times now and this was our choice since a) it is close to our houses, b) the food is superb and c) the atmosphere was perfect.

Unlike most restaurants in Italy, the lighting is subdued, meaning it is a little more romantic than most. They do fish – almost all fish, so don’t go there thinking there will be any meat. And, book – since they are almost always full. It is only a small restaurant (about 30 covers) and, unusually (compared to Giacomo, for example), the tables are larger and more spaced – meaning you’re not bumping elbows with your next door neighbour as you eat.

The service is quite good but everything is freshly cooked and so, sometimes, you have to wait a little. To start with, their bread is fantastic. Dark crusty bread – almost like a good crusty English loaf. Then they serve you some fish polpetta (meat ball) and some frittata (like a kind of omelete) – only small, just as a kind of sampler, if you like.

I had prawns and leeks as an antipasto, which was truly divine. The leeks just the right amount of flavour, not taking anything from the prawns. F had the usual raw tuna with uncooked fennel, very thinly sliced. We skipped the pasta (prima), as normal. I then had branzino (sea bass) cooked in a greaseproof paper parcel. This is different every time. This time was with slices of potato, olives and capers. It was lovely and cooked to perfection. F had, as usual, the Tuna with a sesame seed crunchy topping. For sweet, F had some chocolate mouse thing and I had some creamy thing with strawberries (I always seem to forget the sweets :-( ).

We had two bottles of Lighea – a white wine that F loves and it is very nice.

At the end of that we paid about €60 a head – however, it should have been more and we’re certain that they didn’t include one of the bottles of wine – even though I heard the young lad tell her that we had two.

So, not cheap but it is beautiful food and, as I mentioned, the atmosphere, with it’s low level lighting makes for a very romantic meal. It is one of the hidden gems of Milan. But you have to book.

Sunday, the actual day, was a nice day. We took the dogs for a shortish walk in the afternoon. F is still not feeling so good and, although it was sunny, it is not so warm now. And then, for most of the day I was cooking.

He brought some anchovies. These we buy from Carrefour and they are delicious. They are not done in some strong vinegar (as seems to be the norm) and, once open, are difficult not to finish. With some fresh crusty bread, they are wonderful.

I had arranged my new table, candles and everything. I had got a really nice couple of bottle of wine from ‘my’ wine shop. I put the remains of the mirto in the freezer.

He arrives whilst I am in the shower. “Oh, you’ve done Lemon Meringue Pie”, he says. Ah, so he’s brought something. No matter.

So, we had the anchovies first. Then I had done Roasted Tomato Soup with croutons and a basil paste. He wasn’t sure about the basil paste. He put a little in the soup but, after trying it, he kept adding more. He liked it! When we had finished the soup, he even got a piece of bread and spread some of the basil paste on it. I tried it and it was nice.

Next there was the sea bass, baked on a bed of pan-fried potatoes with a slightly hot (as it had chilli in it) sauce/filling. He’s not keen on bones but he said it was nice. I also did buttered leeks as a veg. He particularly loved the potatoes and the leeks.

For sweet we had a slice of the pie and a couple of little ramekins filled with different ice creams.

It was all lovely and I think he really enjoyed it all. He knew it had taken some effort and I think he was grateful for that.

I’m considering adding my favourite recipes to this site – just like I add my favourite restaurants. Particularly as some recipes I do are those handed down or that I have found over the years. Hmm, maybe.

Next time, I think I will do the sea bass recipe with fillets rather than whole fish. Less bones would be better, I think. Also, I think I would marinate the sea bass in the sauce – it would give a little more flavour to the sea bass.

Still, all in all, a great success and a lovely weekend.

And really, even if he doesn’t use words so much, I too, hope that we go on and on.

The mist spills over the mountain top

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The mist spills over the top of the mountain as if it is a waterfall. The mountain is not black but, rather, dark grey. The sky, over there, a long way away, is bright and white. Here it is raining. The heating is turned up in the car – at least, in the car, I have heating!

Autumn is here with a vengeance!

Friday night was rain, Saturday rain for half the day, Sunday sun and warmth and this morning rain again and cold. Nope, I like summer (and spring if it’s warm enough and not like this year).

There are a ton of half-finished posts – I just couldn’t get my head round them to finish them. Maybe this will be another. I did do lots of little odd jobs around the house (as F was working), which was good. It was only little things – but it makes a difference and makes me happier. Still a lot to do though.

Things have happened that, really I should have mentioned before; that I did mention in those half-finished posts but of which you, of course, know nothing. So let’s tell you something, at least.

R&Al, with whom we went out for a meal (or, rather, R, whilst we were having a cigarette, outside Baia Chia) told me that, in all the time they have known F, he has never spent so much time in Carrara! I thought, at the time he told me, of how lovely that was. Since then (and, in particular, this morning), I’ve been thinking that, perhaps there is another reason. My own paranoia stepping in and leading me to doubt the motives. I force myself to put those thoughts aside since it is highly unlikely that they have any basis in fact.

A few days ago (or maybe a week or two, now), F said that he would ‘like to go away for Christmas, just you, me and the bambini’. Obviously, the holiday was even better than I thought it was. It was very relaxing and he would like the same thing for Christmas, except ……. before this statement …….

Well, it seems (according to R) that he used to spend nearly every Christmas in Vienna (his favourite city). As such, his friend, Fi, phoned and he agreed that we would go there this Christmas (after he had checked with me) and, so, Fi found us a flat in the centre for us to stay with the dogs. To be honest, even if it will be cold, it should be lovely. And it is his favourite city and one to which I have never been, so it’s time. In addition, Fi is a very good friend of his (who I have not yet met) and is married to a guy who is a chef by trade – so just imagine how spectacular Christmas lunch/Christmas Eve dinner would be! Yes, I said, of course I would love to go. And, if there is snow………for Christmas……..how wonderful that would be!

But, we shall see what happens. However, we have been talking about how we should spend our 1st anniversary. I know, a whole year! Hahahaha. This time last year, we had only chatted online. The restaurant we choose (for it will be celebrated over dinner, of course) will be one of our favourites. Probably Giacomo’s. It won’t be L’Assassino, which is where we were on Saturday night, even if it is a lovely restaurant with 1st-class service. In the end, it is similar to Giacomo’s and the real cost was €154 for the two of us – anitpasto, secondo, dolce, l’aqua e vino – but I had a voucher meaning that, on Saturday night, we paid €54! Of course, the voucher (for €100) cost me €50 about three months ago via City Deal.

I did wonder if it would really work. The basic concept is this. A company (restaurant, hotel, gym, etc.) offer a deal – in this case – €100 voucher for €50. If you want to go for it (you have to be signed up to do this), you click on the appropriate button within the 24 hours that the ‘deal’ is active (each deal is available for only 24 hours). However, that doesn’t mean you get the voucher. The company have set the minimum number of people that must take up the offer before it is effected. If, at the end of the 24 hours, enough people have signed up for the deal then they email you the voucher which you print out.

In this case (and another that I have for another restaurant), you book the restaurant, go and eat and then, when you ask for the bill, show them the voucher. I did expect a bit of a fight and half-expected that I would be told that ‘you had to tell us at the time you booked, sir!” but no, none of that. Just a ‘Ah, you have a voucher’, then the bill with the explanation as to how much we were to pay and that was that.

It worked fabulously. Next is a restaurant near my flat and one which I have wanted to go to for ages. Unfortunately, it is a meat restaurant and so the intention is to go with A, later this week. I’ll let you know.

One downside to this City Deal is that you get two emails per day with offers (it used to be one) – each one lasting until 23.59 of that day, so no chance to go and see first, if you see what I mean. However, it was a really good first experience of both City Deal and L’Assassino.

And now we have entered the ‘stressful period’. Last week was Milan Fashion Week, with the Showroom Sales in full swing (hence the working all weekend). Towards the end of this week is a two-day trip near Venice, followed almost immediately by Friday and the weekend in London. And then, in November (for he plans his stresses in advance), he will be away every week.

On the plus side, as we were walking back through the centre of Milan, past the Duomo and up Corso Vittorio Emanuele II, we passed the Zara shop and we looked in the windows (as it’s part of his job, he can never resist) and he saw a cardigan that he said he really liked. So that sorts the anniversary present, then :-) and that I can get on Saturday, whilst he’s away – and, maybe, go to IKEA and get some cupboards for the bathroom so I can tidy up a bit more of the flat – I have a goal, after all!

Various things

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It happens every time he goes away. Every time he is away. He lights up my life in ways I cannot describe and when the light isn’t there, the gloominess, darkness returns. Of course, this mood is not helped by the weather. Miserable and grey and raining. Ugh! I hate winter. And so, the post below.

Which describes it all wrong. It gives the wrong impression. The weekend was fabulous. His family are so nice to me. The weather was fantastic and every day we were on the beach – one night staying until after 7 p.m.!

I think I’ve seen most of the close family now. One day, on our way to the beach (probably the weekend before last), as we driving from his house (probably to the beach), we stopped at a block of flats to see his cousin. This is the daughter of his Aunt and Uncle who live about 2 minutes away from their daughter.

The cousin had just (in the last few days) come back from holiday. I was introduced to her and her husband but I have completely forgotten their names (I’ve always struggles with names). I was shown some of the artwork that F had produced at college, proudly displayed on the wall in the hallway, framed and looking good. I was also shown some sculptures which were made by her father.

Later, at the beach, she texted F. He tells me what she says. “I like your new boy’. “She knows?”, I query. He replied in the affirmative. It seems that it’s only his parents that “don’t know” – even if, as it must be obvious to you, my dear reader, they know. I can tell he is pleased by her text. The meeting with the family members during these four weeks or so has gone well. In those few weeks, I have become ‘established’. He is relaxed about it, I can tell. He trusts me with them, I can tell that too.

And, to be honest, there has been a certain amount of ‘showing me off’, which is fine, since I did the same in the UK – and that’s what we do, as human beings, isn’t it?

I have been shown off to friends and relatives alike. I am not S and, even if I cannot communicate with them so well, I am forgiven by them and him by virtue of so obviously being in love with him. It helps that I am straight – well, straight-gay.

Last weekend, we are at a bar (at the bar that R, his best friend, favours at the moment or this season). A rather down-at-heel, beach bar. Food, which is not terrible (but neither anything to write about) is served on plastic plates; beer is from a bottle; music is, well, absent or dire; seating is with cheap patio furniture or else wooden benches against a wooden bar overlooking the sea. And yet is is favoured by a group of people who seem to be there most nights. As is R.

F tells me that it won’t last. Next year or, even, next week, R will move on to somewhere else; somewhere where, inevitably, all his ‘new best friends’ will be and who will be different ‘new best friends’ from the current ‘new best friends’ and the new bar will be much better then the current bar or the last bar or any previous bar. I feel slightly sorry for R. He “escaped” from the provincialism of the town – for a while – but circumstances took him back and circumstances or his own unwillingness to go outside the confines of the comfortableness of what he knows (or even the comfortable uncomfortableness of it) keeps him there. But then, not everyone is like me and I’m not sure that I should be feeling sorry for him. Perhaps that is better than my life. Let’s be honest, he has the advantage of knowing where he is and being close to family and friends and being a bigger fish in a smaller pond – and maybe that’s better?

Although I don’t think so.

So, we are at the bar, again. R comes, dressed up to go out. Top lip botoxed, eyebrows plucked into a perfect arch, a little make-up – looking plastic and nowhere near as handsome as he is, underneath it all. Still, that’s what some people like. I ask F if he ever wore make-up. His reaction was the same as mine would have been, asked the same question. One of shock and definitely ‘no’.

C comes. She is the one that read my hand (see a previous post). She is a slightly over-weight, pleasant enough woman. To me, she dresses like a Goth. Well, a bit. Black hair, straight and long, black clothes, dark make-up. Not truly a Goth, just similar. With her comes her daughter, who is 16. C is separated from her husband. J (her daughter) doesn’t get on with her father so well. R calls her, unkindly, the elephant. She is larger than her mother but you can see they are mother and daughter for she, too, is almost Goth.

>J comes with C all the time. At first, I thought that was lovely. That her daughter can be like a friend and she can be a friend to her daughter. But, every night? At 16, I felt, she needed to go and get a life. She’s not really interested in people of her own age since they are ‘too immature’, apparently. To me she seems a tortured soul or maybe really, a tortured and picked-upon teenager. There is a sadness about her. Her smiles, although pleasant enough betray, to me, a loneliness that comes from not having real friends. But girls can be so bitchy at that age, I do understand that.

F turns to me, at one point, to say that C had said that, if I should ever change my mind (about being gay), she would be first in line and that she thought I was handsome. I laugh and thank her. At the same bar, some weeks ago, a guy who is Roman but lives there now, couldn’t quite understand that I was gay since I didn’t seem gay. Of course, he was comparing me to R (and, maybe, F) and all the other people that he ‘knows’ are gay since, if you can tell they are gay, they most probably are. People really miss the point that how you look is not, necessarily, how you are!

However, F is pleased that C likes me that much. And he knows (I think), that, after over 40 years of ‘being gay’, it’s unlikely I would ‘change’. It makes me smile though. I like to be a bit different!

We both agree that the ‘bar’ is not going to be on our hit list of ‘great places to go’. R would like to take it over and really ‘do something’ with it. But he won’t – even if he had the money. It would be too much like ‘hard work’ and would curtail his going out on Saturday nights to some disco or other where everyone is ‘twenty-five or younger’, says F. Not F’s style nor mine. R didn’t take a job at a shop in Forte di Marmi because it would mean working, some nights until 8 or 10 p.m.!

M was at the bar too. She plays some musical instrument in a band. She is a striking woman with short hair, dyed in streaks (but lateral, not vertical) in shades of red. She is a nurse in ‘real life’. After all, except for R, this isn’t real life at all but the summer, with its visitors from other places and an atmosphere that can only be temporary. Most of the people there, now, are locals, enjoying the last days of a summer that, given that the holidaymakers have mostly returned home, is all but over. Until next year – and a different bar with different friends and different holidaymakers.

Silent in real life; Unreal in silent life.

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Another weekend.

Again, staying in the house. The house that’s really the ground floor of quite a big house.

It’s nice but it has that ‘unlived in’ feel as it is, really, not lived in.

It may have been almost 11 months but I am still wary, still not wanting to rock the boat, still not wanting to say all that I feel, all that I want, all that I need. I hold back. I wait, patiently, for him to say things or suggest things or do things. I feel ‘temporary’, as if, any moment, it will all finish. It’s not really good but I don’t want to be imposing nor, to be honest, am I unhappy about just drifting along. After all, we don’t live together. If there’s an escape (and it applies to both of us) then it’s an easy one to be made. Although it is all good, I don’t feel the commitment and, so, don’t feel quite committed, even if I don’t want nor feel that I want anyone else.

But I don’t feel that there isn’t commitment either. I don’t feel that it’s temporary when I’m with him and yet, I do. I guess I don’t really think about it. We’re not young any more. We don’t have our whole life in front of us – only part of our life even if that may be half! Not that I want to be young. I’m comfortable being old although I’m still waiting for the ‘feeling old’ bit to really kick in.

F said, last night, that N would be 50 today. I thought: Oh, that’s old – before I checked myself, having already passed that milestone. But that isn’t the first time that’s happened. I know that, not having children by which to measure the passing of time, the ageing process, means that it doesn’t really catch up with you. Most of my friends are my age, even if they are considerably younger. They’re my friends and so, my age. The only exception to this are the people that are half my age or less who are obviously more like children than real, grown-up human beings.

For the last few weeks, while we’ve been down there, he’s been talking about renovating the house, making it more habitable, more homely. He needed to discuss it with his brother who, as time goes on, I realise is not F in any way and I would not swap what I have for Johnny Depp even if I like the idea – it’s on a very superficial level only.

He discussed it. They discussed it. They aren’t the same person even if they are twins. They are twins in that they came out at the same time (more or less) but they have no special connection as twins sometimes do (or so I’ve read).

Johnny favoured one single house from the two flats. F says he couldn’t live with him (but he didn’t say this to him, only to me, several times). I’m sure that is true. Then again, I’m not sure who F could live with or, even if that person would be me!

When F suggested it be kept as two flats, Johnny suggested that they turn it into three flats. He was just being stupid or pretending to be so. F has ideas for his part of the house. Some changes he would like to make, that he could make now by taking a mortgage (not even a big one) and doing it and paying it off within 10 or 15 years so that, when he retires it will be done. I’m not mentioned in this picture. At first, I wasn’t even sure I was in this picture. That’s OK. Remember, I’m just drifting through; I’m just temporary. Sometimes, I almost feel like I’m not really here anyway, like it’s all made up and the next moment I will be somewhere else – in a different time, a different place, a different world with different people; unreal in my silent life.

But then, later, when he’s talking to someone (I can’t remember who) he says that he wants to get the place ‘fixed up’ so that we can come here more often; so that we have somewhere nice to go. He doesn’t say but he also means somewhere that he can make as he wants, with his furniture and his ‘stuff’ so that it will be more comfortable for us.

I don’t say anything. I never do. I hear but, maybe spoilt by my time with V, I wonder how much is true and how much is ‘just being said’ for someone else’s benefit, of course, not mine. I wonder, idly, on our way back, at what point will I feel ‘real’, permanent, a fixture rather than a cloud. I wouldn’t swap where I am and the problem is me and not us nor him. I should feel really happy with the ‘inclusion’ of myself in this future with the house, with the plans for Christmas and, although I do feel really happy, it still feels like ‘Sure, if we’re still together then’, even if I say ‘That will be lovely’ or ‘Yes, that’s a good idea’.

I said, early on, within the first few days, or, rather I wrote, that I don’t come with any baggage but I do come with two dogs. I recognise, now, that this is not entirely true. I come with the baggage of 20 years. Not bad years but years all the same. I can’t erase that and nor would I want to. I come to care less and less about V and, by his actions, I recognise that I have already been relegated to ‘someone he knows’, soon to be ‘someone he knew’. It doesn’t anger or upset me since it is where I want to be too. But I’m not yet in that state of belonging to somewhere else or, rather to someone else and I want that even if I don’t say that and instead say ‘we each have our lives’ since, really, I don’t want that at all.

But, then, I never wanted that although now, after two relationships, I don’t have the jealousy of ‘excluding’ anyone else from our ‘inclusion’. Our inclusion should not be exclusive to us. But, still, I want our inclusion. It’s not like he does any of this purposefully – at least I think not. He, too, comes with baggage. He, too, is wondering – at what point do we say – next year; the next ten years; a lifetime? I think. And I’m ‘the silent type’ – from his perspective. Not silent here, just silent in ‘real life’.