Tag Archives: Outside Italy

Cold; snow.

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18/03/10

There is snow, deep snow, everywhere. They say that this is not normally the case. By now, apparently, it should all be gone. But it’s piled deeply at the sides of the road and paths.

Last night, as we walked around the old town part of the capital city we were so cold. It was so cold. It was worse, even, after dinner and so we just went back to the hotel.

Anyway, I’ve been here before when it was somewhat warmer and so I didn’t need to see it again.

The meal was good. The service nice. The prices high.

Still, I couldn’t live here even if, for most of my teenage life it was my dream to come and live here! I say that but, of course, I could live there, if it was really necessary.

But, then, I already live in the place I want to live.

Not a politically correct post but it’s my blog (and it’s the truth).

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We are all equal. We have equal rights to everything, including jobs. There should be no discrimination.

Except that isn’t really true. There are complaints that models are too thin. But, having been to a show, it would be insane to have 20 stone, 5 foot high models. There’s the space, there’s the clothes, there’s the look. I mean, you tend to clean your house if you’re trying to sell it, don’t you. after all, you want it to be seen in the best light possible. In the same way, you can’t have jockeys who are 6 foot tall and weigh 20 stone.

So there are reasons. For people who don’t fit the physical requirements, they may feel discriminated against – and they would, of course, be right. So, should we really complain? And at what point do you draw the line between practicality and true discrimination?

On our flight was a rather larger than normal, uglier than normal, steward/stewardess. Ugliness or beauty is in the eye of the beholder and our idea of beauty does change over generations/centuries. And although it really doesn’t matter a great deal, we all prefer to be served by someone with a pretty face, wouldn’t we?  However that wasn’t really the issue.

The size was more the key. It’s bad enough, when you have an aisle seat to be constantly buffetted by large-assed people going to and fro but to have stewards/esses like this is inconsiderate by the airline and yet, no doubt, they are trying to stay within the regulations regarding employment discrimination.  For me, being in an aisle seat it made the flight more uncomfortable.

For certain this steward/ess ain’t going to be appearing on and advertisements for the airline. It would hardly serve them well in spite of all we may say about discrimination being all wrong.

Travelling to the North Pole – and other bits and bobs

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I hate travelling.

Well, that’s not really true.  The actual travelling I don’t mind so much.  I hate the bit where you have (as in this case) half an hour before you get the taxi or whatever.  If I were going on my own, I would get a taxi now and go.  I would be at the airport early but no matter.  However, I have to get a taxi in about half an hour and pick some other people up along the way to the airport.  So I am ready (more or less) but have half an hour to spare.

I hate to be late but, in this case, I cannot be early.  I hate the thought of missing the plane (even if I don’t actually want to go) and so I am early and ready but am now twiddling my thumbs, so to speak.  The kettle is boiling for my last decent warm drink for some days to come.

The weather here has warmed up quite a lot.  Now we get highs of 15 or 16 degrees in the afternoon.  Where I’m going it will get to 3 degrees, if I am lucky and there might be some snow.  I am going, quite obviously, much further north.  Regular readers will know that I don’t like ‘cold’.  Hmph!  Already, I can’t wait to get back.

F is away also so I have had to make other arrangements for the dogs.  Not ideal but the best I can do.  F is back on Friday night so will stay with the dogs that night.  I am back the next day.  I miss him a lot but you have no idea how pleasant it is to be with someone who a) loves their job and b) works hard at it.  I really have no problem with it, even if I miss him like crazy when he is away.

The night before last, he received some gifts for his birthday (more than 2 months later).  Tickets to see Whitney Houston in Milan and a night at a range of hotels in Italy.  As he rightly pointed out, I get the benefit too.

One of the things with V was that V would say something but it would never actually transpire.  I’ve found that F does the same.  It’s not quite the same but annoying all the same.  So, the ‘we’re going to Tuscany at Easter’ has turned into him going to Tuscany the week before or something like that.  I mean, I don’t mind but I wish he hadn’t said that it was ‘we’ in the beginning.  It’s not that he doesn’t keep his word, exactly, it’s just that when the time actually comes, with all the logistics, things change, whereas, if I say something then, for me it is set.  Still, I’m learning and at least it is not as bad as V’s specials.

So now we have no specific plans for Easter.  It’s only the extra days’ holiday but I intend to take some extra days off and make it longer.  I’ve told him but I think I shall have to tell him again.  Maybe we can go to Mantova for a day or to the lakes to my friend’s mother’s house.  Maybe.  It’s all a bit unclear.  But I really want to spend some time with him away from our houses, away from Milan, in a way, to force us to spend more time together.  See, I’m still worried about the fact that we have nothing in common; that we have done nothing ‘together'; that we’re not building a ‘history’.

Still, there are times when it seems so ‘easy’.  He shows me affection (in his way) and I try not to touch him too much, not to annoy him.  But, for certain now, the discussion is ‘where we spend the night’ not ‘will we spend the night together’.  And it usually revolves around practical things like he wants to see the dogs or the other night when he was getting up early to go to Spain (and therefore it was better to be at his place).

And he still makes me laugh.  And I still adore him.  And I miss him.

The next few weeks are important (I think).  His last relationship lasted 6 months.  The guy saying ‘I love you’ very often until one morning, after the ‘I love you’s of the night before said that it was all over.  F didn’t understand.  So now he is less trustful but I try to show him that I am true and faithful and honest and stick to my word.  It’s all I can do but still, I feel, he doesn’t really ‘relax’ into it all.  And, of course, nor am I ‘relaxed’ into it all, as you may tell from my posts.

And now I have 15 minutes before I leave and so I leave you, for a few days whilst I go to a place that, for me, might as well be the North Pole!

I wonder what it will take?

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Generally, I have a very positive outlook on life even when, sometimes, it is hard.

But on one thing, I guess, I am a doom-monger.  That is on the general, global economy – or certainly the way the the economy works now.

>This should be interesting reading and, whereas one shouldn’t believe everything (sometimes I think anything, given some of the recent journalistic “stories” put about by the media, them being, whilst not complete fabrication, certainly omitting important facts so as to slew the story in such a way as to make the point a complete fabrication – and I can give you examples if you would like) one reads or hears, there have been, over the last couple of years, enough of these type of stories, almost always buried and never refuted (or not that I’ve seen).

As I was reading this (and the comments below the story), our Engineering Manager came up to me and we talked a little.  He asked if I knew about PIGS.  I replied yes and that it was Portugal, Italy……at which point he stopped me and said that it wasn’t Italy but Ireland. Huh? I mean, there’s being faithful to one’s country and there’s bloody stupidity. He came to tell me it had been replaced by SWINE (Scotland, Wales, Ireland North and England). On that, given what I was reading, I could not add anything other than completely agree with him. I’m really not sure who’s in a worse position – us or them!

It seems that Buzz Lightyear’s (Burlusconi) boast about Italy being in a good position is really believed!  This on the day that there is a General Strike (for various reasons including the crisis) here in Italy.  After that we talked about housing and how the prices were still far too high.  At least he agreed with me on that one – sort of.  But still believing that his money was safer in housing than anything else!  Another colleague really doesn’t believe me when I try to explain that neither he nor I will be retiring at 65 or 67 or 68 or whatever fool age they’ve currently given as the retirement age.

Maybe I am wrong, of course.  I hope so, not that it is important to me one way or another, to be honest.  But still, I really can’t see how the hell this is going to work unless things change.

Sooner or later, the model has to be changed.  And it will cause great pain and hardship unless the people decide on something radical which they won’t because the people in power believe the crap that is coming from the bankers and the like.  No one can see a different way because they are too frightened of losing the power/wealth that they have. No one in power nor those without power.

I wonder what it will take?

Off the Boil

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I am angry.  No, not just angry – absolutely furious.

OK, not now or, at least, not so bad but I was.  The thing is, I don’t really know why.  There was no obvious reason.  I woke up angry, was angry all day and went to bed angry.  To be honest, it felt like there was something wrong with me.  The worst was Saturday night/Sunday morning.  True, my ‘cold’ was dreadful or, at least, it sounded dreadful but it wasn’t that.  Or, it wasn’t only that.

On Sunday morning, as I took the dogs out, I was muttering to myself, asking myself why I was angry; amazed at how angry I felt inside.  I thought: ‘this is what it must be like to go insane’.  There was no sanity in the anger.  I realised that it had been around for several days and that some people had taken some of it by saying a wrong word or making a wrong gesture.

I thought perhaps it was the cold; or maybe because I was so tired; or maybe I was mentally insane.  I managed to keep it from F, thank goodness.

I write about it now because it has abated, if not entirely gone away.  I certainly feel ‘better’ even if the ‘cold’ is still with me; even if F is away all week in Germany; even if I do have to go to a Northern Country next week when I really don’t want to (and I have still to find a solution for the dogs); even if the weather has turned cold and wintry again; even if I am pissed off about certain things and towards certain people; even if ………….

But now I feel better.  And now (since I started writing this) I have booked the flights for next week and found out that my bank will offer me huge amounts of money in loans (has nothing changed in the last 18 months after all?) which I don’t want but may need if certain things occur (but the madness flowing through the world seems unstaunched) and so, suddenly, I seem happier.

And, the saga with my mobile phone continues.  Normally, in Italy, one expects to make two trips to sort anything out.  The first – you are armed with every sort of document that you may need and the second is for handing over the document that you never knew existed.  So far I have been to the TIM shop 6 times since the problem with the Direct Debit and the wish by TIM to charge me an extra €166 (for a €50 per month plan) started.  However, it may almost be sorted.  We may hope.

Still, the phone itself is great and the whole thing is much more pleasant than dealing with 3 who, to me, are magic only in their incompetence.

Governing by ‘The Lynch Mob’ rules

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The olde worlde Wilde Wilde West!  How great that must have been.  Unless, of course, you were either innocent and incorrectly suspected of some foul deed or stitched up by someone.

In those days the lynch mob ruled.

Nowadays we don’t have that, do we?  Of course not, you may say, huffing and puffing as well as saying it.  I mean, the lynch mob would get told or decide amongst themselves that someone was guilty and then go hounding them until they found them and then, well, lynched them.  Nowadays we are much more civilised, aren’t we?

And yet, reading the last few days about this (and, if you read it it’s almost at the end now) reminds me so much of the lynch mob mentality even if the person was guilty of something about 17 years ago.

So, there’s this child who did some really terrible thing when he was 10, so terrible that, in order for him to live a life, any sort of life, when he leaves prison, must take on a secret identity.  But what he has done and the time that he spent in prison would have an effect on the rest of his life forever, let alone having to live with a ‘secret identity’.

Unsurprisingly, in my view, he had a drug habit and, given that he was in prison at 11 or 12, was probably a bit of a hard-nut.  And now he has been taken back to prison for some breach of the conditions.  What shocked me was the daily (almost hourly) call for the public to know why.

The only thing I wonder is……………is this the public who ‘need’ to know or the media who ‘need’ to tell the public.

Either way, this was lynch mob mentality.

And, what worries me more is that now, according to the article I linked to, Jack Straw is considering what else he may tell ‘the public’.

You have just got to be joking, Mr Straw!  Jack Straw should stick to the original script and not say a word.  Those baying for blood should continue their baying.  Does Jack Straw think that, on giving further information, the baying will cease?

To be honest I’m not even sure it was necessary for the public to know that the guy was returned to prison but certainly there is no need to know why.  What purpose would it possibly serve?

Sure, there does need to be checks on the authorities to make sure they are doing their jobs correctly but this ‘baying for blood’ that seems to have invaded our lives is not acceptable.

The Government seem to have lost their way if they really think that bowing to the public (or is it media?) demands is the correct way to govern a country/nation.  I know I’ve said it before but, really, enough!

I am so fortunate

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“And we have to go to Vienna in April.  To party and for the funeral.”

“If you want to come”, he adds.

It may seem incongruous – party and funeral in the same sentence but I totally understand.  I question only why it is such a long time away.  He doesn’t know.  I try to explain that, perhaps, rather than a funeral it is a memorial service.  He says no but I think this is definitely lost in translation.  Surely you can’t have the funeral over a month after the death?

B had asked before that what we were intending to do for Easter.  Someone else had asked me before that, during the day.  I said, as I had said earlier, that we hadn’t talked about it.

“I might have to go to my parents'”, he says.

As I do, I said “OK”, not asking if I could come but wanting to.  I curb my tongue all the time.  My head say ‘Don’t Assume Anything’ and so I keep silent.

“You can come, if you like”, he adds.  Of course, what I want to say is something like ‘Of course I want to come.  Wild horses nor the devil himself couldn’t keep me from coming’.

“That would be nice”, I actually say, “but what about the dogs?  Can they come too?”.  He thinks about it.  “Yes, they can come too”.  It will be a family trip :-D

Of course, it may not happen.  I know that.  But it’s the thought that’s nice.  And, when I told a colleague this morning, she made the comment that I was going to be ‘introduced’ which, of course, I would be.  Not as his boyfriend or partner but just as his friend.  Just like his ex was, who, I found out when I met S the other week, still sends Christmas cards to them and they still ask after him.  But they don’t ‘know’.  He’s told me why and that’s OK.  I suspect they know but not asking directly means that nothing is confirmed and everyone lives in their cosy world without the need to ‘know’ everything.  Hey, this is his family and how he handles it is up to him just as how I handle mine is up to me.

“Was it love at first sight?”, B had asked, earlier still.  No, it wasn’t ‘love’.  He said that it wasn’t for him.  I didn’t think it was but when B had been asking about how we got together, it became a bit of a blur and I could only remember certain things.  And, so, I’m reading over the posts I wrote at that time.  This blogging thing is really useful :-D.

And, no, it wasn’t ‘love’ at first sight.  But it was something.  I had forgotten that he didn’t kiss other guys, generally, he had said, and certainly not on the first date.  And, yet, he had come over to me and kissed me.  He said, last night, that it was after several glasses of wine.  Well, a couple maybe.  But there must have been something, even for him.  I know I was confused as to how I felt (having read my entries) but it quickly developed into knowing the something; of having the Karl Spark.

He is sweet and I adore him.  I had texted him with B & my last minute plans for a meal and asked if he could come.  I said I would understand if he couldn’t.  He phoned me and we were already in the restaurant and on our starter.  He said he had just finished work and was tired.  I said that I understood and it was no problem but it would be nice if he could come.  He said he would come.

I know that he did it for me and for him.  For me because he knows how important B is to me and how I always am ready to meet the people he wants me to meet and also for him because I have spoken of B often and he wants to meet my friends.  He wants to see N&S before they leave too.  As soon as he finishes his trips (next week and the week after), perhaps?

And, yes, it curtailed our (B and my) conversation a bit.  But I did so want them to meet.

And then he came back to mine  He went to bed and was asleep before I got to bed, as he hasn’t slept well in the last couple of nights.  He got up late (10.30) but at least he slept a bit last night even if he did wake up in the night.  I woke up at 4 because my alarm went off.  Actually, it didn’t go off, messages came through and I had forgotten to change the phone to phone only.  And so, partly because of that and partly because the phone light was flashing, warning me that it was on a very low battery, and I always worry about not being woken up by the alarm, I found it difficult to return to sleep and, instead, I watched him and listened to his snoring and loved him even if, because he was too hot and so was I, we didn’t touch.  So, because of the snoring, I knew he slept some.

And, this morning, as I left him, he was asleep again, and I kissed him on his forehead and, unusually, he didn’t wake and, instead, we chatted through Facebook when he got up.

And I said that B had said he was lovely and asked about us going to Rome and he was all for it (in the same way that he was all for going to Pallanza) and I said that we would go after Carrara and Vienna and he said OK, that would be good.

And, reading back on my blog entries I realise that, although maybe not love at first sight, it was certainly something and almost at first sight and I realise again that I am so fortunate to have found him.

Adrift

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I’m not sure how I feel.  I’m not even sure how I’m supposed to feel.  My head tells me I shouldn’t feel anything but my heart is beating fast, almost as if I’m scared.

I don’t feel sad or that I’ve missed something.  I don’t feel angry or unhappy.  Nor do I feel happy.  And, somehow, at some time, that’s how I thought I would feel – not this ‘nothingness’ with a beating heart.

I read the stuff again to make sure I understood.  Yes, I cannot be wrong.  So much stuff on the internet these days but still cannot find anything about the actual event.  But then it goes and makes me look for other things.  Most things are just confirmation of things I already knew.  A few photos, a few discussions.

And still I can’t get this thing out of my head.  Why?

And then I think about the date.  No, it’s all wrong, somehow.  I mean, 2003.  I was still in the UK.  Not only in the UK but also still at the original address – the one she knew.  No.  I must have made a mistake.  A different anniversary then?  Ah yes, she was going for a walk.  And, at that time, I seem to remember, the talk of new knees.  Perhaps that’s the one she talks about?  Perhaps it was her AND him, celebrating the 7th anniversary of him being able to walk again?  That’s why the walk and why it’s worth the post.

And, yet, there was the comment about “he would be so proud of you”.  Surely you only say that of someone who’s gone?  Otherwise you’d say ‘he must be so proud of you’ or something similar.  But, perhaps there is a mixture here.  The walking being different from the dying.  The anniversary being the walking; the dying taking place at some other time.

But it tires me.  It’s boring crap and, after an initial interest, the whole thing starts to become pathetic.  I mean that I become pathetic to me.

And then, I wonder, should I make contact now?  What would it take?  And, anyway, she’s already in New Zealand or Australia or something.  With ‘her Ruthie’ on their yacht or her yacht or something.

But then that exposes me again and I don’t want to be exposed.  The rest of them come too.  It comes with a package (and a price) and the package I don’t want to open (and the price I don’t want to pay).  And, it’s strange really because only a day or so ago I found myself thinking about being adrift and that I was adrift and had almost always been adrift and, most of the time, I like being adrift and not anchored but that sometimes, for those brief moments, when being adrift seems less exciting but rather more scary, that’s the time that you have families for.

And I don’t have that.  And now, after V, I have less of even the little bit I thought I had.

And, maybe that’s why my heart raced when I read (and, probably, misunderstood) the thing on the screen.

On being British

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I like being British.  Am I proud of being British?  Well, to be honest, not always.  It’s not that I’m not proud, it’s just that, well, I’m British and being proud is not seen as a good thing.  After all, as we all know, ‘pride comes before a fall’ – and when someone has been proud, we see their fall as just desserts.

But I do like being British.  Firstly, I speak English (obviously, proper English – none of your mispronounced, misspelt, New World stuff for me).  In spite of the fact that the Chinese language (I forget which one of them) is actually spoken by more people in the world and Spanish is up and coming, English is still the universal language for communication.  I thank our Empire for that (and the Americans power following its demise).

Secondly, we have ‘ways’ of being; ‘ways’ of doing things that I use to my advantage, especially here.

And so I was reading this and the fact that the Immigration Minister has pronounced that there should be instruction on ‘how to queue’ because that is at the heart of Britishness.

There again, in my opinion, is the problem with people.  They get ‘Britishness’ completely wrong.  It’s not the queuing that’s important although, yes, people who jump the queue will result in a load of people who feel resentment and, these days, anger.  No Britishness is all about ‘not standing out’ from the crowd.  Or, rather, not making yourself stand out from the crowd.

Of course, if just ‘not standing out from the crowd’ were essential, we would have no famous British people until they were dead.  The thing is that you are allowed to stand out, providing that it’s not because you have been making yourself stand out – i.e. someone can push you forward as long as that someone isn’t you.

Of course, the correct response to this, should you find yourself standing out there, through no real fault of your own, is to be completely self-effacing; shy but not embarrassingly so; properly attribute your ‘success’ to others or the team; be truly grateful that there are others who think you are there (out of the crowd) even if, of course, you feel you did not possibly deserve it, etc.

Of course, there are always exceptions.  In fact, there is one exception to this overall rule.  That is when you are drunk.  And by drunk I mean very drunk (totally pissed, wasted, rip-roaringly drunk).  Then you can do anything you want – but, of course, you must regret it and suffer for it from the next morning and on until the end of your life!

Which is why I found the article so funny.  Hadley Freeman’s take on what is actually required to be British I disagree with, in the main but I will go through the five points:

1.  I’ve always found that dinner at 8 means that you will sit down to eat at about 2 minutes past 8 – unless there are late-comers, who will be frowned upon as they have made themselves stand out!

2.  We don’t always (in fact rarely) react with squealing excitement.  Understated excitement means not making yourself stand out.

3.  OK, I agree with 3 – or you say something like ‘Oh this old thing – bought it years ago’ as if that makes up for the fact that whatever it is is the most stunning item of clothing in the room.

4.  No one really cares how well Marks and Spencers do – what’s important is that the quality of their underpants is second-to-none and that their food quality is absolutely amazing but sooooo expensive.

5.  Just not true.  We do date.  We also court and, as she correctly says, ‘pull’.  But she misinterprets ‘pull’.  When you go out on a date it is with a predefined person for a meal or a drink or to the cinema.  When you ‘go out on the pull’ you are single and very much hoping that, by the end of the night, you have pulled someone who may, or may not, be a future date.

However, I just loved the end bit to number 5.  This is so true, especially of me (although I found online dating a way around the getting drunk bit).  But, just for those of you who don’t read the article, she says that the British method of coupling is like this:

go to a party, get extremely drunk, drunkenly kiss someone you have been making eyes at for some time but obviously never spoke to because you were sober then, go home with them, move in with them the next day, marry them.

It really made me laugh.

I’m learning a new language

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Well, you might say “of course you are” but it’s not quite what you think.

I’m having various conversations with a girl who’s about 14.  Don’t get the wrong idea here – it’s not a bad thing.  She is the daughter of Best Mate.  And the conversation is the sort of general conversation that one would have with the teenage daughter of your Best Mate – except for one thing – it’s via Facebook and so is more like texting or chatting online.

And, as she’s 14, although she uses English it’s not quite the English that I write here.  And on more than one occasion I have had to ask Best Mate what a certain word or acronym means.

Because, let’s face it, I am old.  I remember mobile phones when they first came in and were almost as big as a small briefcase.  And the first portable computer was like a laptop – but the screen was a normal screen that you had to carry separately.  So, texting and chatting online requires that I learn a different language.

Some examples would be soz.  This is short for sorry.  Said is written sed.  How gets the ‘h’ dropped off the front.

All these things make remarkable sense.  However, I do find it difficult to do this.  I’ve just about mastered using ‘u’ instead of ‘you’ and ‘r’ instead of ‘are’ but I don’t even do that all the time, so writing ‘i sed i wuz soz’ I would still be writing as ‘I said I was sorry’ – even in text form, even going to the trouble of making the ‘i’ a capital.

And, in addition, I text Italians.  For me it is almost unthinkable as an ex English Teacher to write the short form.  The best I can do with F is to write ‘cos’ instead of ‘because’ (and even with that, the first time I did, he asked what it meant).

English is a wonderful, rich language (although the Italians always think theirs is better and richer – and, being a guest in their country I would not disagree – at least in front of them) but having been with V’s family (many of whom are first-generation from Jamaica), I became very aware of the the fact that there is no really ‘pure’ English.  It’s all bastardised all over the world.  Even here they take words and give them slightly different meanings (e.g. relax, which they don’t use verb even when it should be in the context in which they use it).

And so, this new form of English, widely used (I guess) by most English people (maybe even English-speaking people) under the age of, let’s say, 30 – where will it end up?  In 20 years will the common spelling of ‘said’ be ‘sed’ and ‘sorry’ be ‘soz’ – at least in the UK?

Every language changes over time but I suspect new technology and the need to type words on keyboards, touch pads and keypads could accelerate the changes to the language.  And since I know the same thing happens here (‘che’ becomes ‘k’, ‘per’ becomes ‘x’), I wonder if all languages are now under some pressure to change to meet the growing need of the younger generations to be able to communicate in ways that we never even imagined when we were at school.

Just a thought.