The “Mafia” and the Catholic Church – two institutions that “run” Italy

There’s a story about squatters living in one of the churches in Rome that the Pope uses.

They are, in fact, making some sort of demonstration about the housing crisis in Rome.

However, I was struck by the following:

“We are an alarm call, a heads-up that the housing system in Rome is collapsing,” said Luca Bonucci, 38, a former security guard who lost his home when his employer failed to pay him for a year.

The thing that struck me was not that the housing system in Rome is collapsing, nor that this guy was a former security guard that is now unemployed, nor that he “lost” his home.

It is that his employer failed to pay him for a year!

This is something that seems quite common here, in Italy.

In the UK, I only heard about this happening (for an extended period of time) for one person. Here, I’ve heard about it often. It seems a common thing.

Of course, this has all to do with cashflow management – and how good or bad the managers are at managing it.

It’s not helped by the fact that Italian government and council agencies still find it acceptable to pay companies late – more than 90 days – and yet those same agencies demand money immediately or, even, (from what I understand) in the case of VAT (IVA, here), up front! But it’s not only government and council agencies.

I can’t imagine continuing to work somewhere when I wasn’t paid – for a whole year!

It’s not even as if wages here are so huge. In fact, as I’ve mentioned before now, I still can’t quite understand how this country functions with wages set so low.

As usual, the solution to this (and most problems here), is a change in thinking. A change that seems unlikely to come any time soon.

I remember one of my “contracts” here when I was teaching. I did some work that was funded through the EU, providing cut-price lessons to companies in Italy. The pay for me was quite high (compared to most English teaching “jobs”) and the funding actually came through charity organisations. Since I did a number of these contracts, I had different contracts with different charity agencies.

All of them were really good – except one. The one that was terrible was the “Catholic” one. For this one, I really had to fight for my money. The others paid me almost as soon as the courses were complete. This one kept me hanging on for a couple of months. Eventually, I went to their headquarters. I was told that the person who could sign the cheque was not there right now. I said I would wait. They told me that it was not a good idea to wait as they didn’t know when he would come in but they would make sure that he signed the cheque as soon as he came in and I should come back the next day.

I went back the next day. Apparently, for one reason or another, he hadn’t signed the cheque. And he wasn’t there right now but they would get it done today and I could come back tomorrow. I explained that that wasn’t good enough and that I wasn’t trekking all the way across town again.

I said I would wait.

They didn’t want that but they thought that I would give up and go after an hour or so. They had no idea who they were dealing with. I waited for an hour and a half to two hours.

Suddenly I was called to the desk as somehow, miraculously, they had the cheque! This was strange, as no one had entered the building since I had arrived, apart from people going to the desk and then leaving!!!! I thanked them but told them that I would never do work for them again. I was shocked at the time as I never expected a Catholic charity to be lying bastards.

Catholic charities, it seems, are the worst for paying their debts! So it seems justified (in a justice sense) that the Catholic Church should suffer the homeless people who may have even been made homeless by their failure to pay the company for which poor Luca worked. Even if it wasn’t a Catholic charity directly, you can be certain they were involved somewhere down the line. They are, after all, as prolific here as the “Mafia”. And, to be honest, I would put them both in the same category of organisation.

The full link to the article is here

Enough already.

The sudden flurry of activity was shocking.

I wrote a couple of posts that will, undoubtedly, stay in draft. One a letter to someone who commented who I haven’t seen for a long, long time and one to the commenter who, apparently, doesn’t care what I think and, yet, reads the blog.

However, enough is enough. The proof of duplicity stands as it is. Previous actions indeed speak so much louder than words. I have no wish to further engage with such a person.

However, the blog is what it is – my blog full of my personal thoughts and feelings. So I will continue to write what I want, when I want and, I’m sure, from time to time, that person will look. Oh well, this is the Internet and the 21st century and this is the way it is.

I still wonder why? There was obviously one or more conversations – probably both before and after. But I wonder why on earth they would bother with that? Occasionally, I write snippets from my past, not to discuss my family but more to help to explain me and why I’m the way I am. Why I’m so pro some things and anti other things. I don’t honestly know if they give any insights to anyone else. Possibly not as you get the results of my musings rather than the thought processes.

So, I still wonder why? I have no connection to the UK aside from my friends there. There is no real reason to go back. Nor do I particularly desire it. I have, more or less, managed to exclude my family from my daily life, only occasionally turning to the Internet to learn something when something happens that makes me think of them.

Of course, I always wondered if, at some time in the future, someone not directly connected to my time there would try and “discover” me. But, in my view, that was unlikely.

Whilst the second commenter made me laugh with her standard double-standard thinking, I don’t feel the need to continue the dialogue with her. My own stupidity was to trust her in the first place. Ah, well, you live and learn, as they say. I don’t want or need such negativity or duplicity in my life, thanks all the same.

So, now, after that little “episode”, enough already.

I wonder why? For at least a few minutes.

I’ll bet you’ve done it, haven’t you?

I’m sure that the majority of people have. I certainly have. Also, given my situation, I’ve searched for my siblings and my parents. It’s how I know that my father is dead and why I know certain things about the female members of my family.

It’s why I wonder, now, if there wasn’t some sort of “set up” being done in the years before. I’m almost certain there was. The one I thought was trustworthy, most probably wasn’t and, in fact, I now think she could have been the cause of the end of that chapter.

But, I hold no grudge. If it hadn’t been for that, I wouldn’t be here now, in this place and with this person and having such a wonderful life. So, instead, I’m grateful. Doesn’t make her a nice person though – but then, how could I ever have thought she was? And, from a comment she made some time ago on Twitter, I now realise that she was jealous as well!

Well, the money you have now won’t make that better, dear. You were always striving for something that you would never, ever have. Love of yourself.

Anyway, I digress.

I have a program to log the visitors to this site. I can tell when Lola (have you seen her new blog? – look on the right) and Gail visit. I recognise my regular visitors (like the one from Ireland and Germany) and it’s “nice” to see them visit. And, of course, it means certain friends can “keep up to date” on major happenings in my life (*waves to N in San Francisco*).

I get many people who are looking for the address of Primark in Milan, or looking for details of Felicity Lowde (maybe for her connection with Rachel North) or Serge Bodulovic (who’s just a scum-bag). Even if, now, Google usually encrypts the search words used, you can tell, more or less, what they’ve been looking for by the first page they land on.

But, yesterday, I had a visitor who was on the site for several hours. The person came from the Bristol area. They spent a lot of time on the site (several hours). Among the terms they used to search whilst they were on this site were “mother”, “father”, “family”, “brother” and “sister”. From the first page they got to, they were almost certainly searching for me.

Of course, I say little about my blood relatives. I haven’t seen them for many, many years. Not all of them are bad people (I like to believe) but. for certain, some of them are. It’s better that I don’t get involved. But I wondered who it was, specifically, who was looking and why? Why now, after all these years?

Of course, I shall never know. They’re hardly likely to make any comment and, for them too, it’s probably better to leave things lie.

So, for a few moments, it made me wonder. And then I move on and back to living my life now for which I am eternally grateful.

Update: and now I’m pretty sure I know who it was. Still looking for that loving feeling of yourself, eh? LOL

Listening – it’s bloody hard sometimes.

Most of the time, I bite my tongue.

After all, if he wasn’t listening two seconds ago, he won’t be listening now, will he?

We’re talking about things that need to be done. He is going to be there for the Fastweb engineer on Thursday. I want to ask the engineer if he can put a wire from wherever the box goes, through to my studio for my computer. This may be something that he does for cash and, given that we’re in Italy and the wages are so low here, the chances that he will do it are high.

“it will be better,” he says, “as he can do any drilling through the walls before we move all the stuff in.”

I agree. I add, “And I can sort out the connection from my PC to the television before we move, too.”

“That’s not important. It can be done afterwards. It’s more important to find someone to run a pipe from the gas point to the place we want it in the kitchen.”

Well, yes, I know that. after all, without a kitchen, we can’t really move in.

“You’ve got different priorities than me,” he adds.

Well, actually no, I haven’t. The kitchen is the number one priority. The extension for the cooker was given to you to sort out, since you speak Italian and the chances of the plumber speaking English is far less than some technical thing that I should do.

He becomes tetchy because in his head, all I’m worried about is my PC.

“No, the kitchen has to be done before we move in,” I say, “but I also need my computer when we move because of the lessons.”

This, of course, carried no weight. He has already stopped listening to me, if he was even doing that at the beginning. He continues saying things about how our priorities are different and how I’m not concentrating on the right things, etc., etc. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression, I listen to the things he says but, since he’s not listening to me, it is better not to respond. I’ve learnt that much. I cannot argue my point because he misinterprets almost everything I say. I can’t explain. And, anyway, the difference in our languages makes everything more difficult. It’s one of the drawbacks, for certain.

I know that it is better just to let it lie. Although it is a bit frustrating. It means we can’t talk about the thingS we need to do, only the thing he is concentrating on at the moment.

I try to let it all wash over me, and, my strength of will makes it so. After all, it is only this moment and he doesn’t mean to do it. It’s not like it’s going to kill me.

He suggests about moving stuff over. I explain I don’t like doing it. He says he does. Again I get the “I’m not trying to tell you what to do” thing, even if, in reality, that’s EXACTLY what he’s trying to do.

It’s OK. He knows I’m quite stubborn and I’ll just do the things my way anyway.

It is extremely hot. It’s already half nine or so, and it must be close to 30°. We talk about the dogs, as Dino, in particular, is struggling a bit in the heat. He’s going to get some sprayer thing so he can spray him with cool water from time to time. We can try. Anything is worth a try.

He then suggests that, soon, we can start going down to Carrara. Especially because it will be nicer for the dogs. He will have to work some weekends, one of which will be going to Paris. He suggests that I should go down with the dogs on those weekends. I say it will depend on what needs to be done but, secretly, I think I might. I miss the weekends in Carrara – the asparagus and lardo pizza on Friday; days spent on the beach with some books; eating at his Mum and Dad’s; the morning coffee and croissant at the bar overlooking the sea. Yes, I’ve missed those this year even if it’s been for a very good reason.

So, maybe we will go down.

As I’ve written this, I think about something I’ve read recently – listen without trying to form a response in your head at the same time. I must really try to do that. It’s difficult though, isn’t it?

Fastweb and Tennis

Finally, summer is here. Over the weekend it was nudging the mid-thirties (degrees centigrade) and the next few days, it may get as high as 37° – or that’s the forecast – before dropping down to hovering around 30°.

This was the weekend where I got away with something – but I know I won’t be getting away with it for much longer. I got away with it because he is living in “my flat” – when the “my flat” becomes “our flat”, I know it won’t be tolerated.

It involved some stuff on the microwave. The microwave sits on the washing machine and is a very handy place to drop things that I must look at or do something with later. At one point he replaced the “general mess” with a shoe box. Now the top of the shoe box becomes the place to drop the stuff. He wanted me to clear it away. I explained that I needed to sort the kitchen out first as some things had to be put away when I find the boxes with like things inside.

He wasn’t happy but “It’s your flat” was the response. I know that I won’t have these choices in a month or so’s time. Ah well. enjoy it whilst it lasts, I suppose.

As part of the “getting ready to move”, I threw away lots and lots of clothes. And sorted out my shoes.

And we went and ordered Internet connection via optic fibre as it will be faster (and, in fact, the engineer is coming on Thursday). I mention this because, over the weekend it was the French Open Finals and, now that I can watch British TV, it was a delight.

Well, I say “delight” when, in fact, given the speed of my download, it kept hanging every few minutes. In fact, I tried my phone for a few minutes and got a much better reception via that!

The Fastweb connection, providing I cable my Mac to the modem, will be more than 30 times faster and should mean no more “hanging”. Unfortunately, we shan’t be in the new flat in time for Wimbledon – but there’s always next year :-)

A slip of the tongue.

“We can put it in our bathroom.”

Of course, that wasn’t quite correct, as I already knew. But, even before I had time to question it, a fraction of a second later …….

“My bathroom.”

I laughed. And was sniggering for some minutes afterwards.

At first, he tried to make excuses:

“But you don’t like that one,”
“But you like the one with the shower,”

But, then he gave up, realising that I wasn’t angry or frustrated but just found it funny.

After all, I already knew which would be “my” bathroom which would also double as the “guest” bathroom. It wasn’t that we had said anything. True, the narrower bathroom had the shower, which I do prefer, particularly in the mornings. But, it wasn’t only that. I knew he would need more space. I knew I would need less. “My” bathroom is also one bathroom away from the bedroom, so I wouldn’t wake him in the morning. Stuff like that. It was never spoken but we already knew which bathroom belonged to whom.

But he does make me laugh because it was something he didn’t really mean to say, exactly. He used “my” to differentiate between the two, so that I would know which one he was talking about.

At the same time, although “we are deciding things together”, he knows and I know, that, in reality, it is as it should be and he is deciding most things.

Still, as I write this, it makes me laugh.

Planning and parking

There are plans of the house.

And, by “plans”, I mean many, many plans. Each one is an opportunity for him to draw on where things will go, how it is to be organised.

We have quotations coming in for different things. The kitchen, the wardrobes, the bed base, the doors required for my “studio”, the cupboard for shoes (which will, apparently hold 40 pairs of shoes which are, apparently, to be put away in boxes and then put away in the cupboard), the cupboard for the entrance hall (to hold things like coats we wear regularly (e.g. for walking the dogs)), the units for the lounge and dining room, etc., etc.

He’s looking online to buy the furniture from IKEA (e.g. the units to hold the CDs and DVDs). He found out he can save a lot of money by having a matt finish to the doors (which is good).

Some things are already ordered or in progress, some things not.

Lots of things being done and still, lots of things to do.

But a rather strange thing happened, yesterday. I say “happened” when, in fact, it was all in my head.

I knew that F was going to my house and that he was going a bit earlier to take the dogs out before my lesson. Obviously, he was going to my house – he lives there now!

But the strange thing was that I kept thinking of finding some parking around the new house – as if we were already living in the new flat (which is, anyway, near to my current flat and I reach it just before I reach home). I had to keep “telling” myself that I had to continue to drive on, past the new flat. I would find myself thinking about where I would park and then realise that I was thinking about where I could park somewhere near the new flat!

And I would think about arriving home – in the new flat, with all the furniture in already!

It was all slightly weird and unexpected.

But, hopefully, soon, it will be as it is in my head :-)

There’s moving and moving.

We were dropped off near his flat. We had been to lunch with some friends and it had lasted rather a long time. It was now about 5 p.m. It was a rather lovely lunch and the people are very nice and easy. They have a three-year-old boy who is a really nice kid.

At the traffic lights, I pause and say, “See you later.”

“Don’t you want to come and see my flat?”

“No, not really.”

“But you could help me with moving things.”

I guess the look on my face (probably one of horror), said it all.

“OK, you don’t have to. I can do it myself.”

I go home and make a cup of tea as I’m really thirsty. I have a lot to do. I have already, the day before, reorganised my wardrobe to allow space for his clothes and put a lot of clothes to either be thrown away or, if they were good condition designer clothes, to be sold. Now I’ve started on the other wardrobe – but there’s lots to do – and I haven’t even started on shoes yet!

But, it’s no good. The thought of him filling the car with clothes, then making the trip to the new house, then unloading everything – on his own – makes me feel guilty. Yesterday, he had a couple of guys with a van helping. Tomorrow, again. But, today, he is alone.

I message him, asking him if he would like me to come and help. I really don’t want to do this but my guilt wins the day. He replies with an “if you want” but it’s not as simple as that, is it?

I go. He has already partly loaded the car. We finish loading it and go to the new flat. We unload things (suitcases stuffed with clothes, shopping bags full of plates and dishes and other stuff). He has two clothes racks for the clothes to be hung up and several boxes ready to take the clothes from the suitcases.

He stuffs the boxes and the bags go on the floor in the corner of what will be the dining room.

Back to his old flat, we stuff the suitcases again and also take a load of hanging stuff. Back to the new flat and unload, stuff boxes and hang the hanging stuff. And again back to his old flat with, this time, just hanging clothes.

Whilst we are doing this, I am thinking 2 things:

1. The new flat is not nearly as big as I thought it was. In fact, I’m now worried that we won’t fit everything in! Of course, I remember feeling the same about the perfect-flat-on-the-perfect-street so console myself with the thought that, once everything has a place to go, it will be fine.

Still, it’s a bit worrying. What once seemed huge now seems, at best, a comfortable fit.

2. I remember very well why, for the last 6 or so moves, I get people to do everything. Pack, haul boxes and suitcases, lift heavy things. I AM NOT doing the same as him. People will be doing all this work, not me!

We finish at something to 9. I am totally exhausted. I want a shower and a beer. His place still has loads of stuff in it. But he, too, is tired, wants a shower and a beer. We both shower in our respective places and then meet up for a beer. Which is refreshing, to say the least but after two we are so tired we just want bed and sleep.

The next day, Monday, is a public holiday here. We are going to look for a kitchen. We need to go quite early because we need someone to help with the planning. F, of course, has all the floor plan and dimensions, including where the water, gas and electrical sockets are on the walls.

So, we get up quite early and have a quick coffee at a bar and then off to the place.

We book an “agent” and then go and wander around the store to pick the kitchen types we like and look at wardrobes as he needs one in the bedroom.

Our agent becomes available and we go and sit down and start planning the kitchen with the “kid”. It goes on for a long time. It’s not quite as easy as it’s not a square kitchen and things are difficult to fit. There are lots of “modifications” that will need to be done.

Eventually, we have two options that we like. The cost is at the lower end of my expectations. Whilst we are there, we add the wardrobes and a bed base. The order is “on hold” as we need to get a surveyor round to check all the dimensions before they will agree to accept the order and fit it all in. We do this.

We then go to IKEA to have a quick look at some of the units he has chosen for other parts of the flat, to hold other things. It’s quick because a) we both dislike IKEA and b) there are just too many people walking around like they’re on holiday and, generally, being in the way. We don’t buy anything – he’ll buy stuff later.

We go home. So far, this has taken over three and a half hours!

He has the guys coming back to move the rest of his stuff and I have lessons and I have to take the dogs for a walk and put away the dry washing and stuff. No sorting out for me today.

After my lessons he messages me to ask if we should go for a beer. I agree.

I get there first as he is doing the last delivery with the guys. He comes soon after with a couple of bags with stuff he’s leaving at my place whilst we live there for a month or two.

We drink our beer. He has, finally and officially, moved out of his flat and so, I suppose, we are, finally and officially, living together. But I only think of that now – not at the time of the beer!

Over our beers, he starts suggesting things.

“Once we have the kitchen in and I’ve started putting up the units we have, we can start moving your stuff.”

“But, I’m going to get the movers in.”

“Yes, for the big furniture but we can move the other stuff ourselves. I’m not trying to tell you what you should do but we can do a box an evening.”

But, of course, he IS trying to tell me what to do. I remember the day before and I AM NOT doing that.

“It will save some money.”

“Let’s see what the quotes are, first.”

He reiterates that, obviously, it’s up to me (which it most certainly is NOT, if he had his way) but he really thinks it would be better.

It’s not. However, I don’t argue. Sometimes it’s just better to go ahead and get it all done – in the way that I want!

Let’s see.

I get a surprise!

“You know my family know, don’t you?” He means that they know we are moving in together.

Well, yes, of course. I didn’t really think it was a secret since his cousin had posted something to some pictures added to Facebook.

“What, everyone?” I ask.

“I’m sure,” he replies. “B (his sister) telephoned me.”

“I saw that E (his cousin) had made a comment,” I said.

“Yes, and she will have told everyone.”

I wonder, since he and I are, where not exactly a secret couple, shall we say, a couple of really, really good friends, even though, of course, everyone knows, what his parents think then, assuming they have been told that we will be moving together.

“We can invite them up,” he says, “maybe for Christmas.”

Now – “invite them up” is all the family? Surely not!

“Who?” I ask.

“My Mum and Dad,” adding, “I can go and pick them up but we would have to sleep on the sofa.”

I have no idea what to say to this. Inside, I know this is the “final” acceptance. This means that he is so relaxed about “us” that he can now invite his Mum and Dad up to stay into our flat and that, as they would see we only had the one bedroom with a double bed, there couldn’t really be any doubt – even though, of course, he would never, ever tell them. But that’s OK for me. I don’t need for everything to be explicitly said. Not any more.

“What a lovely idea!” I exclaim.

Of course, I can’t add all the feelings I really have inside – but I am really very happy about this surprise announcement.

“Maybe, not for Christmas but for a weekend, anyway.”

OK, as you want, I think and, probably, say. He goes on to say that his Mum has only ever been to Milan once before and his Dad never, despite him living here for well over 20 years! They don’t have this need or desire to travel. Even in Italy! I mean to say, I’ve seen a honeymoon picture which, I think, was taken in Rome but I’ve never heard tales of any travel.

Of course, I realise this may never happen, this trip to Milan but that’s not really the point. The fact that he’s thinking about it means so much in so many ways. Every time I think about it brings a new insight into the fact that he’s so very happy we’re together. Happy and more and more relaxed about it.

Which is more than can be said about the actual “moving” thing. For that he is exceedingly stressed. But it will settle down once he’s moved his stuff over – which is happening right now.

But that’s for another post.

As I read, so too, I hear

I read this a few moments ago –

And I could hear her reading it on stage, all those years ago. Truly awesome.

And, remember, she read it with spaces.

Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.