Tag Archives: Relationships

Late last night………………..

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…………….it came to me as I was lying there, in the dark and the heat, unable to sleep.

I had been asleep.  We had ‘made love’ earlier, in spite of us both being tired.  And it was good and he makes me feel good.  After, we lay on our sides, me with my back to him, he cuddling me – ‘spooning’ as it is called.  He likes that and it suits me fine.  I must have fallen asleep.

I wake up.  Suddenly.  Unexpectedly.  I don’t know why.  I know it is not just before the alarm but I am, almost, wide awake.  I turn over.  He is lying on his back.  I don’t put my arm across him both for his sake and mine.  I am too hot, half of me outside the bedclothes already.

He does the pfffff sound that Italians make.  It is peculiar to them.  They make it, it seems, to express displeasure or annoyance or exasperation at something.

I ask if he is OK.  He says he can’t sleep.  I ask if he has been awake all the time and he says yes.  I think (but do not say) that it is he who, probably, woke me up.  I turn over so as not to succumb to the urge to put my arm around him to say ‘everything is alright’.  I know the sound of the pfffff.  I know what that means.  He asks what time it is (as I have just looked).  I say it is a quarter to twelve.  He makes the pffff sound again.

He asks if we should go for a cigarette.  I say yes as I am not close to sleeping and, anyway, I quite like the idea of a glass of milk.  I get up.  He changes his mind and says he’s not coming.  That’s OK.

I have my milk and cigarette, taking my time, cooling down and hoping that, when I get back to bed, I will feel much better – more like sleep.  It is not a quarter to twelve.  I realised that as I was getting up.  Anyway, it cannot be a quarter to twelve.  We only switched the light off at 11.30 something and then we had sex.  No, it was a quarter to one.

I creep back to bed.  I am still too hot.  I burn, as normal.  His flat (well, S’s flat) is too hot.  He keeps the heat on overnight.  It’s a nice idea but with my metabolism, it plays havoc.  I lie as still as possible, not wanting to wake him if he is on the verge of sleep.  But you know how it is.  When you need to be quiet you feel the urge to cough, or scratch, or sneeze or move because it’s uncomfortable.  Even your breathing seems as loud as an express train going full belt.  I do all these things, except the sneezing.  We touch legs.  We both need that; some physical touch but just not too much.  We both suffer in the same way although I am, generally, hotter than him.  He didn’t know anyone could be as bad, let alone worse!

I turn over to face him.  His knee, crooked up, fine whilst my back is towards him, not so fine when I’m facing him.  I still cannot sleep.  I open my eyes and look at his face.  The dark not so total that I can’t see anything but, still, I see no detail.  But I know what it looks like.  I smile anyway.  I’m tired, exhausted really, but happy with this, with what I have, with what we have.  I try to figure out if his eyes are closed but I just can’t tell.  Not in this light.

Or, rather, lack of light.

I turn again.  and that’s when it suddenly comes to me about these life-changing moments.  And, for just a split second I wonder what they are.  Then I think of the camp.

I also think about the time when I promised to marry someone.  Her name was Gilly.  Gilly Gaskell or Gaskill or something like that.  I remember, holding hands in the garden.  Her garden, the bottom of the garden.  I remember it as if I am watching it on a film – I’m not there but here, behind the camera, watching – but I can’t see my features but I remember her hair.  Blonde.  The fringe tied back with a clip.  I promised her that I would marry her.

It should have been one of those life-changing moments/events.  But it’s not.  Nor was it then.

We were five.

Last Night and Today

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The alarm clock goes off.

As I wake from my very deep slumber I briefly consider the idea of not going to work until later, if at all.  I reach for the phone and select the ‘snooze for 5 minutes’ option.  That always works, me never being able to get to sleep again because I’m constantly thinking things like ‘did I hit the snooze but or have I switched it off?’ – often meaning that I wake myself up again before it goes off a second time and get up.

I want to turn over and snuggle up to F.  I think, for the second time during my time in bed, that I really wish he were here so that I could do that.  But he’s not here and I’m not there and, like last night when I wanted him for warmth (but also because I don’t like being apart from him) I think about how, perhaps, I should have made the effort to have gone up.

But the last couple of nights have been ‘bad’ nights.  I am immensely tired.  I do sleep to be woken again by the alarm.  This time I get up.

I start to pull on my clothes.  Rufus is there wanting attention but Dino is not, safely secured in the kitchen following last night’s small disaster.  I think how nice it is not to have to shout at them; Rufus being so less boisterous now and Dino not being there to be over-excited.  I get up and go and get my glasses from beside the computer.

I go to the hall and put my scarf and hat and gloves on then let Dino out who, like some crazed Tasmanian Devil spins and jumps and twists around.  But he’s been a good boy and so I show him that he’s OK.  Then realise I should have put my coat on and got more ready before I let him out.

As we’re walking up the street I realise I am still more than half asleep.  I forgot to put the coffee on!  Ah well, it doesn’t matter.  Perhaps I shall have a shave before coffee?  Maybe a shower too?

The ground is wet but it’s only spitting rain now.  Thank goodness.  However, the dog walking areas, still not recovered from the rain the other day, remain wet and waterlogged.  I consider not letting them into the areas and then decide to anyway.  The cleaner guy comes today.

I put the coffee on when we get home, having the flame much higher than normal.  I need this coffee.  I do the milk and then go and sort out their water and collect the bowls for the food.  I measure in the milk and find that whilst I have been doing all the other things, the coffee is nearly done.

I take my coffee to the computer.  I sit at the computer for about 20 minutes, drinking my coffee, Dino asleep by my side, wary of the nicking of stuff on the footstool now….perhaps?  I hope so, for his sake and mine.

I write this post which goes nowhere between a rather hectic day with telephone calls and work interrupting; by now, forgetting entirely why I even started this.  Except that I am tired and I really miss F and I want to be with him tonight, even if, at the same time, I really want to be asleep.

Today, this day, I just can’t wait for work to be finished and to be at home.  I wonder if F, who is at the shop today or, at least, was this morning, will be home late or early?  I hope early.

And now I remember the reason for writing this and the reason I am so tired.  I was out last night.  It was to meet FfC’s Mum.  FfI was there and so was V.  F wasn’t there because he is so busy and couldn’t be there.

It was a Chinese restaurant.  I’m sorry if you were one of the attendees but, apart from the Duck with Orange (whole orange segments that were particularly juicy) it was mediocre at best.  And I don’t like Sushi to be bigger than my mouth.  It’s supposed to be food that you can put in your mouth in one go – as far as I am concerned.  And the sauces were too glutinous and the taste not fine enough and the service was crap and THIS is why Italians are wary of Chinese food (although you wouldn’t think so by the fact that the place was full) and I really don’t blame them.  And it cost over €40 per head.

And I looked at V and knew it was done.  He looked older and like he needed some rest.  I guess I do too.  And, now, his ways seem far less endearing than I remember, even if they are the same.

But, at least I wasn’t let down by either person and, for that, I am pleased.  But I didn’t get home until midnight and then I had to walk the dogs and couldn’t have driven to F’s place and so I phoned F on my way home and said how sorry I was but that I really couldn’t come over tonight as I couldn’t drive (too much to drink) and that I couldn’t walk there (too long) and so I would just stay at mine – if he didn’t mind.  Which he said he didn’t.

And that’s why I wrote this post although now, at the end of the working day, I lack the enthusiasm to write it properly and fully and tell you the thoughts that went through my head last night.

But, basically that was last night and today.

Today is a bad day – maybe it’s because it’s Tuesday?

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I really hate this bit.  The long, loooooong drag from Christmas/New Year until we start seeing the light and the weather gets to be bearable.

From September, it seems, there is the rush of getting everything done before Christmas; as if not getting it done will mean anything significant.  And then there is Christmas and New Year, here, extended until the 6th January – a long and (for a holiday) pointless time (not the Christmas Day itself, of course, which has significance) – the weather too bad and cold to make things enjoyable, the snow almost inevitably over and done with before Christmas Day itself – only to come back with a vengeance sometime when you think it might be getting better; the days too short (in terms of light) meaning that things like walking the dogs has to be done early and ‘gets in the way’ of other things.

The bright spots being that Milan is quiet and that, at least it is a holiday.

But now, now that we are back, and four days into the ‘new term’, so to speak – oh this is the worst.

The weather is still too cold and bleak and wet or snowy; making the daily drive anything but a pleasure; the days seem to get shorter even if they are not; there is no ‘light’ to look forward to (at least not for three months or so, depending on when Easter falls).

There is a bleakness to it, a sadness to the threads picked up from the things that were (or weren’t) finished before Christmas – everything the same and yet with nothing to look forward to – or, at least, nothing soon enough.

And worse than all that, you know that there will be more (and possibly worse) bad weather and gloom on the way.

I ache for the time when I can discard the three or four layers of clothing; when the chance of rain is diminished; when I can take the dogs out in the morning and the evening and there is still daylight; when it is warm enough that smoking doesn’t cause you to be shivering outside, even with the layers of clothes.

Everyone is expecting more snow.  The forecast that I use says it will rain but not snow.  I am glad but the rain is still miserable.  The dogs get dirty and the flat is impossible to keep clean now.  Dino seems to have gone into a chewing phase – well, chewing and eating everything.  I could kill him sometimes – but, of course, I couldn’t really.  But I can shout at him.  That’s something I suppose.

Rufus deteriorates, week by week, pulling himself back sometimes so that you think there’s nothing wrong with him.  But it’s only a matter of time, I know.  Ah well, such is life!  And he has lived a long life for the breed and for being a city dog for the last five years or so.

The answer to the Final Question is halfway to being complete – but it should have all been done and dusted before Christmas and the fact that it is only half-way irritates me.  But, again, such is life.  And I have this sinking feeling that the whole thing is not really over yet – like there’s going to be more shock, disappointment, inconsiderateness, etc.  It’s what I expect.  I want to expect better but, if I’m honest, THIS is much more like reality – this let-down.

OK, so this is NOT a good day but I shall bounce back tonight when there is a meal with friends.  Well, I hope to be bouncing back but I shall be annoyed if there is let-down again – and by two people, not just one!

And, although I really want to go back to find F there, I know he won’t be and I know I won’t feel like the trek up to his place and so, for the first night in weeks (or is it months?), we shall sleep alone and I don’t really like that a lot.  Not now.

Yes, today is a bad day – maybe it’s because it’s Tuesday?

Hanging pictures on the floor

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We’re hanging pictures on the floor. As one does.

Obviously, we’re not really hanging them since they won’t hang on the floor. The wall was measured and then the floor was cleared to make room and the floor was measured out. Bits of masking tape were used to mark the corners.

I brought in the pictures from the living room, a few at a time. I am acutely aware that I must not break any or drop any. It, of course, makes it so much more dangerous, me having this knowledge. I place them carefully on the floor (outside the area marked, of course) or on top of each other.

The pictures are laid out on the floor. They are changed. There are too many of them. The top right corner doesn’t look right – too many small ones. The order is changed. And changed. And changed again, and on.

Eventually, they are right, it seems. It seemed that way to me before now but now, after the final few changes, it seems right. The wall (for it is not all of it) is measured and masking tape used to mark the point where the pictures will start.

I bring the first one in. The picture is positioned and the nail point secured. The nail is hammered in and the picture hung. It is the first of very many. They are all photographs of the same woman. I go and fetch the next one (in order, as they will be positioned on the wall at the top) – the first row first – as they are positioned on the floor.

Nails are taken out sometimes as they won’t go all the way in. Or, rather, enough of the way in to allow the picture to hang correctly. Everything is, almost, very precise. Each picture is hung, not in a moment, but in a minute or two, placed, centred on the nail, hanging perfectly. Row after row.

It takes some time.

Then we are to unveil the sofa and move it back against the wall – the wall where the pictures are.

Ah, but wait!

‘I don’t want you think I’m a maniac’, he says, ‘but I want to clean the pictures first’.

‘Of course I think you’re a maniac, but a lovely maniac’, I reply, smiling.

The pictures are cleaned. The covers are taken off the sofa. It is in two pieces and they are slotted together. We do this and push it back against the wall. It is perfect. Of course it is perfect. It’s F’s flat.

I think that, tomorrow night it will be three whole months since we first met. It seems it cannot be true. Surely, it is longer than that?

I told him I loved him last night, when we had got to bed. He answered that he knew I did. I was pleased as it means he can see it even by the things I do.

And I do. So much and, when I’m with him, I am not scared. And, as he was on the ladder, banging another nail in the wall and his shirt rode up and I caught a glimpse of his stomach and looked at him, I also thought that he is a really sexy guy. It’s perfect. Well, not perfect but perfect all the same. And he loves me too and, sometimes, I feel I must be the luckiest person ever!

Sometimes, I get scared

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Irrational feelings, these, I know.

Just like going to by fresh prosciutto (I might not be understood and look a fool in front of the busy queue), going to a hospital (they might spot something is wrong with me and I might never leave), going to a garage to have the car fixed (they spot me as a fool and stitch me up), etc.

These are, indeed, irrational feelings and, although I know them to be so, it doesn’t stop the feelings and, sometimes, I feel like a deer caught in car headlights – doing nothing would seem to be the correct answer, which, of course, it is not.

And the same is true for the current situation.  What if we have nothing in common after all?  I mean to say, right now, there is the move, Farmville and so on to keep us ‘occupied’ when we are together.  OK, so we both like the cinema and films but you can’t be doing that all the time.  He has books but I would say that they’re more ‘coffee table’ books than real books.  He loves music whereas I just like it.  What shall we talk about?  What will we do?

And, right now, we don’t spend all day together.  We do different things because we live in different flats and so, for a number of hours during the day we are in our own flat (in his case the new one or the old one) doing things or, in my case, sometimes, doing nothing of any importance.

But what if we HAD to spend all day together?  In the same place, in a constricted place.  In a flat with only a couple of rooms.

Let’s face it, I am lazy.  I will happily lounge around all day (and then be completely unhappy that I have wasted the time).  From a list of things to do, I may do one or two.

I’ll do that right after this cup of tea, I say to myself.  But, then, I think, I’ll just have another cup of tea and then do that.  And then I run out of time and so, from the list, if I’m lucky, I will have done up to two, no more.

How will that ‘fit’ with F who seems to be busy doing things all the time (mainly cleaning and stuff which a) I hate and b) I’m not good at)?

Maybe, I’ve been thinking, it would be right to do as he says, i.e. NOT move in together.  But how do I reconcile that with the thing that, to be a ‘complete’ relationship, we should be living together?  Am I saying this just because I’m frightened of what he may see and what he may not like?

Right now, of course, being with him is enough – even if we don’t talk or do anything in particular.  But later………

And so, sometimes, I get scared.

I love Dino

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It’s a bit of a problem as you get older. Your bodily functions seem to slip into some sort of ‘uncontrollableness’. There is, certainly less control.

Sure, I could be talking about humans but, in this case, I am talking about dogs. And, more specifically, Rufus. Unfortunately, after eating, he has a small problem with farting. And the thing about dog farts is that they are extremely unpleasant for us humans.

And so, we’re sitting, watching the second season of Fame, the TV series, which F really loves and which is why, for Christmas, he bought himself the DVDs. And Rufus is lying by me and snoring. Heavily. And then, stealthily, like some sort of secret, I smell the most rancid, sharp and disgusting odour. I know, immediately, what it is. And I know it’s because he is old. Still, it is quite an awful thing.

I exclaim on how horrible it is and F just says ‘poverino’ until he, too, smells it and exclaims himself how rank it is. I suggest getting the spray from the bathroom. He says that he will get it. He returns from the bathroom and starts spraying. But it’s not the ‘fresh air’ aerosol that I was expecting. Oh no. For him, not the simple ordinary smell but an expensive perfume that he gave me because he has plenty, from his own company.

I just couldn’t stop laughing. I would never have thought of that nor, as in the past I have had to buy the stuff, would have used something that was normally so expensive. But to F it’s not like that. And, I must say, it worked a treat and was considerably better at disguising the foul odour than any household spray!

And then there’s Dino. Dino will be, as I have probably mentioned before, one of the sweetest dogs I have ever had. Daily he becomes more lovable. Most people (including F) love Rufus more because, well, he’s a grand old man and so very well behaved. Dino, in comparison, is all hair and bigger and more excitable (understandably – he’s only 18 months old!). However, I can see that, as he matures and mellows and becomes less excitable and ‘jumpy’ he will be wonderful.

Except for a couple of things. The main one of which is his propensity to lick. And I mean lick everything. It’s just a quick ‘slurp’, not constant licking. But he slurps everything. Clothes, shoes, hands, other dogs – almost as if, by taste, he can tell what everything is. And I really don’t know how to stop him. It’s like a really bad habit which I don’t know how to break. The command ‘Stop licking!’ often shouted with a ‘bloody’ thrown in between the words has no effect as the slurp has already taken place and, so, he just looks at you with that querying eye, head slightly to one side, not really understanding anything.

Gradually, stuff is being left here by F. It’s not that it’s permanent, you can see that, and I know that anyway but it’s here all the same. Last night, early, he got some guy to move the stuff he had packed. I went to the new flat to help with the delivery to the flat. And, as an aside, of course, everything will fit and everything will be OK as I said it would.

After, I drove him back to the old flat and he had a bath. As we were about to leave he said he would bring some old clothes that he could wear when we were sat watching a film or the TV so that Dino, when doing the slurp thing, wouldn’t slurp on the good stuff that he is wearing to work, today.

I laughed. The ‘old stuff’ included a very nice cashmere jumper, light grey.

However, he wore it and Dino slurped and it was no problem. F played with Dino most of the remainder of the night, after we had got back from our pizza, the first time we have eaten out since before Christmas!

When in bed, F said, just before we went to sleep – ‘I love Dino’. And, yes, Dino, in spite of the hair and the excitableness and the slurping, is, in fact, a very lovable dog and, in particular, when he is sitting by you, hoping to be stroked, he has this endearing habit of resting his head, sideways, not chin down, on your legs, looking up with his big green eyes.

But, in any case, I was pleased by his line of ‘I love Dino’.

Cartwheels

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I could have turned cartwheels, there and then!

I went over to his old flat.  He was packing.  Still.  Although he had packed a lot.  He had said to me that the place looked like a bomb [had hit it].  And it was true.

Boxes and bags were everywhere.  He was struggling.  What to pack?  What not to pack? Only one box left – so what needed to be done now and what could wait until later.  Several times he had said he was worried about the new flat being too small.  I said it would be OK.  What else could I say?

But, by the time I got there, I could see that he was quite unhappy.

‘This is why I said we could not move in together’, he said, his voice trembling and obviously upset.  ‘I don’t ever want to do this again’.  He rubs his hands on his head.  It almost seems like he is going to cry.  I want to go over and hold him and reassure him and cuddle him and take all the pain and anguish away.  I don’t as I know that he would push me away – he’s right in the middle of packing – there will be time for that later.

‘I know’, I replied, ‘I DO understand’, thinking of only last night and the comment about me finding a flat for him in my building and knowing that, right now, with the trauma that this is causing him, he is not really thinking straight but only from moment to moment.

‘I wish I could help you more’, I said, meaning every word but knowing that there was nothing I could do.  This was his thing and I had to let him do it in his way.  The only thing I could and can do is to be patient and understanding, which is what I am trying to be.

‘I’m sorry for you’, he said at another time.  ‘It’s OK’, I replied, ‘don’t worry about me’.

‘One day is good and the next day is bad’, he added, to explain the roller-coaster that he is currently on – but it needed no explanation.  ‘You don’t need to say ‘sorry”, I replied, ‘I understand and I’m still here, aren’t I?’

And I did understand and he doesn’t need to say sorry – not for anything.  And I think he appreciates the fact that I am there and with him, even if I can do nothing.  I don’t want him to feel totally alone in all this and I think he doesn’t want to feel that either and I think, from what he says, that it does help that I am there, just to be there and to be someone that he can cuddle and kiss when he needs it.

‘If you don’t mind’, he adds later, before we leave his flat, ‘I will stay with you until the 18th (when the wardrobe and bed are delivered) and I can go from work to the new flat and tidy and organise and then come over to yours.’

‘Sure’, I reply, ‘I told you before, it’s not a problem at all and it’s the least I can do to help’.  It may only be for a few weeks but, for me, they will be weeks of “almost perfectness”.

But that was the moment I could have turned cartwheels.

In which I learnt how to pack CDs

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Being as old as I am and having moved quite a number of times, you would think that I may know a little about packing up.  It seems not.

Best Mate asked me if there was anything about F that wasn’t perfect.  The thing that comes to mind (although now, at this stage in our relationship, I just find it funny and not a problem) is his obsessiveness with tidiness and cleanliness.  And it is an obsession, believe me.

Put it this way.  Last night we spent the night at mine.  This morning he said that, if I didn’t mind, he would be spending most nights here as it would be impossible for him to remain at his flat with everything being packed and, therefore, everything not immaculately and perfectly ordered.  And it’s so true, I know that much about him.

I want to help him with the packing.  Not only because I want to help him but also because I can see how the fact that things are now ‘getting done’ towards the move and the fact that we will be so much closer is making him so much happier.  Of course, that makes me very happy too.

And, so, one of things that I can do is pack his 2000+ CDs.  However, it’s not as easy as it seems.  To do this he has bags.  However, instead of showing me the bags and saying ‘get on with it’ he felt that he should show me how it should be done.

More or less, of course, the have to be packed in the ‘right order’ – i.e. the order in which they are currently in the racks.  To show me this he, almost, packed a whole bag!  There were three columns of CDs stacked and then a few that we slipped down the side.  Who knew that it could be so difficult? :-D

So I packed a few bags whilst he sorted out his shoes and then cleaned the ones he was taking.  Cleaned, of course, because he doesn’t want to clean them in the new flat.  It does make sense although I would be in such a hurry to pack that I wouldn’t do that (didn’t do that).  I learnt the other night, when R&Al came over for dinner, that, about once a month he takes his 2000+ CDs and cleans every single cover!

Last night was wonderful.  The Zampone and lentils were great.  The time we had together was perfect.  As a start to 2010 I could not ask for anything better.  And it’s so nice to know that he feels the same as I do, even if he shows it in slightly different ways.

During our conversation over dinner he was saying how much he liked my flat.  Although he pointed out that if he had something this big it would be so easy to put ‘in order’.  He said that in the spring he would ‘help me’ to reorganise the flat.  I did say that it made me a little scared – and we laughed, of course!  But there is an element of truth in that.

He also said that, in the next year or so I should keep an eye out if there were other flats in this building available.  For just a moment I thought he meant to look for something bigger for both of us.  Thank goodness I didn’t say anything.  He meant that I should look for one as he would like a bigger flat and would like one like mine!  OK, I thought, but, with every move it’s getting closer.

And, then, on his way out to his flat this morning (to continue packing) he said the thing about staying at mine more often.  Of course, I wanted to say ‘move in, why don’t you?’ but I didn’t as I knew it wasn’t the right thing to say.  This thing is just one step at a time.  Last night, in bed, we were talking about something and I made a half-joke about us taking it slowly and he said that I wasn’t taking it slowly and I replied that it takes two.

And he knew that was true.

Le Vent Du Nord; New Year’s Food Feast

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Last night, F, along with Al (of the R&Al fame) and another friend went to see Loretta Goggi. As she does a bit of singing but also a bit of comedy, etc. F said that, maybe I shouldn’t go as it would be too difficult for me. In this case, I agreed with him. I mean, if it were just music or if it were a film (with a plot) then that’s one thing – a stand-up/cabaret act is another thing entirely and I didn’t want to spoil his enjoyment by being there and him feeling he had to explain everything.

And so, as this had been arranged some time ago, R suggested we go out for dinner whilst they were at the show.

The other friend’s girlfriend, Ale was with us too. She is really nice and I like her a lot. We had quite a lot in common – mainly food-wise.

Anyway, on to the restaurant, which is why I’m posting this post. It’s called Le Vent Du Nord and is, apparently, Belgian. One good thing about Belgian places is the beer – and that was certainly true of this place. The one I chose was superb. Belgian beer has a particular taste, very malty, and I like it a lot.

But this place is one of the places to go for mussels (moules). I chose Moules Marinieres and it was, quite honestly, fabulous! Cooked to perfection and so tasty. Ale chose some other version. After we had finished, we both wanted a little more and so were going to get one between us – unfortunately, it was their last night before closing for a week and so they had no more left. Whilst we understood, we were, to say the least, a little disappointed.

Apart from the food and drink the evening was really nice.

And, I think, Ale and I could be firm friends.

If you like mussels (they do other things too, including meat) and Belgian beer then this is, certainly, a place to go in Milan, even if it is a little bit of a trek from the centre itself. In the end a couple of beers each, the moules, a sweet and, for two of us, a digestivo only cost 25€ per head – great value, I think you would agree.

The service was excellent. All-round, a great restaurant.

R dropped me home and I did the dogs. F rang after he had come out of the show and picked me up in a taxi and we spent the night at his place as he is working as I write.

Tonight we are just us, here, at my flat, being a little Italian with a little left-over shepherd’s pie (obviously NOT Italian) and zampone with lentils which I adore. Always eaten at New Year as the lentils mean wealth. Zampone is pigs trotter filled with some sort of meat stuffing – a little like a large sausage but more glutinous. It would never sell in the UK but you should try it if you get the chance as it really is scrumptious!

And, on that note, I wish all my readers a very, very Happy New Year.