Tag Archives: Outside Italy

Birthdays are VERY scary…….

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……for they remind you of the years that have passed.

I remember holding A at a party and feeding her curried goat (I’m not convinced that it actually WAS goat but that’s what V’s family called the spicy hot stew) when she was a few weeks old (OK, maybe a few months). Apparently, although I don’t really recall that well, she loved it. She was in a white shawl thing. She was the most beautiful baby I had ever set my eyes upon.

Today, I spoke to her by phone. She was at home but was going in to school later because she has a Drama exam – she is taking her ‘A’ levels! She is 18 today. She has turned into a beautiful woman and still I love her as I did when she was a baby (although then she did not have a Brummie accent then). I am so proud to have known her. Another reason to be grateful to V.

Anyway, I hope you have a very Happy Birthday and I just wish that I could be there to watch you tonight in your Drama practical. I bet you will do well.

xx

Talking about you; Where English words come from; An open window

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The number of visitors I get for the ‘new’ (well, it’s not so new, really) blog is higher than the old one (a little). But it’s not that that is the surprise. It’s where the people come from.

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BBC Advertisements.

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As you may know, I use the BBC website to check the news. One of the things that I believe you don’t get in the UK is the adverts.

They don’t really bother me. Some sit on the side advertising computers or cars or whatever. Some, however, are like an advert on TV in that they show just before the video clip you want to watch. It’s not really a problem. Most are for hotel groups or airlines and, to be honest, I take little notice.

Except for the latest one which I find really annoying.

It’s for the film “Revolutionary Road”. This in itself is not annoying. What IS bloody annoying is that, because I am in Italy, it’s in Italian and dubbed movies are never usually so good. So, instead of hearing Leonardo’s or Kate’s voice, I hear some Italian person and the voice is all wrong. Made worse by the fact that I don’t understand it all.

I mean, if I’m looking at the BBC site in English, don’t play adverts in Italian!

Thoughts of Porridge; Polenta – why?; Fairy Cakes

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For some strange reason, this morning, I had this desire to have porridge. To be more precise, ReadyBrek which, I know, is not porridge.

Maybe it’s because it is cold.

I don’t even remember if it was a thought this morning or part of a dream during the night.

Funnily enough, we had polenta for lunch today. This has the consistency of porridge with none of the taste. More exactly – no taste. As I said to one of my colleagues, after they had asked me if I had ever cooked polenta at home and I had replied ‘no’ – it has no taste at all so why? It’s one of those foods that is there to fill you up, I guess. Anyway, she could not answer.

On the plus side, Gina (the cook) had make some small fairy cakes (plain and chocolate sponge) and she slipped on of those onto my tray. It’s always the right thing to do to get on with the people who provide food!!!

You’ve got to keep trying and be determined to suceed.

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S & I agreed last night, you’ve got to try else what is the point?

So, we are both trying. It may get worse; it may get better; it may stay the same.

For me, it seems the dogs are a bit of a problem but not insurmountable. Come the end of January, I shall ask everyone I know in case they can help me. I don’t often ask for help as I am fiercely independent ever since I first left home at 18.

Actually, that was not the first time I left home. I left home several times. I had a small suitcase, brown and battered. I don’t think I ever had it from new but I have no idea where it came from unless it had been bought new when we went to Guernsey when I was about 5. I can imagine it was bought for that trip.

Anyway, the suitcase had been well used. I packed the suitcase with important items – a pair of trousers, a jumper, some biscuits and some orange squash. After all, I didn’t know how long I would be gone and I knew I would need sustenance and a change of clothes. I packed though the tears were rolling down my face; I packed with determination; I packed with courage – and fear, of course.

I left the house without saying goodbye, more like a thief than someone who lived there. I didn’t want any hysterics at my going – they would find out soon enough. I didn’t want any tears, except my own as I was the one who was hurting, not them.

We lived in the countryside, in a small village. I walked down the driveway and onto the road, turning right. The hill seemed very steep and very long. I don’t remember looking back as I climbed that hill but I probably did, fearing that someone would come after me – hoping that someone would come after me so that I could prove to them that I did not need them.

I reached the top of the hill and must have looked back before turning the corner.

Soon after I came to the crossroads – to the left was the road to the church, the right to the main road, straight on was unknown.

Fearful of the consequences of continuing what I was doing; angry at the world for treating me like this; determined that, one day, ‘it would all be different’, I turned round and went home. I was about 7. I was quite a stubborn barsteward even then!

The mysterious case of the disappearing heater; fancy dress parties; Be afraid, be very afraid (the de Menezes travesty of justice)

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On Friday, I went into the smoking room to get warm and have a cigarette. Later, just before lunch, I went in again – the heater had gone and the chairs had been rearranged now that there was vacant space! The heat already in the room from the heater kept the room above freezing for the rest of the day, so better than nothing. Several people have said that, in the New Year we shan’t be able to smoke inside the buildings any more. It will be quite funny to see the MD outside lighting up! We shall see. On the plus side, at least it won’t get so cold in my office as she won’t have the window wide open in hers whilst having a cigarette. So there are advantages to everything, I suppose.

Last night was a fancy dress party. It was held in a friend-of-a-friend’s shop in an area of Milan that, they say, is up-and-coming. She sells designer clothes from lesser-known designers from all over the world.

I absolutely HATE fancy dress parties. I never have a clue as to what to go as and am always genuinely shocked at other people’s ingeniousness and how something so simple can look so good.

As we had less than 2 days notice and it was Friday night (so no time to try and do something special on Saturday), V came up with the idea of going as 70s people. My era. Sadly, we had all the necessary items in our wardrobes including, for me, a pair of real platform shoes that I had worn only once before. They had brought them in as new items in the 80s in Schuh, in Birmingham, hoping for some sort of revival, I guess. Well, it never took off but I kept them as I loved them. Boy, they looked good last night but how my calves suffered! Anyway, it was a cool party and we got back about half one in the morning.

Finally, I had written a long post about the jury’s verdict on the de Menezes case but feel it was far better covered over at Stef’s site. If I lived in the UK now I would be very, very afraid. What kind of future is there when you cannot trust the police to be truthful and themselves uphold the law against murder?

Oh, yes, and it hasn’t stopped bloody raining for days!

Even if it’s unlawful it can’t be declared unlawful.

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I am no expert but it seems quite incredible that a jury can be instructed that they cannot return a verdict of unlawful killing because

“All interested persons agree that a verdict of unlawful killing could only be left to you if you could be sure that a specific officer had committed a very serious crime – murder or manslaughter.”

And yet, in the case of Kate Peyton (the journalist shot in Somalia), the coroner was able to give a verdict of just that. Surely the coroner didn’t know the ‘specific person’ that had shot Ms Perry?

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Please, don’t go to sleep on the floor whilst flying.

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Swiss, formerly Swiss Air, is an airline I like to fly with. As I was in charge of the booking of our trip to Wolverhampton, I chose not only Swiss to fly with but also the Novotel in Wolverhampton to stay at.

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