Tag Archives: Milan

How to say ‘no’ and ‘My mate fancies you!!’

Posted on by
6

The other night, with Dennis, was, almost, the perfect date.  We met and went for an aperitivo.  We talked.  A friend of his (well work colleague, who was incredibly beautiful – if I were straight…..) came over and chatted for a bit.  It was nice and, unlike last time, didn’t feel so strained.  OK, so he’s a bit camp but likeable.

Then we went for dinner.  The Brick Oven near Porta Venezia.  We both had bacon/cheeseburgers (I haven’t had one for ages) which were not bad.  I had beer – he doesn’t drink.

We talked about relationships.  I said I was really concerned that, should we have a relationship, the smoking would be a big problem for him.  Still, the most important thing was that we talked.

We agreed to meet again.  I teased him about how, I could come back tonight and that could he really wait until Saturday?

He phoned the next morning to say he had thought about it and that I was right, the smoking would become a problem, eventually.

I’m kinda glad and kinda sad in a way.  However, we are to remain friends – and the difference is that he thinks it was his decision, which is fine by me.  Maybe I’ll also get something else from it……we’ll see on Saturday!

I’m finding this new site interesting and, certainly, there are many more available people.  However, it being a site where most people are looking for sex, I thought that the chance of meeting anyone for a more long-term relationship was fairly slim.

However, and it’s early days yet, I’ve met Bruce.  Bruce is very good looking and, it seems, wants similar to me – i.e. someone to love – over and above the sex.  There’s a long way to go from here to something like that but, there’s a chance (again) and each one of these fills me with hope and gives me the certain knowledge that one day, one of these men, will just slot right in as if he was always meant to be.

One of my problems, I have found is that I may be too direct.  Most of the time I just shrug my shoulders as these people seem to do the blah, blah, blah without any substance and, to be honest, that’s not what I want.  Not only am I too direct but, worse than that, I want it NOW.  And I don’t mean the sex bit (although that is always welcome, of course).  What I mean is I want the long-term thing to start immediately.  This may strike of desperation but, I assure you, it’s not.  It’s more to do with the fact that I am impatient and because starting a relationship is so fraught with difficulties and misunderstandings, in addition to the extra stress that a gay relationship seems to impose, that I just want to get that bit over with.  You could say that that bit was all part of getting to know someone and, of course, you would be right.

However, the problem (in the past and so, for me it is the ‘norm’) is that then there are times of not speaking, of saying things one doesn’t really mean, of the slamming of doors and the ‘meaning to hurt’.  And that’s not what I want.

However, I suppose that it is inevitable and that, now, these days, there is less inclination to try and set up a life with someone, everyone having been bitten before, so, therefore, more wary, more circumspect and, from the other side, more suspect.

I’ve never really got into the ‘gay world’ and every time I get close to it is both shocking and intriguing at the same time.  So I was (still am) shocked by the amount of people willing to show you pictures of parts of their body that, they think, you may find appealing (although, sometimes, they are appealing).  I always thought that it was, partly, the element of surprise and imagination that made the whole thing sexier.  It seems not.

On this site, I don’t include a photo of my face.  However, if people ask I will send one.  To me it is quite a good picture (given my age and the fact that a good iron wouldn’t go amiss if applied to my face – that’s been the smoking and the not listening to V when he said I should have been using cream all this time) but I’m not for every one.  So, on sending my pic, if a good response isn’t forthcoming or the usual ‘you’re not my type’ is returned it can be a bit disappointing.  I won’t say gutting as, although it may seem that for a split second, I realise that I do the same.

However, when I get a good response, it makes me very happy.  So I put up with the ‘not so good’ responses for the responses that are good.

And one guy, today, said that, unfortunately, he was looking for someone who looked older, which, in a way, was a compliment.

Still, whichever way you look at it, even if it is a bit like school and going up and saying ‘I really fancy you’ only to get rebuffed with the girl turning to all her mates in fits of giggles, leaving you standing there like some sort of jerk, it isn’t quite like that and it does take some of the nerve-wracking ‘having to actually physically go over and then getting left and everyone seeing’ thing out of it, which, for me, is great. And, in any event, it’s better than getting one of your friends to go over and say (with a London type accent, of course) ‘My mate fancies you……..’

It doesn’t stop that tinge of disappointment though.  Ah well, right now, I seem to have enough on my plate, so maybe I’ll start to take it a bit easier and see who ‘comes’ to me!  (Actually, I have been doing that and I too give the standard ‘sorry, you’re not my type’ when they don’t look as I would like.  Hey, right now, in Milan alone, there’s over 900 guys online and looking to be hooked up in one way or another – so I think I’ll get other chances, don’t you?)

On that optimistic note, I’ll stop; there are men to be found…….

And it continues…..

Posted on by
6

No. of times out and about today – 1
No. of checkouts/flirts made at me – 2
No. of flirts by me in return – 1

The exhibition was, quite frankly almost nothing – and that nothing was crap.  However, I met with lots of friends and had a really nice time.  Martin was there.  He’s nice enough but he is far too camp for me and tends to ‘paw’, which makes me want to move away from him.  However, he introduced me to Robert.

Robert was really nice, a photographer, with, what he called a magazine but was, in fact, more like a book.  He called it ‘serious and boring’ which I found amusing as it was hardly a big sell on his part.

However, I did recognise he was gay, even if he wasn’t camp – greying hair, pretty, probably mid forties.

I flirted with him and he with me.  It was cool.  Nothing happened but, who knows for the future.  Cool job, cool guy.

Dennis has booked some restaurant for tonight; he is sweet and it’s all very touching – at least this is how the dating thing is supposed to go.  My problem is that I feel, somewhat, guilty about the fact that, on my part, this may be going nowhere.  But let’s see what tonight brings.

Gordon, whom I text to ask if Thursday is still on, suggests that it probably is but that, as it’s Fashion Week (one can tell, if only by the amount of bloody traffic and the difficulty with parking), he can’t be certain.  My heart sinks a bit.  I’m kind of fed up with everyone being ‘something’ in fashion – even though I know that being one of the fashion cities of the world and fashion seemingly having a larger ‘gay population’ than most industries, this is almost inevitable.  Still I text him back to say that good things are always worth waiting for, which he obviously likes – but then being charming I can do, when I want.

I don’t want you to get the wrong impression about this whole thing.  I am seriously looking for the ‘Mr Right’ and I know that only by getting out there will I find him.  This all may seem rather cold to you but this is the way I work and the way that I can focus on it all.  However, I suppose it does seem more like I’m looking for a new apartment rather than looking for a human being.  Still, logic and method is me and I can’t change that.  In fact, for me, this is far better than trying to go to some club and much less haphazard.

Oh, yes, and I keep coming across foot-fetish people.  It seems there are a lot of them about………who would have known? :-)

And, as if to prove my ineptitude at all this…….

Posted on by
4

No. of times out and about today – 1
No. of times ‘checked out’ by some guy – 1 (apparently, as I didn’t actually see it)

We go to the Monet exhibition in Pallazo Reale in the centre of Milan, near the Duomo.  It is late and we get there about 9.15 p.m.  There is a queue.  The bossy little lady is not happy about the queue.  She keeps muttering to herself and then calling out (to colleagues or just in general) that it’s almost 9.30 and there are more people and what are those idiots doing downstairs letting these people come up.  We don’t really understand.  It is only later that we realise that, although the exhibition is open until 10.30, the ticket office closes at 9.30.

The lighting was good, which is not something I can say about most of the permanent art galleries here.  However, the rooms are too small, there are too many people and so, it takes me about half an hour to get through, so pissed off am I that people continue to stand in front of me when I’m trying to view a painting.

I go out and sit on some plinth base to have some cigarettes and wait for A&F.  I see two gay guys.  One looks my age but is probably late 30s and the other is a kid – no more than 25 – they are together, the kid is quite camp, the older one less so.  I had noticed the older one being the ‘teacher’ and decide I don’t want that for the future either.  Nor do I want the campness or, quite, the youth of the kid.

The evening is warm (the rain has stopped, finally and the sun was out during the day, making the air warmer in consequence).  I sit in shirtsleeves without a jacket on, although I am carrying one for certain.

The Duomo (cathedral) either has some service on or someone is practising on the organ – the music faint but audible if only the people around would shut up.  But there are quiet moments and I stare at the Piazza Duomo thinking how beautiful this city is and how much is missed by the people who live here; staring up at the (now nearly clean) Duomo, the spires, the elaborate decoration, the wedding cake look, all white/light marble; the entrance to the Galleria, the buildings around.

I had told A&F about the date situation.  A is amazed and says things like ‘It’s like choosing from a supermarket’ or ‘It seems very risky’.  I try to explain that it’s more or less the same as going to the clubs/pubs, that, sure there is a risk (he means in terms of finding someone that you can be with, given that you would know nothing about them, really) but that was no different from the time I met V and that it had lasted 20 years, so it was a risk that I was willing to take.

F wonders why I’m not frightened of meeting these guys.  I can’t really explain to her – she is a woman and, as the song might have gone, it’s different for girls (this being based on my memory that the song was, in fact, about it being different for boys).

Anyway, I digress.  There we are, walking back to the car up Via Vittorio Emmanuelle, and A says to me:

‘I saw you exchange glances’.

‘What?’ I question.

‘You and that guy’

‘Which guy?’  ‘Where is he?’

‘Just passed us.  It was only a moment but I saw him look at you’.

There you go.  I explain that, although it may appear that I am looking and ‘get it’, really I don’t.  Of course, he could have looked for a variety of reasons.  But trust A, of all people, to realise when I didn’t.  This is getting to be incredibly frustrating.  Grrr.

Dennis has texted me and it looks like the pizza meet, next week is still on.  We are to speak/text on Monday.  I see Fred on Sunday, just for the day – and, anyway, Venice is truly a beautiful city.  Nicholas now says he wants to meet up sometime next week (in Milan).  Neil, a guy who lives near Varese, also will want to meet up soon, I guess.  And then there are the others which haven’t got that far.  Neil is from the site where they match your personalities.  Apparently he is about 70% perfect for me.  He seems a really nice guy but, from the pictures I’m not sure it can be other than friends but I have to meet him first.

As I write this, I get called by Dennis for no other reason than he’s buying the new Madonna CD.  He calls me ‘honey’. It leaves me with a funny feeling that I wouldn’t exactly describe as ‘good’.

And, last night I went to see V, who is in hospital.  I didn’t get told until yesterday morning even though he was carted off, in an ambulance, from work, the day before.  It wasn’t an easy meeting, what with his new arm tattoo that looks like it was done by a kid in Nursery school.  Still, it allowed me to rant about an old ex-friend of ours who has turned out to be something of a stupid jerk.

And I go and see him again tonight, if no one else is there.  I can’t be there if there are some of his colleagues from work there.

And now I really have to do some real work…..

Restaurants in Milan

Posted on by
Reply

No. of times out and about today – 0 (I don’t count walking the dogs as I’m too busy watching what they’re doing to be looking to see if people are staring)

For a country that prides itself on its culinary expertise, I am sometimes amazed by the crap food that the Italians will put up with.  OK, so not completely crap, but, in my opinion, far less than the best.

Take, for instance, Japanese and Chinese restaurants.  Many of them will do both Japanese and Chinese with, often, a pizza oven thrown in.

It is my opinion that, unless you’re doing fusion food (where, anyway, the idea is to mix flavours from different cuisines), you cannot be good at more than one type and Japanese and Chinese aren’t really similar.

So, most of the time, going to one of these restaurants leaves me disappointed with the end result.  Sure, you can get one or two really good dishes, maybe, but the rest are just mediocre at best.

I mean to say, one wouldn’t go to an Indian restaurant and expect to be provided with, say, pizza – that would just be bizarre, so why do it with Japanese and Chinese?

Anyway, and apologies to A, should he read this, but Taiyo, Via Plinio 72, although above average, wasn’t that good a restaurant.  The one, really good dish was the seared tuna with sesame seeds – the rest was more mediocre.  Its big advantage was that it wasn’t so expensive but then, as I always say, you do get what you pay for with food, generally.

Still, it was a nice evening and I enjoyed the company, which is the most important part.

Anyway, let me not limit this to Chinese/Japanese – it also applies to Italian regional restaurants.  There are a couple of Tuscan restaurants near me, for example, one of which is less than mediocre (A & I went there a week or two back) and another that is OK but, if you compared it to a good restaurant in Tuscany itself, well……..there is really no comparison.  Although a friend who I was with on Sunday morning (taking coffee at a bar before walking the dogs) suggested one called (I think) il Bimbo in Viale Abruzzi as a true and very good Tuscan restaurant with excellent service to boot.  Bet it’s expensive though but I’ll have to try it.

By the way, the weather turned during the night.  It is now cold (I have socks and shoes on – which would have pleased the online guy I mentioned before) and it has been raining on and off all day.  It’s down to the low 20s and I am thinking of putting a jumper on.  On the plus side, the electrician came today and put up my four wall/ceiling lights.  The one in the lounge which is an old Art Deco one looks so beautiful – I wish we had put it up when we were in the UK, we just never got around to it.

…..the post in which I explain how I am becoming paranoid (oh, yes, and some other things)…..

Posted on by
4

the_post_in_which_I_explain_how_I_am_becoming_paranoid_oh_yes_and_some_other_things

No. of times out and about today – 1
No. of stares noticed – 1
No. of long/strange stares – 1

So, I’m now ‘on’ several sites.  I’ve actually only paid money for 2 of them so the others have very limited access – i.e. I can look and people can look at me but it’s a little like being in a soundproof glass box, it doesn’t matter if I were to scream, no one could hear me.

On some of them, I have my picture.  There is a very good reason for this.  I don’t look my age and, unfortunately, my age is against me in that, most people seem to be looking for someone who is a couple/five/ten years younger than me – so I need them to ‘see’ that I don’t look my age.

Also, and I can assure you this may seem very shallow but it isn’t, people pick people on looks.  It’s a good job we all like different sorts of people but absolutely, one of our major deciding factors in who we will consider, is their look.

So, I am looking for someone like me, more or less.  Not too fat, not too much muscle, not too camp.

Now, on the one site which is, mainly, for people looking for other than sex (well, I think that’s true) and one of the ones I have actually paid for, I’ve made an observation which I will share.

The Spanish, in spite of they’re being a Catholic country, have the most profiles that include pictures.  I reckon about 90% have pictures.  The French would be next at, probably, about 70-80%.  The British next with about 50-60% and, finally, the Italians.  The Italians boast about 30% of profiles with pictures.  My profile has a picture, of course.

Some of my friends have a theory about why this is – according to them it is because so many of them are married men who haven’t quite come to terms with being gay.  Admittedly, many here, in Italy, say they are bi rather than gay, which is, to me, a little disconcerting.

I have now added to my profile that I won’t contact people who don’t have photos.

But there has been a side effect of this.  I have become paranoid.

t seems (although I do realise it is probably all in my head) that men have been staring at me much more than before.  And I mean to say really staring.

So, the other night, at a restaurant, a guy coming out from the toilets, smiled (maybe at me) or (it being all in my head) at someone at the table he was sitting at (which was behind me).  He looked familiar, sort of.  Me, being me, just couldn’t smile back, which I must improve upon.

Then, this morning, at the supermarket, this guy couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off me.  Not that he was looking at me in a particularly pleasant way but he did make a point, at one stage, of looking over the top of his sunglasses to get a better look at me.  There have been many more occasions than just these two but I can’t remember the details.

Now, for those of you not in Italy, this would be almost a certainty – especially if you live in the UK.  However, here, as I have blogged before, staring is a thing that Italians do.  They will not look away, as they would in the UK, in embarrassment, the moment you look at them but will hold the stare and will even be quite open about looking you up and down, checking what you’re wearing, etc.

However, it seems, to me, that this is happening on a daily basis now.  And, as I can’t see pictures on most profiles, I have no idea whether that’s because a) they’ve seen me on one of the sites, b) because I look strange and foreign, c) because they just fancy me or d) because they’re just Italian.

In any event, I now keep thinking it must be a or b (and I mention b because now that V isn’t here to tell me I look OK I don’t know that I do – perhaps I am dressed strangely or have my flies open or my hair looks weird or I am odd in some other way).  Either way, it is starting to get to me and make me feel nervous and less sure of myself (sometimes) and this is not good.

Yesterday, I went to Mantova for the Festivaletteratura (Book/Writers Festival).  The basic story goes like this:

  1. Every year for the past 6 years or so, V & I have been guests of the Festival – free accommodation; free entry to events; mostly free food, etc.
  2. This year V & I said we would go.
  3. Unfortunately, they could not provide free accommodation.
  4. Because I would have had to put the dogs in kennels (which is expensive) and pay for a hotel room and because V has just moved house, we said we wouldn’t go but would come for the day on Friday.
  5. M asked if we could do last minute and I said ‘yes’ (V confirmed with me later that this was true for him too).
  6. Wednesday/Thursday I get email from M to say they have room for Friday and Saturday night.
  7. V said he couldn’t come (no surprise really – he seems to be totally unreliable now and I’m still waiting for the sofa swap!)
  8. I couldn’t find anyone to look after the dogs.
  9. I go yesterday for the day only.

Although, I really did have a nice day.  Got back about midnight.

Saw FfI and Friend with Shop in Isola (FwSiI) the other night for a pizza.  It was lovely, except FwSiI is not doing really great right now (problems with marriage, shop not doing so well in these crisis days).  So she was a bit down and now thinking of packing everything in and moving back to London (which would be a great shame as I, for one, would miss her).

Picked Rufus up from his vacation a few nights ago.  Need to cut his fringe as he’s now bumping into things left, right and centre (that was when we went for meal and cute guy smiled at me (maybe)).  However, as Dino and Rufus had been apart for more than a week, after a couple of hours back home I was ready to send Rufus back or kill them both.  Obviously we had to go through the bit where they had to re-establish who was top dog.  Much bothering by Dino and much growling by Rufus.  Much ignoring of me when I shouted at them.  However, all is now back to normal, even if Rufus is not so good right now.

Agreed with S the computer set-up that I need and his suggestion for my new mobile phone (cell).  Need to go and sort that and was going to do it this afternoon but now I have to Skype someone at 4 so it may be Monday now, damn!

That’s all really.

What I will do though, going back to my new paranoia, is document how many times I get stared at by strange men.  Of course, I’ll tell you when/if one of those turns out to be the real deal…..

Spit Roasting and Irrationality

Posted on by
2

The spit roasts are everywhere, turning, slowly, occasionally to ensure even cooking – but the smell is all wrong.  The sight of so much flesh being burnt makes me take my glasses off so that I can’t see all this so well.  It’s ugly and I fail to understand it all.

The day was full of irrationality – irrational fears, irrational thoughts but not, thank God, irrational actions.  It was a promise made some time ago and that was a long time ago in terms of the feelings. Oh, true, I didn’t want to say ‘yes’ but did as I thought when the day came, it wouldn’t really happen but the day came and a promise is a promise.

Irrational fear 1.  I had got the name of a place from N.  I looked it up. I have no printer so could not print the directions but it looked straight forward enough.  In the UK I would have had no problems.  The signs would be easy to follow, the road numbers always marked, the names of the places logical and in order.  Here, that is not so.  And so I must memorise the way and what I very much hope are the correct things to look for.

I always thought that, as I got older, these things would go away.  It seems not.

So, I am nervous which, in itself, is so stupid but I force myself to do these things in the hope that, at some point, the irrational fear will go away.

As soon as we set off, I wish I were at home, in safety.

Irrational thoughts.  I eagerly await communication and get none.  Even making excuses for it to a dear friend, even when I know the excuse isn’t valid.  Don’t get me wrong here – I know there will be no communication but there’s always hope and, in my irrationality, I also know that if there was communication, it would change everything.  Well, maybe.  So I wait, with and without patience, it doesn’t matter which.

I am not looking forward to reaching our destination because at the destination there is Irrational fear 2.  It waits for me like a huge monster with gaping jaws, ready to swallow me.

I always thought that, as I got older, these things would go away.  It seems not.

I toy with the idea of getting lost, on purpose so that the destination would never be reached.  But that’s stupid too as anywhere in the vicinity of the destination would be good enough, so I might as well get there and get this bloody day over with – it has to be done, after all, a promise is a promise.

The journey is taking longer than I thought.  We set off too late but in my fears, I wasn’t as fast as I should be.

I nearly miss a sign and wonder at how, in all the time I have been here, I rarely miss a sign even if it is small and insignificant and, in this case, above normal ‘seeing’ height.

We arrive at the destination.  We got straight there with no mistakes, of course.  I wonder if it would be plausible to say we should leave immediately to go home, thereby alleviating Irrational fear 2 completely.  We go for lunch.  I can’t eat.  I mean, I eat but I’m just not so hungry, playing with my food, eating slowly.  I think the beer may help, although 3 or 4 would be better.

Irrational fear 2.  Lunch is over.  I have coffee, just to make it last longer.  But I know this is not going away

Irrational thoughts.  Every song that plays seems to have a personal message for me; every book or word I read seems to be saying something.  I know it’s not true – I’m just looking for stuff.  But, even if I tell myself that, it doesn’t make it better; even if other people tell me that, I can’t quite believe it isn’t true.

The heat is intense although, with a breeze, not like Milan.  I say that we should have been here yesterday when Milan was 40° and decidedly stuffy.

Irrational fear 2.  N had told me there were some free areas but these were a long way out and, anyway, it would be worth paying for it.  We pass a free place immediately.  We go to the next ‘not-free’ place.  The nice lady explains it will be €15 each plus extra for the things we want.  She then adds that, in any event, there is no place.

“I wouldn’t have paid that price anyway”, I was told.  That’s the English for you – but then, I am English and of the same opinion.  Plus, since I don’t really see the point of this at all, the whole thing doesn’t make sense to me.  To be honest, nothing makes sense to me these days.

We go back to the free place.  The spit roasting is marching on apace.

Everything glistens in the sun.  I don’t glisten.  I sweat.  I inherited this from my maternal Grandfather.  It all pools down into my belly button – an insect could have a swim.  I must look, within moments, like I have just come out of the shower, my hair wet, sweat running down my back, my neck, my forehead – getting in my eyes and making me curse.

Stones stick into my back, my arms, my legs.  I look around (with glasses) and wonder why these people do this.  The sight of bare flesh not an attractive sight – people always (well, normally) look better clothed.  Even me, now, with my flesh that has gone a little bit wrinkly and saggy.  But, at least I’m not as bad as some.  I take my glasses off anyway and everyone looks decidedly better

Irrational thoughts.  I lie back and close my eyes to the glare, feeling so uncomfortable because of the sweat, the stones, the heat.  I wonder if he has the same thoughts as me and, knowing that he doesn’t, hope for it anyway, playing out all the scenarios in my head (except, as I told someone the other day, the one where the answer is ‘no’ since that is over in two minutes and has only a future that I would settle for (and be happy to settle for) but is not the one I desire).

After some time I slip off my shorts.  After some more time I go into the water.  It is dirty and horrible but cooling, even though I know that within minutes of being out I will be the same as before.

After some time, we dress and go back to the same café for a drink.  We only have the ride home now.  I am tired, not having slept well with the Irrational everythings.

We arrive back, sleep for a bit, then go for a beer at the Belgian café, then a Chinese at my favourite place.  I am happy now since the day is over and can joke about going there again tomorrow, knowing that we won’t.

Irrational thoughts continue though.  The waiting continues.

The other day, someone said that, previously, I had been completely irrational at times.  It made me smile since, I am sure, I was completely irrational all the time – but it was a kind thing to say that all the same.

I always thought that, as I got older, these things would go away.  It seems not.

Driving in Italy – part 2001

Posted on by
4

Driving_in_Italy_part_2001

I’m driving along, slowing down because a) the traffic lights ahead are red and b) there is a van in front indicating that it is turning left. It is, in fact, turning into a parking place. It is not ‘racing’ into the parking place, rather, it almost stops and then starts to move into the space.

A scooter comes and tries to pass between the van, the parking place and the other parked cars. The van, already moving onto the parking space hits the front wheel of the scooter as the van driver didn’t spot the scooter trying to race through before it had parked (the scooter rider obviously in a great hurry – and, maybe, blind as he didn’t see the indicators nor the fact the van was clearly turning into his path).

The scooter fell over and slid into a parked car. The guy on the scooter (now on the ground), started shaking his fist at the driver of the van.

The car in front of me (the one directly behind the van) stopped. I would have liked to have stopped but my Italian really isn’t up to it. However, I hope the van driver gets the support he needs from the other motorists for the mad-cap scooter driver’s actions. And, whilst I wouldn’t want an accident to happen to anyone, scooter rider or not, this guy was, as are quite a lot of scooter drivers, a bloody idiot.

True, a lot of drivers don’t indicate or, worse, indicate one way and then move in the other direction but, if you have someone indicating, I am always a bit wary in case they actually do what they are indicating they are going to do!

I write this post

Posted on by
2

I_write_this_post

I get up, having woken early as seems to be ‘the normal’ these days.  The red digits on the ceiling, from the special clock V bought me, had said it was 4.30 a.m. when I first woke.  I try to get back to sleep but the thoughts come rushing in, filling my brain and I know it is useless.  It all seems so dark and I remember that this is how it is, the summer so fleeting, the heat still here, unlike the UK now that I’m living in Milan,  but the mornings so dark.

The light has not come on in the lounge yet.  Since the power cut the other day, the timer should be reset but my laziness means that it is now about half an hour out.

I slip on my T-Shirt and shorts and sandals.  Switch the computer on and we (Rufus & I) go and get Dino from the kitchen.  They are as excited as always to be going for a walk.

There are fewer cars – more car parking spaces.  A & F leave for their holidays today and it seems that most of Milan has already gone.

I notice that the sprinklers, near the dog walk are on.  I had thought that, perhaps, they had been switched off recently to stop the puddles of water that result and permit mosquitoes to breed but it seems that they have turned them on again.

I see the normal homeless people in their normal homes – the benches that they sleep on during the night and I note that the lady who is always by the larger dog walk does actually get wet from the sprinklers although the ones near here have finished already.  I had always assumed that she knew one of the dry places to sleep – it seems not.  I am grateful that I am not in her place and try not to make too much noise as if this is her bedroom and I should not disturb her.  As normal, her fake Louis Vuitton bag securely tucked under her head which is probably, almost certainly, also a way to ensure it is still there when she wakes up at about 6.

There are lights on in some of the flats.  These must be people like A & F, I think.  Leaving early today to go back to their homeland; to their parents where they will spend the next 2, 3 or more weeks.  I am grateful I am not them either with that obligation to spend time there as opposed to somewhere else, although I realise this is a choice and every choice comes with some drawback – as my choice does, for certain.

Walking back, the streets seem a little busier than normal.  A few more cars, taxis – too early for the trams though – just.

We pass the newsagents and I am surprised he is not open.  It must be 5.15 now and he is normally open but, perhaps, like my favourite Saturday café, he is also shut until the end of August.  These are idle thoughts.  I have already been through various conversations in my head (or, when I forget myself, out loud).  I have re-written (in my head) another stupid email that I sent when I was far too tired, hoping that the one I sent was not as bad as I think it is.  Rewind and reset the answer I receive, or no answer, which may be worse or better, I’m not sure.

I see myself, in a few years, like the lady on the bench but worse, one of those people who sit on the pavement, talking to everyone and no one, having those conversations that have no meaning, make no sense to anyone except me, reliving something that had happened before, in the past or some future that only I can see.

I get back and make the coffee, sitting at the computer to drink it and see if there are any emails (checking the one I sent last night and wishing I had not for it served no real purpose and I am scared that it may mean a change to something that I already like – I really should listen to myself more and just not send emails, texts or anything else without doing a draft and sitting on it for a day or two – like the post that I wrote that Best Mate read and said ‘Wow’ but sits there in drafts, me unsure whether to post it or not).

I know that A & F are leaving, by taxi at 4.30.  It is now 5.30 ish I presume and they will be on the bus to the airport.  I text A, wishing him a good holiday.

I glance at the clock on the computer.  It must be wrong.  I check the clock on the phone.

It’s 3-fucking-55 in the morning!  It must have been 2.30 when I woke up and 3 when we went for a walk, the dogs being absolutely useless at telling me it is far too early!  I toy with the idea that I should go back to bed.  It’s now gone 4.  I still have the coffee to finish and, anyway, now, I will never get back to sleep and not because of the coffee either.  I know I will suffer later but there is little I can do about that.

I go back over the slightly strange things that I saw this morning – the sprinklers being on; the newsagent being shut; the fact that it was darker than I thought it should be – and then realise I’ve just sent a text to A at this hour!  Oh shit.  But I can’t send another just yet.  I shall have to wait until it really is after 5!  OK, so they may have been up, but maybe not.  Damn.

I write this post and next I will iron the jeans I need for today.

Hawaiian Pizza in Milan?; Gay shirts!

Posted on by
4

Hawaiian_Pizza_in_Milan_Gay_shirts

I have to hand it to A.  He doesn’t understand me at all.  It’s like I’m some sort of alien from some distant planet.  Maybe that’s why I like him, in spite of himself?

Anyway, he rings me and talks about going for a pizza.  Apparently, F really ‘cares for me’.  He wonders why people like me.  Me too.  I think that he says that because he’s also slightly jealous.  Don’t worry, if I understood why people seem to care about me, I would tell him the secret.

I suggest apero at mine – I have some Boursault cheese (both normal and Goat varieties) and I’ve been wanting him to try it and, after F’s love of Stilton, her too.

They come over.  F adores the cheese.  I feel she has had somewhat of a sheltered life when it comes to food and I like to be able to introduce her to new tastes which are not Italian – and she seems to like it too.  I think that this also makes A slightly jealous – but, really, he has nothing to be jealous about.

A wonders if my next love will be a woman.  He just does not understand at all.

‘But, you’ve been with women before’, he states.

‘That was over 30 years ago’, I reply, ‘before I found men’.

They are going to Fox Town again.  They invite me.  I ask F if the cute guy still works in Iceberg.  It’s a kind of joke that A doesn’t get at all.  F says yes so I say I’m coming.  She gets it and laughs.  A can’t remember him at all and he is definitely uncomfortable with the whole idea.  Well, if he’s my friend then he needs to get used to it.

We go to see F’s flat which has been ‘done out’ ready for rent.  Nearby is this pizza place that F likes and they have found in the last few weeks.

We go.  The pizzeria is called La Masseria – Via Feltre, 19.

I look down the list of pizzas and spot Hawaii.  Incredible!  Every Italian I’ve spoken to pulls a face at the idea of Hawaiian pizza but, here it is, on the menu in an area that is certainly NOT touristy.

I order it.  It is even better than any I’ve had in the UK because they have used fresh pineapple and it is really juicy.  The flavours of the sweet pineapple with the good prosciutto is sublime.  F tries it and doesn’t like it.  I didn’t expect her to, to be honest.  However, in all the time I have been in Italy this is the first time I’ve seen Hawaiian pizza on the menu.

I had remarked on A’s shirt.  Unusually, for him, the shirt is rather striking – brown, with a large printed pattern on the front.  F doesn’t like it.  After the pizza A explains that it is because she thinks it is a gay shirt!  I feign shock and horror for a moment but, actually, I think it is really funny.  She explains that she doesn’t like it on him – and that’s probably because he dresses like a fifty-year-old man already!

Dog sitting, Flat sitting and watching Wimbledon

Posted on by
2

Dog_sitting_Flat_sitting_and_watching_Wimbledon442 pub. Apparently, looking after the dogs will cost me a pint of English beer and a burger. Less than kennels anyway.

On the subject of Wimbledon, let’s hope the great Scottish player, Murray, will make it through. It will make the afternoon so much more fun.

Also a colleague from work and her husband may come. So it might be quite a party (and quite a few good beers!).