Tag Archives: Relationships

Funny week that wasn’t funny.

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It has been a funny old week, really.

F came back on Monday afternoon. Unfortunately, I’d got up late and by the time I’d taken the dogs out and had coffee, my appointment was coming, so no time to give the flat a quick clean. I did, however, complete all the washing in between everything else.

After my appointment, I knew that the most important thing was to get the Christmas cards finished. Which I did, expecting F to let me know he was leaving Carrara to come home. He didn’t tell me and arrived as I was almost complete with the Christmas cards. But this meant that I hadn’t cleaned anything.

He ironed whilst I finished the cards. I took the dogs out and he cleaned the floors of the flat “because it won’t have been done in 3 days.” Which, of course, was right however, it is difficult to keep the resentment inside and not to make some remark. After all, it wasn’t like I did nothing over the weekend. In fact, I hardly stopped except from Saturday when I did relax a bit – I was so very tired.

Anyway, I can ignore these comments and move on, which is what I did. I had something to eat and then suggested we watch the film on the TV (connected to the computer) which was fine for two films on Saturday night.

The problem was that it didn’t work. There was no connection. It was disappointing, to say the least. I did a quick look on Google and found out why. The adapter is prone to overheating and, instead of unplugging it completely as I had done previously, after Saturday, I left it plugged in and it had, sure enough, overheated and has probably burnt out. I’ve ordered another. I hope it arrives on Friday.

We went to bed and at some time after I fell asleep I had a very strange dream which, as normal, turned into a nightmare. It was all to do with hospitals and me being unable to escape. Then, later, at 4 a.m., I woke up – wide awake, like it was 8 or 9 in the morning. In spite of doing my best to drift off again, at about 4.30, I got up, frightened that I would wake F.

At 5.45, I retrieved my mobile phone from beside the bed, switched off the alarm (this is important for later in this post) so that it wouldn’t wake F and got up.

I left a little earlier. We had clients in and I needed to do some things before they came. As I’m walking along the road towards my car, I spotted the market setting up, as usual, on a Tuesday and realised that I had completely forgotten about that and my car was parked in the way. All I needed this morning was to have my car towed away!

As luck would have it, my car was still there although they had just started setting up the stall by my car, so 15 minutes later and it would have been gone. But I was relieved, to say the least.

But, it was no good. A lack of sleep was already “killing me.” By the time the customer arrived, I had sunk into a black mood.

Coupled to that, my credit card had maxed out the previous week (remember the tickets for a friend to go to La Scala?) and I needed to get that fixed as a payment had to be made later this week (and more of that later, or in another post.) So, at one point, I left the customer in the hands of Engineering. Fixing (increasing) the limit was not important but, contrary to the information I’d been given by phone the previous week, it would NOT take a couple of hours to upgrade but up to 2 days – which would have been too late! I was a bit pissed off, to be honest, which was not helping with the day I was already having.

But, with nothing to do that was within my power, I could not stay angry. Just a little frustrated. Oh and getting more tired as the day progressed.

That night, I had people coming and no time to sort out real parking so I parked in one the residents’ areas, hoping I wouldn’t get a ticket.

By 10, I was in bed although F was watching a film and so it was quite difficult to get to sleep. I suppose I drifted off about 11.

At 6, exactly, I opened my eyes. And, thank God! I had forgotten to put the alarm back to “on” and it should have gone off 5 minutes before! Having rushed to get out, I found that my gamble with the parking was OK in that I didn’t have a ticket.

I had decided to order a new adapter for the MAC to TV and did that first thing. Wednesday was a little better, even if the meeting with the customer was so, so boring (it’s engineering stuff and absolutely NOT my bag) and I was still very tired. Also, the offices, as usual in the winter, have become cold. So cold that all you can think about is how cold you are.

Now it is almost the end of Thursday. The customers haven’t been here today but are returning in about an hour to stand around and witness something. After yesterday (it being so cold), I am NOT wearing a suit but am wearing warmer things.

I am still tired and exhausted. F will be here this weekend which has it’s good and bad points.

And, as an update to Christmas, the latest thing, according to F is:

He will go down a couple of days before Christmas;
I am to follow on Christmas Eve or even Christmas Day morning:
Depending on PaC, I will either stay down a couple/few days or come back almost right away.

I don’t really fancy travelling down there for only a day. But I will, if that’s what he wants. But, of course, it’s still all flexible.

Other things that I have learnt are that some people in the family want a second opinion because they want something (some cure) to be done. Except, I have a feeling that for PaC, no “cure” is desired. But that’s only a feeling, of course. In the end (I know because I asked directly), F didn’t speak to PaC about my coming down. I think (and he hinted as such) he’s going to do this at the last minute – and by that I mean Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. He also bought some x-rays back with him. I found them on the table. I think he is going to show them to someone but we haven’t spoken about it so I don’t really know.

But, the whole thing becomes tiring and if I feel like that, I can only guess what his family feel like! In the end, he’s not going down this weekend. For one reason, PaC would find it too strange. For another, I suspect, he is exhausted with trying to prop up the family, trying to make out that everything is OK, like he does.

Last night he was away, for work, and sent me a picture of a tree. I wonder if he’s still going to decorate the flat? And, if so, I wonder why? If I were him, I wouldn’t do it and yet, maybe, it will help him feel better, more like Christmas?

Lights and decorations are everywhere now but I don’t feel in the least Christmassy. Still, I get F for the whole weekend, which will be lovely. Probably.

Rubbing along, sometimes more like a cheesgrater rub!

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“Tell me when you’re ready.”

I had started to take the glasses out of the cupboard. We’re putting some place mats into the cupboards so the glasses can sit on top of them.

Can I be really honest? I don’t know why. For me, to have theses place mats in means that we just have something else to clean. But, it will make him happy so it’s OK.

I clear the first shelf of the cupboard. I haven’t shouted that I’m ready yet. I want to clear the whole cupboard first.

I start on the second shelf.

He arrives, with cloth and ammonia to clean. He sits in front of the open cupboard, right in my way.

So then he starts handing me stuff to put on the table temporarily. I am, just a little, fucked off by this. I hold my tongue but, for a moment or two, I think about going somewhere else. To not be there. FFS – say one thing and do another! It drives me mad. But not so much, as long as I don’t react.

Then he cleans all the shelves, then adjusts the top one so we can put the wine glasses at the top. Then the place mats go in and then I start handing the glasses back.

There are an extra four place mats for us to use on the table. They match the upholstery of the sofas and are the other shade of blue than the seats in the dining room. Now, much later, he has laid the table. There are the place mats and a couple of candles, a slightly darker shade. I must admit, it all looks rather nice.

Earlier still, we had been for breakfast – the rain is persistent, constant and heavy. We go to the supermarket. I had nearly said that I would go later but, as it was raining so much, I thought better of it. In the supermarket, after a few minutes, he tells me to go and do my own thing. I guess he finds me as frustrating as I find him. That doesn’t make it better, of course. I worry a little about our lack of synergy . I mean to say, on a practical level, day to day, we don’t really have the same ideas or, if we do, we would go about them in a different way. And, yet, we kind of rub along together quite well. Later, in the supermarket, when we go to scan our items through, I tell him to pack. He doesn’t want to. I explain that I don’t want him complaining like last time so he must pack. He does but grudgingly. However, this time, at least he couldn’t blame me for anything going wrong! Not that it did, of course. After all, he had packed everything :-)

And so, tonight, we have our second dinner party together. There’s some chickpea soup that he’s done, the fishcakes and then a lemon meringue pie which I have made because one of the guys likes it so much and made a specific request that I make it.

Everything (more or less) is ready to go and we’re three hours away from them arriving so it should be fairly easy. I hope.

We entertain, properly, for the first time.

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He says he hates doing it and, yet, I suspect he secretly quite likes it.

He calls me. I am surprised to see he’s calling me. I check first, thinking that maybe my telephone called him (it does that these days, randomly calls him – it reminds me, daily, that I will NEVER have another Blackberry phone, piece of trash that it is) since it was only a few minutes ago that we were talking face-to-face, in the flat, him having just arrived home!

But, no, it’s not my phone calling him, he is really calling me. Perhaps, I think, he’s stepped outside for something and forgotten his keys? The door automatically locks.

“An is coming in a minute. Can you let her in, please?” he asks me.

“Where are you?” I am confused.

“I’m in the shower.”

It makes me laugh. But, even if he had shouted loudly, I wouldn’t have heard him. That’s the really nice thing about this flat.

An comes. She explains that she has come because she is on her way home for work and fancied a drink.

I assume that means they are going out but, as I have someone coming in a moment, I offer her a glass of red wine from a partly finished bottle that I had opened the other day. She accepts and sits down. I don’t offer to take her coat or anything as they will be going out.

My “someone” arrives. Luckily, F appears from the bathroom.

Me and my “someone” go to my room. Almost an hour and a half later, I can hear they’re still there and not out as I expected. Indeed, I need to just ask F something and so I go to find them. They are in the kitchen having soup. The soup that F made the day before.

When my “someone” leaves, I join them in the kitchen and get offered some soup. It’s leek and potato soup with grated Parmesan cheese and fried bacon bits on top. He is so proud of it. And rightly so, it is lovely.

He explains that An DID ask him to go for a drink but, as it is so cold and as she has no kitchen in her new flat, he suggested drink and soup at ours. It’s nice sitting at our new kitchen table with a friend. It’s very comfortable and easy. I can’t truly express how lovely it is to be entertaining friend(s) in the setting with home made soup and wine in our flat. And, more so because it is unexpected. No elaborate planning and work. Just simple and easy. I can see he is happy about it too. And about what he has cooked. Which is, in any case, really tasty – and I like the bacon bits on top.

The heating is turned on (slightly) and the kitchen is warm and inviting.

It’s exactly how it should be, the whole thing. Even better that, now, I can do my thing and he can entertain and I can join them when I’ve finished. All really perfect. Long may that continue.

Noises are not good.

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He presses into my back but he can’t settle.

Two or three times, he turns around, each time, pushing himself into my back. Trying to get closer still.

Eventually, he decides it’s not enough and he steps over me and tries, again to settle.

This time between us. Having something on both sides must be better, I suppose.

I realise that something is wrong. There are two possibilities. One is that he is ill. The other, that he is frightened. I wake myself up, enough so I can tell the difference. There are noises. Bangings, from time to time. It’s the wind. The tail end of the hurricane must have reached us. He is so frightened. He gradually moves up between us until he is almost sitting on the pillows. Then lying on the pillows. Then up again, sitting but anxious. Panting because he’s hot but there’s no way he’s going to move from this place of safety.

I hear a banging from, what I think may be the bathroom. I get up. I close the bedroom door which shuts out (a bit) the noises of things being hurled around the courtyards below. I go to the bathroom and see that the window I left open is banging shut from time to time. The wind is strong and very gusty.

I go to my studio and shut the windows there too. This, effectively, closes the back of the flat.

Back to bed and I have to move him to get back into bed. But he is not, just NOT going to be moved far. After getting into bed he starts inching up again towards the pillows at the next sound.

F is awake too now. Piero cannot settle and, I’m sure, would prefer to be under the covers with us protecting him. F says we should shut all the windows. He says he’s worried about the stuff on the balcony from the kitchen. We keep the rubbish bins out there (he doesn’t like them in the flat – the smell, you know?) As well as a ton of other things. I go and shut the lounge and dining room windows first. I go to open the closed shutter in the kitchen but he is there first. He always complains that it is too heavy to open so prefers it open. I close it in the evening as I go and switch on the coffee in the early morning and don’t want other people to see me before I’m fully dressed. I go to take over from him but, as usual, he won’t let me help. I shrug my shoulders and walk away. It’s one o’clock in the morning. I don’t even have words to say. He opens it and the door and checks the balcony but leaves everything out there and just closes the door.

I go to close the shutters. He says to leave them open. I try to explain that I don’t like them open until I’m dressed. He says that no one will notice which is probably true. But I’m funny like that. But I can’t be bothered to argue. I get the clothes I will now need to get up and put on before I go and switch the coffee machine on. I am pissed off. Royally pissed off but I say nothing.

We both get back into bed, sliding in next to Piero. Piero can still hear bangs and clunks from outside and he just won’t settle. I consider that, if I can’t get to sleep, I’ll get up, have a cigarette and some milk and read some of my book (Gone Girl, btw – I want to read it before I watch the film) but I try to crush those thoughts.

He gets up again and tries to call Piero but Piero ain’t budging. He goes into the kitchen, opens the door and brings everything inside, closes the door and then the shutters. He does, kind of, listen to me but only grudgingly and with bad grace. It doesn’t matter. I know he has done this by the noises from the kitchen not because I saw him do it.

He comes back to bed. Piero doesn’t move but accepts his strokes and affection. After a while, I go to sleep.

The alarm goes off. I feel like I’ve slept for about 5 minutes. It’s going to be a crap day. And it’s still very, very windy. But the sky is clear, which is something and, although it’s colder, it’s not as bad as I thought it would be.

Later, by message, he tells me that he’s going to leave a window open. I say no because Piero will still be frightened. Even with them closed, he’ll be frightened but, hopefully, less so. Tonight he’ll be as attached as a limpet, I’m sure.

Unseasonable weather; the sorting of many things; illogical obsessions.

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Well, let’s do the weather first. 29°C! That’s what my car said on Friday afternoon! That’s Friday halfway through October. Incredible!

And we’ve been having some lovely weather although the mornings are a little cool and sometimes there’s a dampness in the air.

Anyway, back to Friday. That is, Friday 17th. I went to get the rugs, which had been cleaned. This was going to be the weekend of finishing (well, almost) the flat. I picked up the rugs and, whilst I was paying, some other customer mentioned that it was Friday 17th. Which is like Friday 13th in the UK and nobody had mentioned it at work and, so, I didn’t remember – until that point. I said that, for the English, it’s Friday 13th so today I’m English but on Friday 13th, I live in Italy – either way, they’re OK. It got a laugh, anyway – or, maybe, that was my bad Italian?

Marco Felegname had been round to fix the cupboards and the rest of the lamps.

Saturday morning, we went to get the kitchen table, donated by a friend/colleague of F’s. It’s an IKEA table, white and has a kind of 50s look. Perfect. After we got it back I went for a haircut and tried to find something to send BM for her birthday. I got one stupid thing and then, as I couldn’t find anything really suitable, ordered a book, online, when I got home. The book was The Humans by Matt Haig.

By the time I got home, I felt like crap. The onset of ‘flu. So I said I was sorry but I just had to go to bed for a bit. I felt so tired, all my bones ached and I felt “‘fluey”. I dozed, on and off, for a couple of hours. After that I felt considerably better. Not really well, but better.

In the meantime, the rugs were down and the table set up. Also, a few more pictures had been hung. Things were moving apace. Almost everything had been moved from the kitchen worktops into the cupboards. Not what I wanted but I’m not arguing about it. It makes him happy and it’s not like I use everything every day (or, even every week!)

The next day was more “organising”. I put up another set of drawers for my studio; he moved the towels and sheets from the cupboards in the bedroom to a new one in the hall.

“Can I move my books, yet?” (into the cupboards in the bedroom that were now free) I asked.
“No, I need to clean behind the cupboards first,” he replied.

Later, I start moving my books. “Don’t you want to clean the cupboard first?” he asks. “I thought you did it,” I respond. “No, I cleaned behind them,” he said. “I’m sorry my English is no good,” he continues, irritated that I would put the books away without cleaning. Whenever he says about his English being no good, I know he is pissed. I refrain from saying that, if the cupboards WERE dirty, then so were the sheets and towels that we just moved and that, surely, they all needed washing, then? He’s just manically obsessed by this cleaning everything lark. I say I will clean the cupboards (even if there is absolutely no need) but, because of his stroppiness, he starts cleaning. I walk out of the room – after all, there’s no point in arguing. Not only doesn’t he listen but the whole thing makes no logical sense.

Later, he hangs all my pictures. There are four that he groups together. “I don’t really like these,” he tells me. “That’s OK. Don’t put them up – or put them up in my studio,” I don’t really mind. Eventually, they are put up in the hall. It seems he doesn’t really hate them. Or he puts them up because they’re mine. I don’t know. From time to time he says, “Do you like this (picture here)?” “Yes,” I say. “Or is it better here?” “Either looks good to me,” I reply. Which is true. He’s the one with the eye for detail, not me. In the end, everything is put up.

By the end of the day, we are really almost finished. Even the wire connecting my computer to the television in the lounge is fitted (although not tested yet.) Now there’s only the curtains and the sofa bed to get. Maybe, also, a new filing cabinet. And some new (more) rugs? This was F’s idea because he realises the dogs suffer a bit with the slippery floors.

And then we’re done.

But he’s already very happy, so that’s good. The party will be in December. Apparently.

There was discussion on Saturday evening. “Shall we do an aperitivo or an after-dinner party?” I had always assumed an aperitivo. “But will people come to after-dinner?” I ask. It seems that they will although I am not convinced. Anyway, by the end of the discussion, it seems aperitivo has won the day – although it’s not really fixed. Later, over dinner with friends, he says there’ll be about 40 people coming. even I am surprised. We shall see.

Glimpses, in passing.

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“I’ll be home about lunchtime,” he says.

“Text me when you leave,” I say. He says he will.

Around 3, I start to wonder where he is. I never really expected him to be home by lunchtime, to be honest. However, I thought he would be home by now.

Just after 4, I start to worry. I send him a message. Around half four, he sends me a message back to say he’s filling up with petrol and is about an hour away. So, not only is he late but he didn’t text me beforehand. However, I know I won’t mention it – even if I want to.

He arrives. He goes to lie down with the dogs for a while and then showers and then we go out for a meal. We chat. About many things. It’s nice to have him back, even if it’s just for two nights.

That night, neither of us sleep well. It seems the mosquitoes come only when he’s there, like they know he’s back and so come and bother us. The next morning, in spite of him saying he wanted to take the dogs out, I leave him sleeping. After all, this month or so has been very tiring for him. What with work and all the other stuff.

We go for breakfast and then he goes to work. It’s Sunday but he’s not been in the office since the previous Friday – but maybe even longer, I can’t remember. He needs to do stuff. He suggests that he might go to the showroom later and, if so, I can come with the dogs and he can meet us and we do a walk with them.

He doesn’t text me. Eventually, around 5 he texts me to say he’s coming home. When he gets home he asks if I’ve taken the dogs out. I explain that I had not because I had been waiting for his call. Anyway, I am in the middle of washing stuff (glasses, plates, etc.) that had to be hand washed. But I don’t explain that because he can see what I’m doing. He seems annoyed that I hadn’t taken them out. I say that I had been waiting for the call from him. He still seems annoyed but I’m not going to explain further.

He says he will take them out. I say I will, if he wants but, again, I’m not going to push it. He takes them out.

Then he wants to go out for a drink. We go out. His colleagues/friends come. Then we go for a pizza.

Another really crap night. Not only mosquitoes but also, I think, because we’re not used to sleeping together. What has it been? Perhaps a total of 5 nights in the last month?

This morning he gets up just after me to take the dogs out. This morning (as I write this), he’s flying out and will be back Sunday afternoon. Then, two days later we go away for a night. After that, more or less, he’ll be at home. Thank God! It will take some adjustment, of course.

It’s like we have been glimpsing each other, in passing, for a long, long time. And both of us have had enough.

Confused? You will be.

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It should be fairly easy. Or, at least I thought so.

We have a kitchen. It has water, a dishwasher. Now it’s all connected we can use the washing machine. everything must be washed – the removal men packed everything using newspaper, so all cups, plates, saucepans, glasses, etc. have to be washed.

The fridge needed to be cleaned. The shelves in the kitchen cleaned.

Everything needs cleaning.

Oh and the washing needs to be done and the bed changed and my stuff put away from Mantova and the dogs deserve a long walk and there are people to contact and books to put away and shopping to be done and, and, and ……

So, let’s get started, then, shall we?

Well, erm, yes.

So, I find myself starting something and then realising that in order to finish it I need to do something else. And then, I realise that I also need to put the next load of washing on. And, as I walk into the bedroom, I see that I need to make the bed, and then I can’t find the right linen because I didn’t put it away and so I don’t know where it is and, even if I DID put something away, I can’t for the life of me remember which bloody cupboard or, even, which bloody room it is in! So, in my hunt for this, I notice that I forgot to finish off something else, so I do a bit of that and that takes me to another room where I failed to finish off some other task so I do a bit of that but then find that I need something else and in that room find something that needs to be thrown away, which leads to something that needs to be put away but then the cupboard I was gong to use isn’t big enough and so I try to find somewhere else and that leads to another room where something else is part-finished, and so on.

Instead of being able to finish a single thing, I seem to have half a dozen part-finished things. Part of the problem (although not the whole problem, by any means) is that we, at the moment, don’t “think” in the same way. So the place/room that I would put something is not the place/room that F would put it. Now, I don’t want to move the thing he’s put “in the wrong place” but, it seems, it just doesn’t feel right where it is and so I don’t know what to do about it. So I do nothing and feel like doing nothing and so it’s not good. It’s like I’m confused by it all. It makes me “freeze” and leads to a lack of movement forward. Or a lack of movement.

Still, in spite of all this, many things HAVE been done. Bed-making, shopping, washing of much stuff, cleaning of the fridge, laundry, putting away of books, putting away of Mantova stuff…..

Oh, hang on, just thought of something that MUST be done. I’ll be back in a sec…….

So, I become disheartened and want to do nothing.

Patience?

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“Look!” he says. I see the kitchen. It’s obviously not complete. Maybe they are coming back tomorrow?

During the next hour or so, we had, “I’ve had enough of this flat.”, “Cazzo!”, “Giorno di merda!”, etc.

Finished with, “You go on holiday because then I can fix everything in the flat. It will be easier.”

So, let’s analyse where everything went wrong, shall we? Remember that I had assumed that the gas man had NOT turned on the gas because of some problem with the installation and, as for the kitchen, I had no idea what had happened. Looking at it, as he had ordered, made me think that they had forgotten a part of it.

In reality, the following events took place:

1. When taking the dogs for a walk, Dino started rolling about in some grass. Now, I have experience of this. Dogs rolling in grass = trouble. Or, rather = smelly shit. In the countryside, this smelly shit was a cow pat or some fox excrement or something. Here, in the middle of the city, it has to be some other dog shit (I hope, if you see what I mean). F didn’t know this. He saw him rolling around and shouted “No” but, of course, it was all too late. He was, indeed, covered in shit. Apparently, horrible, smelly shit. He was washed under one of the water points we have everywhere and then had a bath at home.

2. The gas man arrived. The doorman downstairs told him to ring the citofono (outside doorbell). There is one slight problem in that the bell doesn’t ring in the flat. So, F didn’t know. The gas man thought it meant we weren’t home, of course. At about 9.30, F went down to see why he hadn’t arrived to be told by the doorman that he had already left and had left us a note saying that we weren’t there!

3. The kitchen and fitters came. They fitted the whole kitchen. We had had to pay for a surveyor to measure the kitchen space to ensure that the dimensions were right as some kitchen units had to be tailor-made. Unfortunately, it seems, someone couldn’t read dimensions properly and one unit was 5cm too short. So F rejected the unit. Also, unfortunately, the said unit has to be fitted with another (it’s a corner unit) and the other, in this case, houses the sink and dishwasher. So they can’t be plumbed in. Hmmmm.

So that was that. F was, to put it mildly, crazy.

I also tried to fix the washing machine, which seemed to be leaking. I thought I had fixed it and started a(n empty) wash.

“Are you going to take the dogs out or shall I?”

To be honest, this wasn’t really a question. The wrong answer would have been “No, you do it.” The right answer was “I’ll take them out.” I’m not stupid. I gave the right answer. Unfortunately, that meant leaving the washing machine mid-wash. Ah, well, I thought, it seems not to be leaking. I took them out.

I came back to, “I’ve turned off the washing machine because water was coming out like a fountain!”

“At what point in the cycle did it start coming out?” I asked. A rather huffy reply of “I don’t know!” was received, so I didn’t ask further.

About 10 minutes later, from the kitchen I heard shouting (this means I must attend, of course). The shouting turned out to be an explanation of where the water was actually coming out. It wasn’t the washing machine at all but the opposite wall in the kitchen, under what is now a unit with the sink. It seems that the outlet for the waste water from the washing machine is connected to the sink outlet and, as the sink is not connected to anything, some of the water was coming out of there!

Well, at least I know now.

This weekend, I might try a dirty fix.

In the meantime, on the plus side, we have many units in the kitchen to put stuff away and get rid of the boxes.

On the downside, we still have no hot water, no useable kitchen or cooker and the kitchen will still be a bit messy.

On the other plus side, we received the sofas, armchair and dining chairs back (just now) and F is very happy with them. I mean, really happy.

“We could have bought a new suite for the same money,” he always adds. I guess pointing out that a suite that’s 30 years old but is still as if it was new, every time, is just a waste of my time. However, I still do it as it’s still a valid point.

And, apparently, hot water will be available from Tuesday morning – although me and the dogs may be in Tuscany by then. We shall see.

Last night we were out with friends for a meal. They’re F’s friends really. One of them said that I must have real patience to stay with him. Wisely, I didn’t answer.

Well, onwards and upwards, as they say.

Cazzo indeed.

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I can’t phone or text or whatsapp. I want to but I can’t. If it’s the wrong time, I won’t be being helpful.

So I sit here, taking a short respite from a difficult 3-day client meeting, waiting to hear something and knowing that, if I don’t hear something, I’ve probably got all this to face when I arrive home.

Obviously, on the day of the move to our new home, not everything was done, as I may have mentioned.

For example, we had no kitchen. We had no sofas or dining room chairs. We had no hot water.

Before the kitchen could be installed, a special pipe had to be run along the wall from the gas meter to the place for the cooker (We were taking my existing cooker.) This work was expensive but, being gas, it has to be done right. Plus we needed some vents from the kitchen and some other stuff to make it all safe and certified.

They spent 2 days doing the work and it looked good and neat and tidy.

The kitchen was coming today. They were going to fit it. It’s a beautiful kitchen.

And the gas man was coming today to turn on the gas.

So, by the end of today, we shall have hot water, a fitted kitchen and we can start to empty the “kitchen” boxes.

More importantly, we can take showers, make coffee and tea and, if we want, cook meals.

Except, it seems, it’s all gone horribly wrong. But I don’t know why.

I sent a message to say that I had rung F’s dad to wish him a happy birthday.

“Today is not the day,” came the reply. Now I was sure I was right but maybe I had misunderstood. I replied asking if I had got the wrong day.

“No is no day for me
“The guy from the gas came and left
“so now I’m screaming with all the people”

Hmm. My understanding of this was that the gasman came but did not turn on the supply because something was wrong with the (very expensive) installation and that F was now quite busy, shouting down the phone at the people who did the installation.

It’s a guess. I text, “the gas is on or not?”

“no
“no
“nono
“no
“no”

So, i guess that would be a “no” then?

I reply, “Oh, OK.” I mean, what else could I say? It would serve absolutely no purpose in getting angry and would only stress him out more. I wish I could go home but I have clients, so I can’t. Anyway, it would be like walking on eggshells if I did and, possibly, serve no useful purpose other than allow him to shout at me (which, actually, could have purpose in that he would shout less at the people we need to help to fix this and, therefore, more likely to get them to help us fix the problem.)

I get one more text.

“Cazzo”

Indeed.