Tag Archives: Friends and Inimies

I forgot to make you ugly

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I forgot to make you ugly

[I wrote this some time ago but didn’t post it for various reasons, not least of which, I was slightly crazy at the time.  However, it’s still true, even if the craziness has all but gone now and, anyway, I like what I wrote.  Enjoy or not, as you will]

I looked it up and it is a number of years ago that we met.  Or, rather, that we didn’t meet.  We both half-tried.  I don’t know why you didn’t push it.  I know why I didn’t.

Then, at that time, I made you ugly.  That was important.  You had to have some ugliness.  You had to have something that was not attractive.

In my state of mind more recently, I had forgotten how it was then.  I had forgotten to make you ugly.  Then, that time ago, I knew the danger and, rather than face it, knowing myself as I do, I avoided it.  If I had have faced it, even making you ugly, it would have been as it was in the end, only worse because of my situation at the time.  But, back then, I wanted it so badly, even if I didn’t know why.

This time I forgot.  I wasn’t thinking straight.  I wasn’t ‘in my right mind’.

Sure, I was a little nervous but only because I had never done this thing before.  But I still forgot to make you ugly.

And then you weren’t as I expected, so for some (very little) time I had to readjust my thinking.

And then, after some days, because of communication problems, I didn’t say what I had planned and, in those few days, I added to what I said and said I loved you.  And saying it made it all come back.  And then I couldn’t make you ugly in any way, even if you had been, which you weren’t.

And some would say that it wasn’t love but something else.  But what do they know?

And, having said the word ‘love’, I think you understood (although I think you knew from the beginning, probably even before me) and then it became stupid and now I wish that I had remembered to make you ugly beforehand and then, maybe, all this wouldn’t have happened as I could have focused on the ugliness that I could find – and I would have found something and I would have made that important and overriding and essential even if there was nothing really (and there was/is none) – and then it would have been alright.  It wouldn’t have stopped us being friends but it would have been enough to stop the word ‘love’ from passing my lips or, even, being in my mind.

Maybe.

And, now I wish I could take the time back and start again and see it for what it really is or, rather, what it really should have been (even if I still desire it to be as I would really want).  But now, maybe, you are scared of what you see , or, at least, disappointed, and that is understandable and I don’t blame you for I think I would be the same.

And, yesterday, I tried to make you ugly.  I called you a bastard and not for the first time.  I came up with a new word – dislove – which is what I tried to do; am trying to do.  Like disassemble, I tried to dislove you.  I thought it had worked or started to work.  Now I’m not so sure but I shall keep on trying to dislove you but I won’t dislike you.

And I’m sorry that I fucked it up, that I was pathetic, that I made you wary, that I made you think that I am mad; for that is not what I want.

And so, I send you this.  I know you will know and I hope that you are true to your word and can be ‘disgustingly understanding’.  I hope you will understand that I really wanted to tell you face-to-face but I lack the courage of a true man and am frightened that the words that will come out of my mouth will not clearly state how it is.  I also fear that you will not permit another visit for fear that this rabid animal will be in control and, therefore, I will not be able to explain, even if I wanted to.

And, so, for something so important, I send you only words, without emotion, without the true explanation in my voice.

I hope, with all my heart, that you can forgive this fool as I cannot.  I hope that you are more grown-up than me, for I am clearly not.  I hope you are disgustingly understanding.  I hope that you will be able to tell me that I am forgiven and that we can ‘start this thing again’ and that, this time round, I am just a little wiser.  It has worked this way before, for me, so I know this is possible.

And, in spite of what you may think about yourself, I may be able to dislove you in time but I don’t think I can ever make you ugly now; if only I had not forgotten.

With love.

The side-effects could be tiring….

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There are side-effects to this dating/sex thing which was not entirely expected by me (although, if I had really thought about it, it would have been obvious).

One thing is that the house must be clean for I don’t know who may be coming round at short notice.  I can make the excuse that the house is a mess once or, maybe, twice – but not always.

So, as a result, I now have cleaners coming in tomorrow to fix the place up.  And then they’re (hopefully) going to come in twice a week to keep it that way.  It should be every day but there’s no way I can afford that.  It’s the dogs, you see.  To keep it really clean, the hoover should come out and the floors then mopped, as I did when I was off when we first had Dino.

So that’s one thing.  The other being that I really need to get my act into gear and get some storage .  I cannot have ‘people’ here with the place looking as if I moved in yesterday.  For me, of course, it’s OK but from an outside eye it’s not!

Anyway, next weekend, I’ve agreed with my mate S, we’ll go and get the table (so, at least I can do dinners) and, maybe, we can call in at an IKEA on the way to look at a wardrobe and some other cupboards.  Then I shall speak to my other mate, A, about using his workmen to get it all fixed up and, maybe a bit of painting and so on.

So, suddenly this thing that I thought was all about how I look (as that’s what attracts people first, whatever anyone may say) and then what my character is like (if we get to the point of a meeting) is now about my whole bloody life and everything about the way I live!

*sigh*

In the meantime, I’m getting quite addicted to the online thing.  Real life stuff starts again tomorrow and really gets going next week, probably.

I need more sleep, for certain.

And it continues…..

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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? :-)

The difference between the idea and the reality

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No. of times out and about today – 1
No. of passes made at me – 1
No. of times ‘checked out’ by some guy – 1 (on the train on the way back)

We meet.  If we meet in a city or area that I don’t know, he will ask me what I would like to do but will have some suggestions.  There had better be food in a nice restaurant on offer (I mean, we should go dutch, of course) as well as, maybe, a visit to some things he has picked out as being noteworthy (a museum, a gallery, even a park!).

OK, so if not at a mealtime, then, a suggestion to stop at a café, maybe grab a beer (or, in the case of Dennis, a coffee) and then do something, even go for a walk.

We talk.  He is interesting, interested in me and we have a lot in common or, at least, he makes me think we have a lot in common.  He indicates (I’m not sure how) that he finds me very attractive but doesn’t push it, both of us exploring the boundaries.  The time passes quickly.

He might suggest dinner at his place but there will be candles, good wine, the food will be expertly cooked but made to look as if it was easy, without effort.  He is accomplished at all things; he puts me at ease immediately.

I want to be wooed; I want to be wined and dined; I want to be seen to be loved; I want it to be romantic or, if we are to be friends then interesting; have something in common; chat easily and freely.

If we are to be more than friends, then, maybe, later, if we both feel the same it may lead to something more……

Then, of course, there are the other sort of dates.  Not ones I know but am aware of.  For those, let’s not waste any time.  He will, of course, be considerably younger than me and have a great body.  That is an absolute must otherwise what’s the point.  But the other type of date will be obvious before we’ve even met.  We will ‘know’ something about what the other wants/is looking for.  Here I still want to be wooed but in a different way; here it’s all about looks and superficiality and that’s fine.

Then, there is, what I can only politely describe as the mix up.  This is where it’s not clear to one side or the other and so, as a result, it makes it awkward and difficult.

Making it more difficult, of course, would be the fact that neither of you were able to speak the other’s language and then there’s that feeling that one of you is out of their depth a little (or a lot) and just wishing to go home.

I meant to take a notebook yesterday but forgot.  The train was not crowded.  About halfway through, Fred phoned.  Could I meet him at the station stop before the one planned (i.e. not in the centre (more or less) of the city?  I knew what this meant and so texted FfI to call me during the day.  Just in case.

I came out of the station and Dennis texted.  We had a text conversation as he was going back to Milan after a weekend away.  We texted about next week and a pizza and so on.  I walked to the car that was waiting – some sporty black little BMW number.  The problem is that cars really don’t impress me that much (although I can say all the right words to make the owner feel good – but a car is just a car, after all – it gets you from A to B in greater or lesser comfort).

I get in.  True, when FfI and I had looked at his profile (with new pictures) the previous night, I did think, wow, I’ve made a mistake here – he looks so much older than the original photos suggested and, as I may have mentioned before, it’s a younger person that I really want.  I know I’ve been spoiled by V but I want someone equally as good.  Now, he looks a little better – in the flesh.  He has no style but, hey, not everyone can be perfect.  I notice his elbows (he’s wearing a T-shirt) – they are the elbows of someone who is 60, not 44 (as he is supposed to be) – but then he looks older than me anyway.

I see we’re not driving to the city but to his town, just outside.  I’m disappointed.  I wanted to go back to the city.  It would have been nice to have the offer so this was not as it should be.

Several times he puts his hand on my leg.  For sure there is no electricity, no spark.  I want to get the next train back but, I made my bed and I should lie in it – actually what I’m thinking is that I need to make it clearer in future and that, anyway, being only my second ‘date’ I should use this as practice both for the date thing and for the Italian as he speaks no English.

We make conversation.  The drive is uneventful (apart from the touching).

We arrive at his flat.  It’s not that nice – OK but not so good.  The style of furniture looks as if it is rented even though he says it isn’t.  There are no books and a lot can be derived from the books on show.  It is a faceless flat; no character; not a home.

He offers me coffee.  We sit in the kitchen to have the coffee.  He gets up and take the cups away and then makes the pass.  I tell him no, that I am looking for friendship and, maybe, that special someone.

He does back off but I am ready for anything to ensure that nothing happens.

We talk.  I keep making the conversation, asking questions, making observations.  I didn’t think my Italian (although dreadful, especially in the conjugation of verbs and the grammar in general) was this good.  Well, I suppose, needs must.

We move back to the lounge.  We talk some more.  Or, rather, I ask more questions, make more observations.

He offers lunch – what we would call stew – with pollenta.  It’s OK.  I say it’s lovely, of course.  We talk about English, the English, the Italians, politics, hobbies, what he does in his spare time, etc.

He is boring.  I mean to say, his life is boring.  I don’t want to be partying all the time and like to put my feet up at home but…..

Again, I think how spoiled I have been spending 20 years with V.  We wanted the same things, both the stay-at-home bit AND the going out and having fun – although latterly, not clubbing for me.

I’m not looking for a V replacement, I know that much, but I want someone that is equally as fun; that will stretch me as much as I would stretch him. Fred is not this nor even close.  I dread to think I would end up with someone like this.

We have another coffee.  We had wine with the meal but he doesn’t know wine.  Nor do I but I want someone who, at least, tries to impress me, just a bit.  There is no effort being made here.  He just thought I would buy a train ticket and come all this way for sex.  He is much mistaken.  As I pointed out above, for this kind of date he would have to look 10 years younger than me (in his case 20 years younger).

I can see that we’re going to be sitting in the house forever.  I suggest we take a walk, by the canal.  He agrees but it’s soon obvious that he never does this.  I suppose that’s the beauty of having dogs – as you have to walk them you find the nicest places to do so.

The town we are in are having their end-of-summer festival.  It is the usual crap with the usual crap stalls and the usual crap local dancers, singers, etc.  I feign interest because that’s what you do.  He’s lived here all his life and never been!  Enough said.

We walk by the canal but he obviously doesn’t know a good route nor are we actually going anywhere.

We turn back and end up back at his house.  The conversation falters now, me exhausted by the lack of interest or interests that this guy has.

He takes me back to the train station – I will catch a much earlier train.  I am grateful to be going and still disappointed that I’m not seeing the beautiful city that is 10 minutes away by train but, at least, I will be back in Milan at a reasonable time.

I think of Dennis and, suddenly, Dennis seems so much nicer – he’s interesting and, more important, interested in me as a person, as a lover, as a friend and as a would-be partner.  I know he’s not right but he’s a million times better than what I have just experienced.

I arrive home and go online on the new site I’ve found.  This is the other type of site for, in the main, even if the people say otherwise, is for the other type of date.  I only put pictures up on Saturday.  I have decided that, after 20 years, I need the practice.  It’s been busy (people viewing my profile, etc. – I am wanted, apparently) but, through this I’ve ‘met’ Gordon. Gordon is about 10 years younger than I am with a great body and is quite beautiful.  We had arranged that we should ‘meet’ later this week.  We shall see; no rush.

Gordon has sent me messages and we spend the next couple of hours chatting.  He is sweet and is wooing me, not for a long-term relationship even if that is on his profile, but for short term satisfaction.  He knows this and I know this.  There is some flirting and that will, with any luck lead to sex and that is fine because we are working within the rules.

I send an email to Norman, who is sweet and is wooing me for either friendship or long-term.  He is going on holiday for this week.  I like him a lot although he is not so beautiful but, then, for a long-term relationship, that is not crucial – we have already both agreed that, when we meet there will either be the electricity between us (mutual) or we shall just be friends.  Either way we will be happy with that.

I go to sleep and dream of Gordon.

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

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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…..

Karl Spark

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Just to be clear.  The ‘Karl Spark’ as I shall call it is something that I expect.

But, I worry that it won’t happen again.  It happened recently, true, but I’m not so sure it happens so often.  I worry that it will never happen again.  I wonder if I should just take what I can get because, after all, my age is against me.

But I want the Karl Spark.  To me, it’s almost like breathing.  Without that, there seems no point in it all.  Maybe, not everyone gets that?  Maybe, it’s just me that can almost sense the crackle and lightening spark the moment that you touch or are touched by the person.  It send shivers down my spine and sends my brain to mush but it’s a great feeling and for me, in my mind, it bodes well (in general) as it can lead to 20 years worth of fun, laughter and good times.

So, what to do.  Accept what I can get or wait for the Karl Spark again?  Decisions, always bloody decisions.

The other thing is the age thing.  M was older than me.  V, 8 years younger.  I’m afraid, that with very few exceptions, I don’t find older men attractive.  I think I should modify my criteria so that they’re all under 48 (and even that’s pushing it a bit).  The problem is that I also want friends and for that I have no problem with them being a bit older; in fact, I would welcome it.

So, what I need, right now, is someone that is probably around 40 (give or take 5 years), has a great body and personality, is not too fat or too muscular and has the Karl Spark

Perhaps, just perhaps, I’m asking too much?

About Last Night – The Feature-Length Version

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Tall.  Dark.  Slim.  Handsome.  In fact, more handsome than the photos.  He was all those things.  Plus witty, funny, stylish.

There you go then!  Search over!

Well….yes….but….

I admit to being nervous about the meeting.  He had phoned a little earlier.  He said I had a nice voice.  ‘That’ll be the smoking for 40 years’, I wanted to say but didn’t.  Nor did I say ‘you have a nice voice too’, because I couldn’t.  His voice sounded a little camp.  Dunno, just something about it.

I put on my favourite pair of jeans, and had to choose between my favourite purple shirt or white T-shirt – it was going to be under the ‘unfinished’ suit jacket – so it was the T-shirt – it looks cooler as an ensemble.  A little gel in my remaining hair; my best aftershave, hardly worn these days, so plenty left; my best pair of shoes, brown, D&G, I think.

I was a couple of minutes later than I had wanted to be but, then again, one wouldn’t want to appear too eager, would one?

He telephoned when I was about a minute away.  ‘Where are you?’, he asked.  ‘I’m just crossing the road and I’ll be there in about 2 minutes’, I reply, a little annoyed that I didn’t get ready just a little earlier.  I take off my glasses – my eyes being my best feature, which my glasses hide (note to self – OK, time for contacts (again!) and new glasses – ones which mean you can see my eyes – I know the type I want).

Blindly, I walk down the street towards the ice-cream shop we had agreed to meet at.  Even without my glasses, I see him and know, instinctively, that it’s him.  Tall (about 6′), dressed, whilst not in a suit, in a smart pair of trousers and jacket.

We discuss where to go.  He needs somewhere where there is coffee or tea as he doesn’t drink.  Hmm.  We go to a café that we both know serves good coffee – the one that Best Mate & I went to several times when she was here last.

The plan was, then, to take a walk in the park.  Except, as we approached the ice-cream shop, on our way, it started to rain again.  He doesn’t like the rain.  As you might know, nor do I, but it wasn’t hard and wouldn’t have stopped me.  Still, as it turned out it was right because a few moments later the heavens opened (and are still open as I write this nearly 24 hours later).

Instead we went to a bar (attached to a hotel) nearby.  I had an Americano, he a fresh pineapple juice.

We talked.  He was nice, friendly, funny, good conversation, sort of.  He was a little more camp than V and had a similar past to V in some ways.  In fact, it was like being with a grown-up version of V, someone who is even more sure of himself (and I really didn’t know that was possible).

I say to him that I think that I may not really be his type.  He assures me that I am.  I wonder: am I saying that because, really, he’s not quite my type?  I mean, he’s nice, handsome, tall and all that.  He’s not, really, what I had in mind though.  It’s the campness that I find difficult to deal with.  Not excessive but enough.

I ask him what is his best feature as it wasn’t given on the site (but I know already what the answer is).  He replies that he couldn’t say as it would make him seem like a whore.  I had guessed right, then.

I have another Americano.  The conversation is not really flowing, at least not enough for me.  We ask each other questions, we give each other answers.  He loves food!  This is good.  The bad side is that it is almost exclusively Italian and, worse, from the area of Italy he is from.  I mean that’s OK but I don’t fancy going through the ‘education’ thing all over again, like I had to with V.  That more or less finished 10 years ago and I can’t bring myself to do it again.

There are moments of silence.  Unfilled silence just empty, devoid of anything.

He tells me he is very determined to get what he wants.  Through the conversation, I get what he wants, I think.  Sure, I am that person except……

Well, except that I think it would become too claustrophobic for me.  He would, probably, be devoted to me, but it would be devotion too far.

More importantly than anything else, I feel no real ‘spark’.  There was a spark, recently, with a guy called Karl.  Unrequited, as it turned out.  The last time before that was with V, requited and 20 years later, I still expect the ‘Karl Spark’ – or maybe I’m fooling myself and I should just take the next best thing?

Then, as we stand chatting at the top of the steps to the Metro (he uses that to get home, I am walking), the quite cute guy from the supermarket walks past, turns round to look at me and says Ciao.  Now, he’s seen me outside many times before but says nothing; doesn’t even look at me but this time, says Hi.  Hmm.  Is that because of who I was with??  And what will happen next time I go to the supermarket, the usual nothing or something else?

The next day, he texts me; I text him. He calls me to hear my voice (I suppose).  Could be the Foot Fetish guy all over again?  Not really but, you know…..

Still, we are to go out again next week, for a pizza.  I certainly need a second ‘look’ before I try.  Let’s see what happens…..

Restaurants in Milan

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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)…..

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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…..

Rufus goes on holiday

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There with his little bag packed.  Will he miss us, do you think?

Actually, the bag was a plastic carrier bag from Unes.  Filled with the food bowl, the water bowl (actually a plastic sandwich box – to give that to Dino would mean that it would be chewed, I think) and enough food for a week.

The idea was, because of the heat and the fact that, when it was really hot, he did suffer a bit, he would go for a few days to N’s, who is on her own right now and has a portable air-conditioning unit, so that he would, perhaps, be more comfortable – and to give him a few days break from Dino.

Although, maybe, also, to give N some company and so she would go walking in the park, etc., etc.  Not sure who it’s for really.  As the weather has broken, maybe more for N than Rufus?

As it would be too difficult to leave Dino in the house whilst taking Rufus over, I take them both.  Dino now happy to go in the car.  Dino is a ‘licker’, licking everything – it’s like we would shake hands or give a kiss – he has to taste everything.  I’m not sure how I get him out of that habit as not everyone likes it.  I’ve never had this so much with dogs before.  Hmm.

Anyway, we get over to the flat.  Dino, as a puppy, wants to go everywhere, Rufus just lies down and goes to sleep, as normal.

We have pizza and then go and meet some ex-pats who are trying to sort out their move to Italy, for an ice-cream, taking the boys with us.

Dino and I leave Rufus in his new, temporary home.  Rufus won’t miss us at all.  I was intrigued as to how Dino would be without Rufus.  We arrive back and he is the same as always except, perhaps, a little quieter, which is no bad thing.  It doesn’t seem to bother him though.  It was certainly quicker doing the walk this morning.

Soon, given Rufus’ age, this is how it will be.  Then I will have to make more of an effort to ensure we go walking when and where other dogs are about as, normally, at the times I take them out, we rarely see any and Dino will need some ‘dog stimulation’ for certain.

I’m sure N and Rufus will have a great time.