Tag Archives: Milan

I am now a twit; Hot, Hot, Hot

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I have succumbed. Now let’s see how it works. It seems to be easy enough and, if it works as easily as it seems then I can see why it has become the thing of the moment.

On the side you will now see my Tweets. It might be useful whilst I am away, if I am unable to blog much.

Yesterday, in the late afternoon, whilst I was taking a break from sweating profusely (aka cleaning the house), I noticed that my Weather Pixie said it was 35°C. And that is at Linate airport, a few miles out of town from me. So it would have been a couple of degrees hotter on the Perfect Street.

To be honest I just love it although, unfortunately, Rufus is suffering a bit. Still, it won’t last for long.

And this morning, at work, when I went outside for a cigarette, I could only stand a few moments in the sun before having to move into the shade. For me, that is great.

And still no zanzare! I can hardly believe it, although the people who live in the Hinterland (suburbs) are starting to suffer them so I guess it’s only a matter of days now.

Update Apr 2015: I no longer have my tweets showing.

When is a question not a question? When it’s asked by an Italian!

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Sometimes, I just love Italians and the way they think. It’s like living on a different planet.

Having been to Mantova’s Festivaletteratura a number of times I have found that, given the opportunity to speak in public, they really don’t know when to stop or, worse, get to the point.

This is particularly true when they ask questions.

The night before last, I was honoured to be invited to my good friend Stef’s graduation, for he has worked very hard over the last two years and got his MBA. As usual, when he is pleased with himself (as he has every right to be), he just can’t stop grinning.

Of course, before the actual handout of the certificates, there had to be some speech by some guy and then he was asked questions from the panel of lecturers. The last question though, took about 3 minutes to ask and then, at the end, the question failed to materialise! They are a strange people, these Italians.

There was another guy who, I think, was actually doing the handing out – he actually started his speech by saying it would be brevissimo (very short). Of course, he was Italian so that was his own special joke and he continued to talk for over 15 minutes!

Anyway, aside from that it was a very nice evening with drinks and apero food afterwards. N & I managed to get quite a few prossecco’s down us and I met Stef’s parents and younger brother.

There was only one thing, and this is one of those little things that still smart after all this time – if V & I had been together and there, after the event, it would have been nice to go for a quick pizza. But we’re not together and even though I really fancied it, I didn’t go on my own. I did resist calling him which, I thought, was good, as it would have felt far too needy – at least from my point of view.

Yesterday, I have been mostly wearing sandals

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Those of you from the UK will remember the BBC comedy program The Fast Show, from which this title is taken.

And it’s true. It is now so hot (hurrah!) that, last night, for the first time this year I wore sandals to take the dogs for a walk and did so again this morning

>For those of you who don’t know, I cannot abide cold feet – and my feet feel the cold a lot. I will not wear socks with sandals and for the first forty-odd years of my life I wore sandals for about 6 days a year (and changed in the evening for socks and shoes).

It is only since coming here that I can wear sandals all day and night – and I love it.

And so, it is likely that now and for most of the time between now and mid to end September, I shall be wearing sandals.

I am exceedingly happy about that.

A Warning – a poke in the eye with a large iron bar – about a week too late!!!!

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We have metal windows at work. Recently we have had a man in, fixing the windows. Not that there was anything really wrong with them but, according to sources, for security reasons, they had to be modified. This involved drilling and, generally making a lot of noise.

When the Window Fixer was doing our office I had to leave. The noise of the drill and the fact that the windows were open, leading to things being blown about and because, whilst fixing two of the windows, I could not sit at my desk, meant that I found things to do outside the office.

This was last week (Wednesday or Thursday, I can’t really remember).

Today our illustrious Purchasing Manager came into the office with our Health and Safety Manager. They wanted to check that the work done was OK.

Did the windows work? – Well, yes (but they did before?)

Did the Window Fixer remove the windows to do the job? – Well, I wasn’t here for most of it but I didn’t see him remove them.

Finally, the warning was given, in Italian because our H&S Manager speaks English worse than I speak Italian which, as regular readers will know, is terrible, our Purchasing Manager translated that:

I should be careful not to allow small particles of dust from the drilling of the window to get in my eye as he (our H&S Manager) did!

Hmm. I look incredulously at him, suppressing the belly laugh of scorn that should have greeted this statement.

‘But’, I pointed out, ‘the job was done last week so I guess I don’t have to worry about it now!’

Honest to God, this man seems to get more useless by the passing day.

Not just the British complain about the weather.

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This morning, as I drive to work, it is already 20 degrees! Over an hour earlier, before most people were even awake or, at least, before they were out and about, I was walking the dogs.

It is warm enough not to wear a coat and wear light clothes. I do not quite trust it enough to be wearing sandals but, another week of this and maybe I will.

Two weeks ago the Italians (and I) were complaining that there was too much rain and that it was far too cold. “It’s too cold for May” or “There’s too much rain”, they say (me too!).

Now the Italians (but NOT me) are complaining that it is too hot! “It’s too hot for May”, they say! I say “For me, if it were like this every day I would be very, very happy”.

I slip on a pair of old jeans

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Fashion. Like modern art, I like what I like. The problem for me is that, when I like something, I like it a lot and for much longer than I probably should. So, I tend to keep things even if they don’t really fit or are just “out of fashion”.

Some things, of course, are beyond the fashion of any particular time. They have an elegance and style that may never have been the height of fashion but, in any event, will never really be out of style – ever.

I have some things like that. In the “good old days” when we had money, they were expensive but have proved to have been worth every penny, since they have been worn time and time again, in different guises, and have been made so well that they still look as if they were bought more recently.

Some years ago, with my first foray into Iceberg (one of my favourite labels), I found a pair of jeans in Harvey Nichols in London that I just had to have. Unfortunately, they only seemed to have bought one size of each pair and my true size had already gone but the size down were there, being tried on by some guy. We waited as he umm’d and ah’d about whether he really liked them or whether they really fitted him.

Eventually, he put them back on the shelf and it was all I could do to not snatch them up before they had actually touched the shelf. I tried them on and, although they felt more like a second skin, took them anyway.

After about a year of living here I found I had gained a little weight until, unfortunately, they were just too tight to do up the top button.

And then you bring love and break-up into it, for certainly, when you are in the first stages of love it seems (or has done for me) that it sheds pounds although I do not feel that I eat less. This is true for break-ups.

And so, after the move, I find these pair of jeans, ironed and ready to wear and tonight, as I am off out with friends for a pizza I thought I would try them on.

They fit perfectly and as they remain my favourite pair of jeans ever and they still look as if I bought them this season (apart from the fact that there are no jeans this season that are like them – to be honest, even when I bought them I never did see anyone else wearing them either in the UK or in Milan), I am wearing them as I wait for my friends to call to say they have arrived. I guess I’ll be wearing them a lot this summer. I am so happy about that as they look really good with a T-shirt and sandals!

I can even call them “vintage” jeans now! Whoah, yes!

They’re back!

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It rained overnight and I guess that’s why they’re back. It’s to be expected of course. But it doesn’t stop it being very annoying.

I woke up with the alarm and, for the first time for absolutely ages, decided to hit the snooze button. But sleep was not to come. The droning started almost immediately.

First close and then further away – but always present. It sounds like one of those unmanned aircraft. But when it’s close it is quite loud. Instead of going back to sleep, my elbow feels itchy. I scratch it. Maybe it’s psychological, only, maybe not.

>And then it lands but in this case, although the droning has stopped, there is no ‘Thank Goodness’ from me.

That’s because it’s on my face and, in my half-asleep condition, I have no skill to kill it properly. I slap my face but know that it has already left – I can hear the drone in the distance.  I get up, before the alarm sounds again, after all, what’s the point, it’s not going away any time soon!

Of course, one swallow doesn’t make a summer – and so, one zanzare (or is it zanzara if it’s only one – anyway, they’re mosquitoes to you!)) doesn’t mean that, immediately the infestation will start. It may not be today; it may not be tomorrow but someday, soon, they will be filling the flat to destroy my night’s sleep or worse, creating large, red, lumps, over my body.

Worse still, after the first few ‘bites’ will I have the usual swelling of my arm, as most other years? I hope not. Not that it’s painful but it’s not pleasant.

Still, come July or August and they will be gone. Maybe, this year, the local councils will spray to get rid of them which, at least, reduces their number? Let’s hope so.

The Final Conclusion or The Final Betrayal; Travelling and Quandaries; Not as Gay as I was?

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The Final Answer to The Final Question has been confirmed in the affirmative. This has made V very happy despite it being too late in certain respects.

Of course, The Final Answer is not the end of it. There will either be The Final Conclusion or The Final Betrayal. At this stage, obviously, I don’t know which. I have been promised The Final Conclusion but, if you’ve been reading this blog over the last few months, you will have some idea as to my uncertainty regarding things concerning V.

This last few weeks have been somewhat busy at work, hence my lack of posting. And, when I get home, there is, now, less time to sit at the computer and ‘mess around’ than there was.

And, it is almost certain (I shall know on Friday, definitely), I shall be going to the UK for a few days for work. Whilst I am there, I shall stay on a few days to renew my passport. It seems, from the website, that I shall be able to get it all done in 1 day (at extra cost, of course). This is slightly imperative on the basis that I shall only have one day to do it before needing to travel back to Milan! I shall let you know how it goes, for all of you ex-pats.

The alternative was a month to wait whilst it went through the consulate in Rome.

And then there will be Paris in June.

And the reason for writing this is the dogs, for I absolutely MUST do something with them and I cannot take them with me. So what to do? I can put them in kennels of course. Or I could get someone to look after them. Or I could ask V but asking V means that I have to rely on him. It’s a quandary. In addition, the day I come back will be the day that used to be our anniversary. I don’t know that I want to go and pick the dogs up on that day. However, since it is only two weeks before the first trip I do need to do something pretty sharpish.

Finally, as you will have read in an earlier post, it seems I may not be quite as gay as I thought I might be, in spite of using hand cream. And by that I mean that I lost the cream (it fell from my pocket whilst walking to the car) and I didn’t notice for two days!

To be fair, my hands, or rather, the part of my hands that were particularly bad, are much better. But there is still a stubborn area of hard skin. So I bought some new hand cream and have started using it once or twice a day. I’m not sure I can stand any more than that!

But, as soon as they are back to normal I shall stop using the stuff and be back, once more, to being the straight gay guy that I have always been. Hurrah!

Mrs Dentist was wrong, apparently.

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Even the dentist agrees that something was definitely wrong.

I should not have been in that> much pain receiving the anaesthetic. And, he doesn’t agree that his wife (for they are husband and wife) is right about the pain being caused by the broken tooth (and I concur with him).

They have phoned S, earlier, to ask if I will go back, after work, for him to have another look. He wants to do an x-ray higher up, to include the jaw bone.

Looking at the new x-ray he decides that the far back one will, unfortunately, have to come out and the next one has a particular problem that was not apparent before.

I go back next Tuesday after the antibiotics have done their thing.

I wish I could say that I was looking forward to it…….

I take a trip to the chemist (twice)

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I decide I must go the chemist after all. It’s 3 and I decide to drive, walking will take too long and I can’t use public transport.

I get in the car and start the drive. I know which chemist I am going to. The traffic is light – well, almost non-existent. That is because this is just after 3 in the bloody morning! I got home at midnight with my tooth aching as it has done, on and off, for about 2 days. I know what the problem is – it is infected (again). I had, sort of, hoped it would go away but it hasn’t and now, instead of the pain lasting for an hour or so, it has lasted for several hours and has now woken me up at this ungodly hour.

I am in so much pain (and, being a man, this is tripled or quadrupled, of course) that I cannot do anything. When I got home at midnight the pain was bad. So much so that I texted V to ask if the chemist was till open in Corso Buenos Aires (it used to be an all-night one) and what I should get as I don’t usually do pills so really have no idea.

He says that he thinks the chemist is open and that I should ask for Synflex 550.

So, at just after midnight I trot off to the chemist – to find it no longer did the overnight opening but had a sign to say that it was now open from 8 a.m. To 8 p.m. Damn! I look for the nearest one open at this time from the list they have posted. I know where the nearest one is but it’s just too far to go, I have been out and had a few drinks and I want the pain to stop now.

I phone V. Does he have something? He says that he does but it’s not very strong. I say that that is OK by me. I go to the old flat. He has the pills ready and a glass of water. I take them, gratefully.

I go home. I go to bed. I go to sleep. Then I am up again at three and this time the pain is worse. I cannot stand the dogs who think it is time to go for a walk. I dismiss them and then feel sorry for them because it is not their fault but rather the pain’s.

I leave them to take the drive to the chemist that I am almost certain will be open.

I park, across tram lines, knowing that there will be no trams at this hour. I go to the chemist door. They are not open as such but I am invited, by a sign, to ring the bell. I ring, almost jumping up and down with the pain by now. I wait. This is taking too long. I ring again.

A bleary-eyed man arrives at the door. There is a small metal cover which he can open. He asks what I want. I tell him. Normally, at the chemist, when you ask for this stuff, they question you as to what you want it for; have you ever taken it before; before grudgingly going to get the packet.

He just asks for €10. I guess that, if you’re coming out here at this time to get this you know why you want it and have used it before. I give him 20 through the metal door that he has now opened, slightly.

He goes away. He returns quite quickly. He hands me the box and the change through the metal door. I thank him. It is as much as I can do not to tear open the box there and then and take a whole load of them.

I get in the car and drive back. In the 30 minutes or so that this whole exercise has taken, my parking place has been taken. I curse Italians and Italian drivers in particular. I drive round and find one space in a residential zone. I now live out of the zone for which I have the permit. I don’t care. I need to take the pills. I park, reasoning that between now and 7.15 when I shall leave, there won’t be anyone calling the police to have my car towed away for being parked in a wrong place.

I get back to the flat and once again, cannot greet the dogs who are happy to see me as if I have just got home from work.

I take the pills. I know that they will take effect – but, obviously, not within one second.

I wait for them to take hold. At 4.30 I go back to bed. I don’t really sleep but need to so much.

At 5.45 the alarm goes off and I find that I have slept, thank goodness.

Still, I am grateful for all-night chemists and grateful, in this case, that I live somewhere where it is possible to get to the chemist without having to travel for half an hour.

I am, unsurprisingly, very tired today.

I go to my dentist at 12.30. He will give me antibiotics and everything will be fine within a day, I know. I very much hope that I will be able to sleep tonight.