442 pub. Apparently, looking after the dogs will cost me a pint of English beer and a burger. Less than kennels anyway.
On the subject of Wimbledon, let’s hope the great Scottish player, Murray, will make it through. It will make the afternoon so much more fun.
Also a colleague from work and her husband may come. So it might be quite a party (and quite a few good beers!).
I have to go away to another Northern country. I really didn’t come to Italy to be travelling outside all the time (OK, it’s not true but right now that’s how it feels).
V moves out on Saturday. This is good – but, of course, it does mean that there is no one to take the boys whilst I am away! Damn!
I immediately thought of the kennels. I rang the shop to see what time they open. 10.30 a.m. Hmm, no way to make Malpensa airport in about 5 minutes so no good at all.
V did offer to have the key to the flat but I’m really not keen on letting him have the run of the place. It’s my place and I want it to stay that way. If he comes here (without me being here) then, somehow, that makes it different – at least, in my head!
FfI offered the other day, so I might try her, tomorrow. Else there are a couple of other people or I could get someone to take them to the kennels on Monday night and I pick them up Wednesday morning.
Or, of course, you could come and stay here. Near the heart of downtown Milan. Beautiful (if unfinished) flat in a wonderful street! Sounds tempting, eh?
The strings are a) you have to look after the dogs and b) you must be here by about 8 a.m. on Monday morning!
I’m waiting………(hopefully)……….
Well, as I have told you in previous posts, as from tomorrow morning I shall be travelling to, or in, Paris. Gay Paris as it is called or as it was called before ‘gay’ took on a whole new meaning (and since then, amongst younger people another meaning entirely).
So, I probably won’t be blogging – but I shall be twittering (see side and down a bit), so do pop by if you want to know how things are going. I won’t be able to respond to any comments on the blog or on twitter – just so as you know.
I must just tell you about the last few nights.
Tuesday night, I met up with friends from the UK and we went to a few bars for a few drinks and some apero food. It was most pleasant. And, because of where they originally planned to ‘land’ in Milan, it was Corso Como and the surrounding area.
What I was struck with was that the prices, even in Corso Como, were not so steep. €7 per drink and some very nice food in the bar we stopped at in Corso Como. Then some good beer in the Birreria nearby and then another bar (near a new – I think – Princi) in Corso Garibaldi. Then I walked them back to their car. But a really enjoyable evening all round.
Last night I was out with another friend just for a couple of drinks and Apero food. This time, a couple of tram stops from my home at an Irish bar, Matricola Pub on Viale Romagna, 43 – Milano (MI). I had a couple of (pints) Bulldog Ale a great, not-too-bitter bitter and the food was very acceptable, especially their pizza bits.
The only downside to it all was that the staff were, at best, not happy whilst the girl waitress was downright miserable. The ‘landlady’ looked like the typical sort of English or Irish landlady, fake-blonde hair, swept up in a sort of loose bun, short, rather rotund and she could have been one of those overly-cheerful types – but she wasn’t. Instead she only smiled on a couple of occasions whilst we were there!
Still, the beer was good and being so easy to get to from my house, I can see myself popping up there more often! I shall have to see if they’re open on a Sunday lunchtime – after all, it would be a pleasant walk with the dogs and a good stopping place for lunch!
Brunch. Invented by the Americans or, more likely, people too lazy to get up early enough on a Sunday to have a proper breakfast but wanted a breakfast anyway, rather than a lunch. And so, the two merged together and became Brunch.
Great idea. And the times were flexible. An early Brunch would be about 11 or 11.30; a late one about 2 or 3 p.m.
Brunch was quite simply a late breakfast – to include bacon, eggs, sausage, beans and toast and marmalade.
And the Italians like the idea of Brunch a lot only, being in Italy, they’ve made it Italian.
What does that mean? Well, certain establishments do the bacon and eggs thing (with other things) like, for example Indiana Post on the Navigli. Other, more Italian places, have dispensed with that and just do the Italian Brunch.
And what makes an Italian Brunch? Well, basically anything you may have for lunch even, maybe, including pasta – but usually without the main meat course.
And on Sunday I was invited to M’s place. My first time there.
So, being Italian the thing is the number of dishes. Rather than having a few main dishes, they like variety. There was meat and there was cheese. Then there was a kind of chicken curry risotto and two different quiche-like pies. And there was this Sicilian/Sardinian bread (can’t remember which place it’s from). There was tea and coffee (American rather than espresso) and juice and water.
Then we had sbrisolona (not one of my favourites, I have to be honest) and la greca (both cakes from Mantova where one of the guests, Marco, is from). La greca was a kind of lemon/almond cake and very nice. I’ve certainly never had it in Mantova before so will be on the lookout for it next time I’m there. There were also normal (small) pastries. There was also fresh fruit (cherries, nectarines, strawberries and melon).
Luckily, I brought a couple of good bottles of Rosé and someone else brought some Moscato for the sweets.
Then there was espressos all round.
It was a lovely afternoon (we left about 7 p.m. having got there for 1.30) but, to my mind, Brunch it was not. Italian (it only missed being under a pergola overlooking the Tuscan hills), it most certainly was and, given the right setting (as I described), it was almost exactly what you would expect from an Italian summer lunch.
>I’m just going to have to do a proper Brunch for them all, aren’t I? Although, they would probably think it strange not to have more than a couple of hundred different dishes. Ah well, this would have to be another in my quest to get Italians to understand that not all British food is tasteless rubbish.
Now, here’s a thing. When I first met V, he could cook Spaghetti Bolognese and that was all. Over the years he became quite proficient at cooking and we entertained quite a lot. I would always do the sweet whilst he would do most of the other things.
However, now that V is no longer there, I am back to doing my own thing.
Whilst in the UK, I bought quite a few pieces of Stilton and Cheddar. Also, from Londis in Hay-on-Wye, the best smoked bacon I have ever tasted. They cut it and vacuum pack it on the premises so it’s not like supermarket bacon which shrivels as the water content vaporises but it stays almost the same size and is really very tasty.
So, as I am determined to demonstrate to Italians that the food from the UK is not like they think, I had promised A that I would do dinner, mainly so that he could try the Stilton (with Port, of course).
Friday night was a night out with colleagues at an agriturismo called Ai Boschi in a small village called Origgio, not far from Milan. The nice thing about agriturismos is that they grow a lot of their food on the premises. I suppose they are an extension to the British ‘Farm Shop’. Agriturismos will have a restaurant and, quite often, rooms. Unfortunately, they are not all great. This one was, well, mediocre.
It meant that I did not get home until about 2 a.m. I had already said to A that dinner would be Saturday or Sunday depending on how things went (cleaning the house, etc.). As it was, I actually got up about 11.30 which was very late for me. And put me all behind.
However, I made the supreme effort to clean the house and, finally, at about 7 p.m. went shopping. I managed to make it in time to get the Port from the little off-licence near Corso Buenos Aires so called A to say we were on for the dinner.
To start, I had a baked pasta dish, given to me by G, our cook at work. Then I made a warm bacon and chicken salad – the bacon from Londis and the salad including salad cream which I had also picked up in the UK. Finally, cheese, British cheese biscuits, apples and port.
A made some big thing about me being able to cook and it made me think that V did most of it after all. A didn’t know I could cook whereas, in reality, it was me who taught V how to cook.
The meal was a great success. F really loved the bacon and the Stilton, which made me very happy. My first dinner in the flat!
Sunday I went for brunch at A&F’s. M, A’s friend was there too. As he pointed out, it was more like a wedding breakfast! Many courses and it lasted for hours.
And, the weather over the weekend was great so a good weekend all round.
I’ve only seen a couple of his plays on television, well, at least, some of his monologues. But D came over to see me and after lunch we went down to the Festival to see what was on.
After seeing Chris Patten, we went to see Alan Bennett.
He was very funny, reading some excerpts from his diary (which, I guess, is his latest publication). It’s a thing that real writers have, that I, as a blog writer, don’t. The ability to see the mudane and ordinary and, somehow make them interesting or, even, humourous. I wish…..
The weather remains warm and sunny. The new pair of sandals I bought in Goldworthy’s on Friday – to replace my favourite pair that I bought from there about 6 years ago and, eventually, this year became too difficult to wear, the insoles having become almost completely detached from the soles, the stitching being so undone in places as to mean I had to be careful putting them on in case the thread became tied up with my toes and now they could be safely called ‘Dino’s Sandals’ since I know how much he likes my old shoes – I am now wearing as I write this.
My feet feel a little cold but, when I get out in the sun, I hope they will feel OK. I know that by about 4 p.m. I should change and go back to shoes and socks – this is not Milan, after all – but at least I should try, I feel.
Looking out from Best Mate’s bedroom (The Smoking Room) window, I watched the booksellers laying out their stalls in the Butter Market over the lst couple of days. This morning was the turn of the Craft Fair stallholders. I wonder who buys all this stuff? And why?
I’ve been getting a newspaper every day since I got here. I like to be able to feel the paper as I read – it makes a change from the Internet – but I have decided that I really can’t be bothered to buy a Sunday paper this morning. I mean they are so large and, for me, so largely unread it is not only a waste of money but also paper.
And now, as I write this, I am doing coffee for Best Mate and I – and I hear the moka telling me it’s time to go……
It’s been three years since I was last at the Hay Fetival. It’s nice to be back and it certainly helps that the weather is good. I’ve been seeing a lot of people that I know and it’s been good to chat with them over a coffee/pimms/beer/whatever.
Everyone seems genuinely pleased to see me.
Everyone seems to know about V & I splitting so there is the usual start to the conversation proper, where they are unsure as to what to say about it, but once I explain that we’re still friends and that, although I have custody of the boys, V is looking after them whilst I am here, they are much more relaxed about it.
I’ve been to one event today and will, probably, try to go to another later this afternoon, if I can drag Best Mate down there. I’ve hardly had anything to drink – just been talking, really.
Still, if Best Mate comes down, I feel a couple of beers coming on……….
We were, after all, very different people. That’s what made us good together. We offered different things to each other and to other people.
But, yesterday, I was reminded of the things we never (or rarely) did together. Of course, these were things that I liked to do but, for one reason or another, I usually did on my own. I suspect V has a similar list (and I can think of one thing already).
I suppose the positive side to this is that, as I usually did them on my own, nothing has changed. But, before, I always had the hope that “this time would be different” and that he would be there. Now I don’t have that and I find it quite sad. Not in a depressed way just in a “what a shame” way.
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.
I bought two curtain poles and fixings. The first was yellow as the curtains and lounge is a mixture of yellows and red. The second was white as the bedroom curtains and walls are white.
After successfully putting up the lounge curtains, I started on the bedroom ones. Afraid of heights, nonetheless, I dutifully climbed up and down the ladders with drill/screwdrivers/pliers, etc. a number of times.
The holders for the rod were fixed. All I now needed was the rod itself. One small problem. I couldn’t find it.
It’s a bloke thing. We can’t find stuff that is right in front of us. I have this problem for certain.
So, although I had only bought it on Saturday, it had already disappeared. I hunted in every room. Unfortunately, it is the same colour as most of the walls. And I was certain that I had put it upright in some corner.
I checked behind each door (twice), in each corner of each room/alcove/whatever. I even checked the kitchen even though I was pretty sure it would not be there as I do not trust Dino not to try and eat it as the new toy.
I must have walked past it several times before, eventually, I noticed I had propped it up in a corner created near the front door.
At least it was found but I could have saved a lot of time if I had remembered where I had put it in the first place. I like being a bloke but sometimes …….
Tonight must be more drilling; putting up the ‘new to me’ kitchen cupboard from FfI (who is no longer responding to calls or texts – ah well) and, hopefully, some ironing or cleaning, both of which I detest.