Tag Archives: Strange things

Hanging pictures on the floor

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We’re hanging pictures on the floor. As one does.

Obviously, we’re not really hanging them since they won’t hang on the floor. The wall was measured and then the floor was cleared to make room and the floor was measured out. Bits of masking tape were used to mark the corners.

I brought in the pictures from the living room, a few at a time. I am acutely aware that I must not break any or drop any. It, of course, makes it so much more dangerous, me having this knowledge. I place them carefully on the floor (outside the area marked, of course) or on top of each other.

The pictures are laid out on the floor. They are changed. There are too many of them. The top right corner doesn’t look right – too many small ones. The order is changed. And changed. And changed again, and on.

Eventually, they are right, it seems. It seemed that way to me before now but now, after the final few changes, it seems right. The wall (for it is not all of it) is measured and masking tape used to mark the point where the pictures will start.

I bring the first one in. The picture is positioned and the nail point secured. The nail is hammered in and the picture hung. It is the first of very many. They are all photographs of the same woman. I go and fetch the next one (in order, as they will be positioned on the wall at the top) – the first row first – as they are positioned on the floor.

Nails are taken out sometimes as they won’t go all the way in. Or, rather, enough of the way in to allow the picture to hang correctly. Everything is, almost, very precise. Each picture is hung, not in a moment, but in a minute or two, placed, centred on the nail, hanging perfectly. Row after row.

It takes some time.

Then we are to unveil the sofa and move it back against the wall – the wall where the pictures are.

Ah, but wait!

‘I don’t want you think I’m a maniac’, he says, ‘but I want to clean the pictures first’.

‘Of course I think you’re a maniac, but a lovely maniac’, I reply, smiling.

The pictures are cleaned. The covers are taken off the sofa. It is in two pieces and they are slotted together. We do this and push it back against the wall. It is perfect. Of course it is perfect. It’s F’s flat.

I think that, tomorrow night it will be three whole months since we first met. It seems it cannot be true. Surely, it is longer than that?

I told him I loved him last night, when we had got to bed. He answered that he knew I did. I was pleased as it means he can see it even by the things I do.

And I do. So much and, when I’m with him, I am not scared. And, as he was on the ladder, banging another nail in the wall and his shirt rode up and I caught a glimpse of his stomach and looked at him, I also thought that he is a really sexy guy. It’s perfect. Well, not perfect but perfect all the same. And he loves me too and, sometimes, I feel I must be the luckiest person ever!

There is No Primark in Milan

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There. In spite of this being one of the fashion centres of the world and there being many other shops like Zara and H&M and a million and one outlet shops, THERE IS NO PRIMARK IN MILAN.

Really sorry for those of you looking for it from all over Europe but it just isn’t here (unless, of course, it’s such a big secret that nobody knows about!)!

And they ignored my email regarding this.

Update [May 2015]: I have been told that Primark are currently looking for a site in Milan (and also Rome and Venice) to open a shop. From what I read on the Internet, these shops should be open before the end of 2015.

Le Vent Du Nord; New Year’s Food Feast

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Last night, F, along with Al (of the R&Al fame) and another friend went to see Loretta Goggi. As she does a bit of singing but also a bit of comedy, etc. F said that, maybe I shouldn’t go as it would be too difficult for me. In this case, I agreed with him. I mean, if it were just music or if it were a film (with a plot) then that’s one thing – a stand-up/cabaret act is another thing entirely and I didn’t want to spoil his enjoyment by being there and him feeling he had to explain everything.

And so, as this had been arranged some time ago, R suggested we go out for dinner whilst they were at the show.

The other friend’s girlfriend, Ale was with us too. She is really nice and I like her a lot. We had quite a lot in common – mainly food-wise.

Anyway, on to the restaurant, which is why I’m posting this post. It’s called Le Vent Du Nord and is, apparently, Belgian. One good thing about Belgian places is the beer – and that was certainly true of this place. The one I chose was superb. Belgian beer has a particular taste, very malty, and I like it a lot.

But this place is one of the places to go for mussels (moules). I chose Moules Marinieres and it was, quite honestly, fabulous! Cooked to perfection and so tasty. Ale chose some other version. After we had finished, we both wanted a little more and so were going to get one between us – unfortunately, it was their last night before closing for a week and so they had no more left. Whilst we understood, we were, to say the least, a little disappointed.

Apart from the food and drink the evening was really nice.

And, I think, Ale and I could be firm friends.

If you like mussels (they do other things too, including meat) and Belgian beer then this is, certainly, a place to go in Milan, even if it is a little bit of a trek from the centre itself. In the end a couple of beers each, the moules, a sweet and, for two of us, a digestivo only cost 25€ per head – great value, I think you would agree.

The service was excellent. All-round, a great restaurant.

R dropped me home and I did the dogs. F rang after he had come out of the show and picked me up in a taxi and we spent the night at his place as he is working as I write.

Tonight we are just us, here, at my flat, being a little Italian with a little left-over shepherd’s pie (obviously NOT Italian) and zampone with lentils which I adore. Always eaten at New Year as the lentils mean wealth. Zampone is pigs trotter filled with some sort of meat stuffing – a little like a large sausage but more glutinous. It would never sell in the UK but you should try it if you get the chance as it really is scrumptious!

And, on that note, I wish all my readers a very, very Happy New Year.

It’s like stepping through a portal into the Dark Ages.

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It’s a simple thing, really. I want to pay a bill. I have my bank account details and their bank account details. I need to make the payment today.

In the UK, I would go to a (any) branch of my bank and make the payment (if it wasn’t online). This would be a simple thing. They would check, via computer, that I had enough funds. They would make the payment by the computer. I may have to sign something or use my bank card. The payment would be made and, within a couple of days (or the same day if the same bank) the payment would be done. Easy.

Ma, siamo in Italia (but, we are in Italy). I go to the nearest bank. The same bank as mine but a different branch. No, they can’t do it. But they can send the slip that I fill in, to my branch, who will make the payment. Or I can pay it by cash and then they can do it from there. This, I remind you, is the same bank, with branches all over the North of Italy (maybe, even, all of Italy!). It’s just not my branch.

OK then, I say, can I withdraw the money from my account and do it that way. Apparently not. You see, my money is only at the branch I have the current account with. But, what she can do, if I fill in the form, is to fax the form to my bank and they will do it today.  Fax!  Perhaps carrier pigeon would make the whole system run faster.

Wait, I think, they have computers.  But, not, it can’t be done.  So, I ask myself, what is the point in banking with a ‘nationwide’ bank if you can’t do much except withdraw money from the cash machines?

However, I really need to pay it and so I fill in the form. She telephones my branch to confirm that I have a current account there (I wonder what is the point in computers here?) and asks for the fax number so that she can fax it through.

So, she will, by now, have faxed it through. Someone at my branch will have typed it into the computer and then the payment will be made in God knows how many days.

And then I went outside to withdraw money from the cash machine – which, if I didn’t have enough money in the account, wouldn’t have let me have it.

I am puzzled as to how this country actually works at all. Sometimes, it’s like stepping through a portal into the Dark Ages.

I’m dreaming of a White Christmas

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Not quite what you think.  This would be what I am talking about.  Italy, with it’s long history of emigration rather than immigration, can’t handle it in so many ways.  But to be doing house-to-house searches?  This country has many throw-backs from the Fascist era, including Identity Cards, etc. and this reminds me of the type of thing they (The Germans and Italians) did prior to and during WWII.

And this differs from the laws introduced by Hitler before ‘The Final Solution’ only in the fact that there are no gas chambers involved.

To my mind it is a despicable thing to do.  I understand that a country cannot just ‘open it’s doors’ to all that want to come, especially when they see the prospect of a much better and economically more viable life.  However, wasn’t this similar to the things depicted by Anne Frank (again, without the gas chambers, admittedly).

Even though the news is being made here, don’t think, for a moment, that this is the terrible work of a bunch of extremist politicians.  Worse than this is the thinking of ‘ordinary people’.  You know, people like you and me!  Comments made to me here, as I have mentioned at odd times before, distress me for the fact that, although they don’t actually lead to the deportation of people or the raiding of houses, they are the reason that these things are being done by the politicians.

I have heard, far too often how the immigrants are to blame for many of the country’s woes, both here and in the UK.  Of course, it is useful for the politicians as it deflects the blame from them to these unknown and, therefore, frightening ‘flood’ of foreigners.

And, I keep thinking that, in the end, I am one of them.  Sure, lucky enough to have a job; lucky enough to have white skin; lucky enough to have been born in the EU, where the borders now allow me to live where I want within the EU; lucky enough, now, to have a white boyfriend – because there were times (a few) when I have been very scared for both V and myself; lucky enough.

But life could be very different were it not for my place of birth and my parents nationality and so on.

And, just in case you think I joke about how the UK is the same – I remember a ‘friend’ blaming the eastern Europeans for ‘bringing problems to the area’ for the increase in crime, for not feeling safe in her own town, etc.  And that leads to the BNP gaining more power.  Now, imagine that the BNP held the balance of power in the Government – what do you think happens then?

But it’s Christmas, and so, just because it is (and because I love this song), I include this:

[Video now removed as it didn’t work and I don’t remember what it was. Sorry]

So I may not have Christmas carols everywhere but at least I shall have Doris and Bing!

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It’s funny, really.  I only thought about it today but I know what’s different.

Christmas Carols.  There aren’t any.  Sure, we have the same kind of piped music in the shops.  Maria Carey with her greatest Christmas Hits, blaring out, not so subtly, for example.  But what I don’t see (although maybe it’s just Milan, or, even Milan centre) is groups of people singing Christmas Carols.

What we do have at this time of year is street vendors selling chestnuts, which is nice; flashing lights round people’s balconies or windows (thank God that the fad for Santas climbing up ladders seems to have almost gone); decorated trees or some sort of modern version in most shops; beautiful Christmas lights down the main streets or the little ‘centres’ that are outside the centre of Milan but are their own little community, like on a section of Via Stoppani, for example.

We also have (or have had) the local priest coming round to bless the ‘house’ although, being at work, I always miss it, which is, probably, just as well.

And last night, as I walked into F’s flat, there were Christmas songs being played.  Now I should point out that, for the last 20 years, on the dot of the 1st December, out came the Christmas CDs.  Some of which I didn’t have a problem with.  However, after the hundredth hearing of Maria Carey’s (breathy) Ultra-Special Christmas Album, I’d had enough.  So by about the 10th December I didn’t want to hear any Christmas songs again!

The difference, which was refreshing, was that last night it was all the sort of stuff I like – Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Perry Como and, even, Doris Day!  All the kind of stuff that I really do like at Christmas. But what he doesn’t seem to have is an Italian singer’s Christmas album (I shall, of course, check now).

So I may not have Christmas carols everywhere but at least I shall have Doris and Bing!

One food in common – Anchovies!

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F was in his element. Greeting people like he had known them for years, and some of them, of course, he had. For those, he knew their names (something I always struggle with) and remembered things about them. I have always admired that but I am aware you can train yourself to be better at it.  I don’t have the will, really.

F took my coat – mainly because he was ‘showing me off’.  Which is fine.  I was introduced as his ‘findanzato’ to a number of people.  I am proud to be so.  And I can do the ‘being very charming and nice’.  I am gay, after all!  I just can never remember their names after 2 seconds.  Ah well.

Of course, other than FfI (with her ‘walker’ as she described him) and N&aS, I knew a number of people already.  People that I have met, including M who is really lovely (and drinks beer like a true English woman), the Manageress of the shop, D – tall, long blonde hair, S, who works with F and is helping with the flat also and a really nice guy, D another guy from the shop, etc., etc.

And I met the BIG MAN himself.  What a really pleasant, down-to-earth guy he was.  I spent a few minutes chatting with him, laughing and joking.  None of your snobby ‘I’m a designer so look at me’ thing going on.  Really nice guy.

There was champagne and nibbles.  After, we all went for a meal.  Nice evening all round.  And then F, who was going to go back to his flat, decided to come and stay with me and this, after no pressure from me whatsoever.  It’s times like that when I feel that he feels the same as me.  And that makes me feel so good.

V and I are exchanging emails as you may have realised from the post below.  It also includes various other things (Rufus, the conclusion of the Final Question, etc., etc.)

I had invited him to the do last night.  After all, this was the world he wanted to be in.  However, he couldn’t go (or chose not to go).  And, I had mentioned that I would be seeing S&N there.  He included a last paragraph, saying that he was concerned because I had changed so much and he thought perhaps I was getting in too deep and he didn’t want me to be hurt and was I sure that this was good?

I wonder why?  Yes, I have changed.  My hair is no longer dyed, so it’s grey.  The clothes that I am wearing are, somewhat, being chosen/determined by F.  As I pointed out to him – I may seem changed on the outside but I am the same ‘me’ inside.  And, as I also pointed out, I am the ‘all or nothing’ guy.  What is the point in doing this if it is half-hearted?  Why bother unless you commit – without that the partner is nothing more than a (more) intimate friend?

And, as I also pointed out, I will be fine as long as F is truthful to me and, to date, I have no reason to distrust him and hope I never will.

Not really sure what his motivation behind this was.  Maybe he was genuinely concerned and really doesn’t want me to be hurt?  Who can tell?  I’m not even sure HE could tell.

When I woke F up this morning, he wanted to stay asleep.  ‘Let’s call in and say we are sick and stay in bed all day’ he murmurs from under the duvet.  ‘It’s a lovely idea’ I say, smiling.  But the reality is that neither of us would do that and we both know that.  It’s the type of people we are.  Different but the same in important things.  And now we have found one food in common – anchovies!

Not the Bad Guy here.

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‘You didn’t tell me’.  Maybe I’m being a little over sensitive but it seems so accusatory.

I want to say.  No, why would I?  You have his number/Facebook contact/email address.  I don’t live with him any more and we haven’t been together for over a year.  What the fuck do you want from me?  It’s not like he’s my responsibility any more.

I don’t say that.  I don’t say anything like that.  I just get angry.  And frustrated.

What did you think?  I was going to post it on my Facebook account?  Or send an email to everyone I knew?  Or telephone everyone?  And say what, exactly?  He didn’t even want to tell his parents (and didn’t for the first day or so) until I persuaded him that I should phone his sister and I would make it OK.

In fact, until today, I didn’t even know what had really happened.

Apparently he had a stroke.  But he’s only 43!  He tells me (after I email him about someone else saying that I hadn’t told them and telling me what he had wrong) that it was a localised stroke, brought on by stress, apparently.  Yes, I know about the stress thing.  His colleagues at work made sure I knew as I sat by his hospital bed.  It was one of the reasons I stopped going.  They were definitely accusing me of bringing it on.  They said (in my hearing) that it was the stress of the break-up.

So, for the record – we broke up for reasons of trust.  And he didn’t make any effort to enable me to trust him any more.  It was both of us, of course.  But he had plenty of opportunity to try and make it right and I’m sure I would have listened.  It may not have changed anything but you never know.  But, then, after he didn’t appear to want ‘us’ to continue, I found that I didn’t either.

But, anyway, I only found out a day after he had been taken to hospital.  So, what do you want from me?  He didn’t even want to tell me!  He didn’t even tell me about the fact that it was a stroke until after someone else told me!  And that was only today!!!!

I’m not the bad guy here, you know?

I don’t often comment but just a couple of things……

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It’s not often I mention anything from the UK but this is outrageous.  And not for the reasons that you might, at first, think.  My first thought on reading the headline was how bad it was that these guys, defending their family, their property from cruel and vile people, should be sent to jail……………….until you read that the thief that they caught, they subsequently beat so hard that he has suffered permanent brain damage.  Perhaps the headline should have read ‘Vicious Thugs jailed for beating the crap out of man – the UK goes back to the Dark Ages’ or something like that.

And then there’s this.  I find it astonishing that in this, the 21st century, a country that is almost a continent in its own right, should not be looking after its people in a proper and civilised way.  And if any of you Americans (sorry Gail) think that this is ‘commie’ thinking, you are completely fucking crazy!  Our Health Care systems may not be perfect but everyone does have the right to be ‘looked after’ and to have help to get better or have an operation or whatever.  It is inconceivable to me that a civilised country doesn’t already have this.  And I just don’t understand how it can even be open for debate!  There!  That’s all I have to say on the matter.

Oh yes, and today, a few minutes ago, I cancelled one of my subscriptions to one of the web sites. Here’s hoping I don’t need it again?

Italy….a little frustrating….part 2

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I go back to the shop.  I am later than I would like and have difficulty parking.

The girl who sold me the deal is there (and she speaks good English).  I join the queue of about 5 people.  Not many except that there are only two assistants and each person takes at least 10 minutes.  We smile at each other in recognition.  It’s a weak smile from both of us.  She, probably because it’s been a long day (it’s already gone 6.30) and me because I am here again.

I notice a guy in the queue in front of me.  He was here on Friday too.  He had bought one of those mobile things for the pc.  Only it didn’t work properly since he tried to change from pay-as-you-go to a contract.  It seemed as if ‘the system’ couldn’t cope.  He was as unsuccessful as I was on Friday and was back to try again.  I nearly suggested we go for a drink!

Eventually I get to the girl.  She smiled and said she knew I would be here.  She went through the same things the girl on Friday had …….. and, in fact, from my perspective, it seemed that the girl on Friday just didn’t wait long enough.  On the same screen the girl had given up on, the system seemed to hang………..and hang…………….and hang………….but this girl knew the system better and we waited.  In fact, she served other customers whilst we were waiting.  But eventually it all came good and I am the proud owner of a new Blackberry!  Now, all I have to do is to set it up!!!!

But, in the end, I was in the shop for about an hour and a half!!!!  I kept thinking that, only here, would everything take so bloody long and require more than one visit.

However, it’s done now.  Her final words were that if I had any problem to come back but she hoped not to see me!  Bless!