I found three other possibles for a place to live, on the internet. One was an agency (sort of) as I phoned it myself.
FfI came round just after 6. She phoned the other two. One was an agency but would take no commission and the other was an agency. Also we phoned the flat-in-the-building-we-both-like but there was no answer as it must be an office or something.
I remember, when I was a buyer for an Engineering company in Dursley, There was a sales guy that, over the phone, I used to get on with really well. Over a period of a year or so, we built up quite a good relationship – more than just the work thing.
In my head he looked a certain way. He was tall, blond-haired, good looking, etc. His voice sounded that way.
After about 18 months, I left the company and, as I was leaving, we promised to meet up. A few weeks later, we did. He was short, fat, dark-haired and a bit goofy. And, face-to-face he did not have the same personality as on the phone. I guess he felt the same way as neither of us touched base after that. Face to face it was all wrong, somehow.
Then, there’re books versus films. I read Lord of the Rings, a long time before any of the films came out. I pictured the whole thing in my head. The characters had real faces, were dressed in certain ways. The film of course has now erased those characters as they were in my head. The only one I remember that was totally wrong was Gandalf – although I can’t remember why now. It still sort-of annoys me when I watch the film for, although I can’t remember my original, I know the film depiction isn’t quite right. However, Frodo was much better than I had pictured so it sort-of balances itself out, I guess.
And then there’re songs. Take ‘Puppy Love’ by Donny Osmond. When it was released I remember thinking it was a girl singing it. When I saw him on Top of the Pops – I still thought it was a girl. And the name ‘Donny’ was American and it was the first time I had heard it so I was still convinced it was a girl. Of course, when I found out it was a boy I kept it all to myself – after all, it was only my parents that couldn’t recognise the difference between boys and girls – all because of their long hair! How stupid were they!!!!
And then there’s Gail. Gail has been commenting on my blog for a while now and, recently, she pointed out that she had put a picture on her profile on her blog and that I should take a look.
Before you go and look, I should tell you that Gail, in my head, already looked a certain way. Even though we have not spoken (therefore, I could not be swayed by the sound of her voice) we have emailed and commented and, weirdly, I have to build up how she would look. So Gail was blond with shortish hair, slightly curly or permed or maybe wavy. She wasn’t tall and not skinny but neither short nor obese. She had a rather round face with a perfect nose and rather nice brown or hazel eyes. Even when she just got up in the morning, her hair and make-up would be done and be “just right”. She had a way of shaking her head so that the curls of her hair would bob up and down and she would do this for effect.
She was a grandmother but quite a grand grandmother, with a style that was all her own.
To be honest, she is, probably, all these things. However, when I saw the picture the hair was so different I was shocked. Now, isn’t that really stupid! If I had met her before the online relationship she would just be Gail. But now she is a different Gail! That’s not to say that she is not attractive or fun or any of the things that I pictured but it’s the hair! It just doesn’t fit.
Gail, I’m sorry but you need to have a haircut, a wave put in and go blond! 
“He’s going to live there on his own?”
The old man was incredulous. You could see him thinking how strange these foreigners are.
“Yes”, FfI replied. “He needs a studio”.
Obviously, this exchange was in Italian. I could do this but it would take me much longer and things do get lost in translation (especially when I try Italian).
He seemed unsure. We walked in to the flat. Built around 1920 or 1930, it had not really been updated much since then. The ‘cucina abitale’ (living kitchen) did have a table in it. At a squeeze you could fit four people round it, as long as the oven wasn’t still on, otherwise the person sitting with their back to it would be in hospital with 2nd degree burns.
The hallway was pokey. The bathroom had a half-bath with an (old) shower fitment over it. There was no room for a full size bath in any event.
“Why don’t Italians like baths?” FfI asked to me.
Room 1 was a bedroom. 2 single beds and a mismatch of furniture (wardrobes, chest of drawers). Some of the furniture was newish. But none of it was bought at the same time or bought from the same store. Room 2 was another bedroom with one single bed and a wall unit that would not look out of place on a bonfire. In fact, that is where it should be.
All the furniture would be staying. He was adamant. The girl living there obviously was not trying to sell the place. The washed clothes were drying on a rack in the hallway.
The girl explained that she didn’t live there on her own. In fact, as FfI put it (she is American but has, obviously, lived here too long) – they are in three – a literal translation of the Italian “sono in tre” – properly translated as “there are three of us”.
That’s how they could afford the rent. Which went up €100 Euro when my friend asked how much the rent was – at least compared to the internet price.
We didn’t ask about the dogs. And neither of us bothered to question the other about it. This was, excepting for the furniture, only marginally more salubrious than the “crack den” down on the Navigli.
As FfI put it later, you wouldn’t want to go home to that. I could only whole heartedly agree
We discussed the fact that, only as a student could one live in one bedroom. Later, over lunch and coffee, we discussed the fact that, given the cramped conditions in which Italians live, it is no surprise that they spend most of their spare time out, walking, eating, meeting friends, etc. And, why they never really seem to do dinner parties – at least, not like we do.
I’m an internet person. Italy is not, really, an internet country. I like a lot of what Italy has to offer but there are some things that Italy does not do so well, such as getting things done without a ton of paperwork; roast beef; lamb; sticking to the rules; not sticking to the rules; personal space; etc.
FfI is being so kind and helping me a lot.
She arrives at my home and we look on the internet. We make calls. We call the nice flat and the flat-on-the-perfect-street and some others.
We go for something to eat. We visit flats. We visit the nice flat. There is someone else interested. What seemed quite a big flat is suddenly quite a small flat but I don’t want to lose out and my friend really likes it (she hasn’t seen the flat-on-the-perfect-street yet).
We (I) agree to take it. I have to meet the woman on Monday night to start the contract thing. I suddenly don’t want it at all. It’s too small; it’s too far out of town; it has no character; I can’t picture my furniture in it. In fact, it’s only really redeeming feature is that it is available now (almost) and every fitting is new. But, I question, what if the flat-on-the-perfect-street (which is a bit smaller) is actually not good when I next see it? FfI and I are going on Monday night, just before I meet this woman.
After: FfI thinks it was much smaller and devoid of character as well.
We go to see another flat. In an area I don’t really know so well. The pictures make it look like some sort of penthouse. And, it has a terrace!
It’s tiny and wood everywhere. Although it has large windows the wood everywhere makes it seem dark. It’s awkwardly laid out. The terrace is huge but, obviously not used by the current tenant. There is no oven but he’s going to get a combi-oven. Hmm. I don’t really like him.
The clincher is the dogs. In answer to the question there is no doubt. No. My mind has already removed it from my list, in spite of the terrace, but now it is erased completely.
We decide to go for a pizza but end up at the Mexican. We like the Mexican. The food is superb. It’s Piedra del Sol, near Repubblica. They do great tequila cocktails. Without V being there and wanting more than 1 (or 4 or 5) the meal turned out to be so reasonably priced! We did share a main course as, normally, it is far too much for one and most of it taken home in a doggy bag. It was just right.
Today we went to a very nice flat just off Corso Buenos Aries. Like the one I had agreed to take but much more central and for the same price, more or less. Then to another near to the one I had agreed to take. It’s a definite. It’s too far out. I will call her tomorrow to say I’ve changed my mind.
So now CBA has taken over as the one that is up against the flat-on-the-perfect-street. Tomorrow night we go to see (together) flat-on-the-perfect-street and then another which is on three floors. Personally, I think it’s either CBA or flat-on-the-perfect-street.
Decisions have to be made.
Then, as we’re walking back from the other too-far-out-flat to the American Donut Café (we planned brunch) we pass a block that we both said that we would like to live in, very close to where I live now. There was one for rent. More or less the size of the one I live in now but one less bedroom. So FfI suggested living together >I’m not sure that would be perfect. I think she would get fed up with the dust from the dogs pretty damn quick. Plus she has some habits that, as a lover, I could probably cope with – as just a friend would probably have me killing her within a couple of weeks (or, even, days), even if I do love her to bits!
If it was the right price, it would be nice but…..
We shall see. Enough of looking at flats. I just want to be in somewhere and start getting back to normal even if it is the new normal (whatever that may be).
We’re deciding where to go for a pizza. We will be driving.
He said, ‘I know a great pizza place in a flower shop’.
I say, incredulously, ‘in a flower shop?’
‘Well,’ he responds, ‘it’s a very big flower shop’.
‘So, more like a garden centre?’ I ask.
……for they remind you of the years that have passed.
I remember holding A at a party and feeding her curried goat (I’m not convinced that it actually WAS goat but that’s what V’s family called the spicy hot stew) when she was a few weeks old (OK, maybe a few months). Apparently, although I don’t really recall that well, she loved it. She was in a white shawl thing. She was the most beautiful baby I had ever set my eyes upon.
Today, I spoke to her by phone. She was at home but was going in to school later because she has a Drama exam – she is taking her ‘A’ levels! She is 18 today. She has turned into a beautiful woman and still I love her as I did when she was a baby (although then she did not have a Brummie accent then). I am so proud to have known her. Another reason to be grateful to V.
Anyway, I hope you have a very Happy Birthday and I just wish that I could be there to watch you tonight in your Drama practical. I bet you will do well.
xx
Depending, of course, on the way that you look at it and your frame of mind.
The weather was good, on Sunday. Saturday night was lovely – a meal with friends – maybe a tad too much to drink but, hey, why not?
The rest of the time was looking for flats and recovering. The looking for flats made me both happy and unhappy. Happy because I can get something I can afford that is well big enough; unhappy because it will be just me and the boys.
And, at one point we (and I say ‘we’ as it was me and FfI) went from a beautifully furnished compact but nice place in not-such-a-good area to something that can only be described as a vacated drug den in a place that looked like one of the American Projects – and both for the same price.
The nice flat also had a ‘half lift’. Obviously the building was built without a lift and they managed to fit one in but it was very narrow and you could not get more than 2 people in it- so I did wonder about me and both dogs – it would be a squeeze. However, I could move in there tomorrow and, if nothing else happens this week, I might just do that.
Of course, I would prefer to be hunting with V. However, that is not to be. But, do I get something that is big enough, just in case, like before, after several months apart we just end up back together? I wonder if he thinks of that?
Of course, this time it is different and there is part of me that says that, even if we wanted to be back together, there’s no way we can be. And there’s no way that I should let it happen anyway!
But, another part of me would have it back tomorrow – no, even this moment – even knowing that so many things remain unresolved.
We did manage to communicate over the weekend, which was more than we had for about a month and a half! We spoke about the car; the furniture; flats (our current experiences, what we were looking for, etc.) – but not about the dogs; or us; or our feelings of hurt or anger or passion or, in fact, anything that really matters.
Here in Milan, at the Santa Maria della Grazie church is one of Leonardo’s masterpieces. It has been restored and it is possible for you to go and see it, if you book far enough in advance or, if you are lucky on the day.
The future. Unless you have kids and are thinking of their future, the future must, inevitably, include you. And this makes it a very fragile thing that only exists in your own head.
For, if we are not in the future, then the future that you thought in your head doesn’t and will not exist.
Pietro seemed concerned that I would be leaving Milan and, for that matter, Italy.