Today is the Saint’s Day for Saint Biagio. I learnt about this because, apparently, in order to protect yourself from problems with your throat, one should eat some panettone from Christmas.
I am far too old for this. Since Wednesday, out every night and not back until 1 or 2 in the morning, or, even later. What am I thinking of? As I normally get up at 5.45, I find that I cannot really sleep in past about 7 whatever time I arrive back home the night before.
Dinners with friends; dinners at friends; parties at friends; just out with friends. And, come about 11 I get so tired. I mention that I shall go home and I get the response of – “Really?” or “Stay a little longer”.
It has to stop but not for tonight or Tuesday night and, probably not Monday night either since I need to ask someone for help.
The idea of coming home after work and just sitting down with a glass of wine and watching a film is such a pleasurable thought, almost like paradise. Not that I don’t enjoy being out with friends, of course. It is impossible to say “no” even though I should. I don’t want to disappoint friends and I enjoy their company – it is fun. And life is too short to miss out on “life”. And friends are what makes life worth living, in my opinion. The joy of being in the company of like-minded people or people who are fun and talking or laughing is what is so good.
And now the boys are pressing to be taken out. They do not see the snow that is falling (enough of winter!) nor would Dino care. So, whilst they wait, they play or, rather, Dino winds Rufus up by walking round him with the occasional lick or nudge or, worse, trying to mount him. As they are now separated when we are not here and at night (because of the barking problem) it’s the ritual they go through each morning and evening. After Dino has brought out, one by one, his toys for me to throw or, again, to try and wind Rufus up.
Then, for a short while, one of them lies on his back whilst the other attacks at the throat and, if it’s Rufus doing the “attacking”, the way that he kneels down, his paws tucked underneath him, to stop Dino going for the feet – until one of them barks or yelps too loudly and they get shouted at.
The ritual of checking who’s boss, of course. I think it’s still Rufus but Dino gets stronger and bolder and more clever every day.
So now it is a shower and out for the long walk we always have at the weekend even if we are not able to have that during the week (depending upon time).
The number of visitors I get for the ‘new’ (well, it’s not so new, really) blog is higher than the old one (a little). But it’s not that that is the surprise. It’s where the people come from.
S & I agreed last night, you’ve got to try else what is the point?
So, we are both trying. It may get worse; it may get better; it may stay the same.
For me, it seems the dogs are a bit of a problem but not insurmountable. Come the end of January, I shall ask everyone I know in case they can help me. I don’t often ask for help as I am fiercely independent ever since I first left home at 18.
Actually, that was not the first time I left home. I left home several times. I had a small suitcase, brown and battered. I don’t think I ever had it from new but I have no idea where it came from unless it had been bought new when we went to Guernsey when I was about 5. I can imagine it was bought for that trip.
Anyway, the suitcase had been well used. I packed the suitcase with important items – a pair of trousers, a jumper, some biscuits and some orange squash. After all, I didn’t know how long I would be gone and I knew I would need sustenance and a change of clothes. I packed though the tears were rolling down my face; I packed with determination; I packed with courage – and fear, of course.
I left the house without saying goodbye, more like a thief than someone who lived there. I didn’t want any hysterics at my going – they would find out soon enough. I didn’t want any tears, except my own as I was the one who was hurting, not them.
We lived in the countryside, in a small village. I walked down the driveway and onto the road, turning right. The hill seemed very steep and very long. I don’t remember looking back as I climbed that hill but I probably did, fearing that someone would come after me – hoping that someone would come after me so that I could prove to them that I did not need them.
I reached the top of the hill and must have looked back before turning the corner.
Soon after I came to the crossroads – to the left was the road to the church, the right to the main road, straight on was unknown.
Fearful of the consequences of continuing what I was doing; angry at the world for treating me like this; determined that, one day, ‘it would all be different’, I turned round and went home. I was about 7. I was quite a stubborn barsteward even then!
I was struck today, whilst having lunch, about the difficulty, when moving to a foreign country, of knowing the correct/polite manners.
Thank goodness, at least for this morning, the feeling deep in the pit of my stomach has gone; the first time for weeks and weeks. And I suddenly feel more positive, which is great. I know that it’s not all over yet but, at least, there is an end to it which is now in sight.
I love my dogs, I really do. They are fun, they are loving, they are, in nearly all respects, wonderful. There is one (there are probably more but for this post, there is really only one) problem. Every day, the place looks like a park. And, by that, I mean that, given their hair, they collect the park and bring it home, dropping it at home during the next 24 hours so that home looks like the park – mud everywhere (in the form of huge amounts of dust), dried leaves, twigs that got stuck, etc.
To give you an example, a couple of days ago, V went to the shops and I swept up. I did a good job but, when he came back he did it again.
And, as we have no carpet here, the dust flies everywhere so that, within 24 hours, there is a slight film of dust everywhere. As I look at my desk, which is in the hallway and, therefore is, by far, the worst place in the house, I see the dust, on the bookshelves, behind the computer and it looks like I have never, ever cleaned it.
And today, S&N have kindly “lent” us their cleaner(s). OMG! I really had to fight the urge to clean everywhere before they came – you know what I mean. I did fight the urge but immediately apologised as they walked through the door, blaming, of course, the dogs (which is true, of course).
However, V is doing some sort of party on New Year’s Eve so, at least, we should only have to do a surface clean tomorrow, I hope.
Then, I guessed as they don’t speak English, that they needed the cleaning stuff. Except I found we had no glass cleaner and no bathroom cleaner!
It would be great to have someone in a couple of times a week but I guess it would be far too expensive and, given current circumstances, more difficult than normal.
Anyway, they are here now and starting on the lounge. They are here for a few hours so I have limited the cleaning to the most important areas as, given the state of it and the size of the place, I’m sure they will struggle to complete even that! We shall see.
Still, it was so nice of S&N and I’m sure it will sparkle and gleam like it never has before!
Christmas is a time for reflection and for remembering things past. This one was no different. At various times over the period I remembered the Christmases we had in the past. The mountains of presents; shopping for the veg on Christmas Eve at “Wiggy’s” shop in Kington; having the open fire to sit around; and the people with whom we have shared our Christmases, including my sister (one time, I think).
However, it was also time to think of deeper things; things more hidden or, rather, not previously analysed.
On Friday, I went into the smoking room to get warm and have a cigarette. Later, just before lunch, I went in again – the heater had gone and the chairs had been rearranged now that there was vacant space! The heat already in the room from the heater kept the room above freezing for the rest of the day, so better than nothing. Several people have said that, in the New Year we shan’t be able to smoke inside the buildings any more. It will be quite funny to see the MD outside lighting up! We shall see. On the plus side, at least it won’t get so cold in my office as she won’t have the window wide open in hers whilst having a cigarette. So there are advantages to everything, I suppose.
Last night was a fancy dress party. It was held in a friend-of-a-friend’s shop in an area of Milan that, they say, is up-and-coming. She sells designer clothes from lesser-known designers from all over the world.
I absolutely HATE fancy dress parties. I never have a clue as to what to go as and am always genuinely shocked at other people’s ingeniousness and how something so simple can look so good.
As we had less than 2 days notice and it was Friday night (so no time to try and do something special on Saturday), V came up with the idea of going as 70s people. My era. Sadly, we had all the necessary items in our wardrobes including, for me, a pair of real platform shoes that I had worn only once before. They had brought them in as new items in the 80s in Schuh, in Birmingham, hoping for some sort of revival, I guess. Well, it never took off but I kept them as I loved them. Boy, they looked good last night but how my calves suffered! Anyway, it was a cool party and we got back about half one in the morning.
Finally, I had written a long post about the jury’s verdict on the de Menezes case but feel it was far better covered over at Stef’s site. If I lived in the UK now I would be very, very afraid. What kind of future is there when you cannot trust the police to be truthful and themselves uphold the law against murder?
Oh, yes, and it hasn’t stopped bloody raining for days!
We arrive about 1 p.m. The place is heaving with people. Italians, not renowned, in my view, for moving to one side, bump and jostle with each other to get to the stalls, get to the next aisle, get to a place for food.