I became blind

I can feel the wind on my face and my hair.  I can feel the sway of the boat and the surge as it hits the waves.  I can hear the engine and the sounds of the other passengers.  It’s comfortable and I feel safe.  I’m sitting next to Chiara.  She is beautiful. Well, when I say that, her voice is beautiful.  She has long, dark hair and a pretty face, although none of this I can see.  It’s not that it’s night, it’s total darkness.  Really.  Not a single iota of light.  I am blind.  She often grasps for my hand.  She has a delicate, slightly cold, hand.  Long fingers,  Sweet, like her.

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How to make people like me

I really shouldn’t have had that fifth whiskey last night (I don’t even really like whiskey), nor for that matter the other four or the large mirto that V poured me. I feel that, although my body is obeying the commands I give it, it is doing so very reluctantly and with a time lag as though my body were in Australia and I am phoning with the instructions. Also, at any moment now the line will break and my body will stop accepting any instructions at all. Still, a nice evening. H had arrived back from the UK and we had much to talk about.

And the title, you ask. What’s that all about? Well, the site is registered on Google Analytics, which means I can see certain information about visitors to the site. In this case the title was what was typed into search.com and the person (in Derby, I think) got to the Vanda site. Tried it myself this morning and I have no idea why it came up as I can’t find it at all. Sorry to the person in Derby for not giving you the answer, but you did have a look around before you left, so I guess there might have been something of interest.

Via The Magistrate’s Blog comes a link to a Guardian article and this quote from one of the contributors:

‘images of us being forced into a van and taken to airport come back. We were taken off the flight at the last minute, but I can hear the screams of the other Congolese being forced onto the plane. My son has had constipation ever since we came here’

No, not some kidnapping or hijack. An asylum seeker in the UK whose two children were born here and who was writing from an asylum centre, having been ‘snatched from our home in Glasgow’.

I can make no comment as I think it says all that is required.

Update p.m.  I’ve just thought, perhaps the person wasn’t looking to be more liked by others but rather they were looking for a method of cloning themselves!

Let me tell you how ill I am!

As those of you who know me may remember, I’m not one for illnesses.  Sure I’ve had my fair share.  I had an operation for a small hernia when I was about 8, had Spillaine’s Syndrome at about 35 and an op for a cartilage tear about 6 years ago.  But that’s about it, really.  Yes, I do get aches and pains but, really, you don’t want to know, so I won’t tell you.  I don’t take aspirin or any other drugs as I reckon that one drug (smoking) is enough – oh yes, and alcohol. Continue reading

Don’t hold your breath in the Gotthard Tunnel!

Today, as yesterday, has been a really beautiful day.  Unfortunately we had some chores to do – mine in front of a computer and V ironing.  However, it was so beautiful that we decided to take Rufus for a walk in Giardini Pubblici (the park closest to where we live in Milan) this afternoon.

Whilst walking in the park, we have to pass under a footbridge – but it’s a wide one as I guess they also use it for park vehicles.   V says that he doesn’t like walking under the bridge because it smells.  I said that it didn’t but he said that it didn’t matter anyway as you ‘have to hold your breath under bridges and in tunnels as it’s lucky’!  Yep, he really said that.  He did add that it probably wasn’t a good idea to do that in the Gotthard Tunnel (from here to Switzerland).

It reminded me of when he was on Jeopardy and, when asked if he had ever worked in a factory, he replied ‘No, but I did drive past one, once’. Continue reading

It’s Milan Fashion Week and now I’ve actually been!

To be honest, Milan may be one of the fashion capitals of the world but, in the main, most people here continue to go about their business as if it was just a normal city.  Fashion Week (there are four) just means a lot more traffic, full restaurants and waif-thin models on street corners with maps looking for the place of their next job.  So it was, to be honest, for me too.  But, finally, I saw something of what it is about.

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