Primark in Milan? Why not?

Primark_in_Milan__Why_not

From my glance at the stats every day, I’ve noticed that quite a few people come looking to see if there is a Primark in Milan. The short, easy answer is no, there isn’t. At least, as yet. Although I don’t quite see why Primark haven’t expanded their exposure abroad. Surely, at this time of economic crisis, Primarks would be welcomed all over the world, including Italy?

Alright, as I’ve said before, the quality is not brilliant but, for the price of things, you wouldn’t really expect them to be, would you?

So the material is a little thinner than one would expect, the finishing is not really so good, the amount of time you can wear them is less than for other things – but, hey, they look OK and do a job!

The pair of jeans I bought a couple of years ago will be coming out of the wardrobe very soon (they are summer jeans for work), which means they will be paying for themselves for the third year running! Not bad, really.

As soon as I find that there is a Primark in Milan, I shall, of course, let you all know.  It’s only a matter of time…….

When a town is not a town

It was last weekend when I went. It has the word ‘town’ in its name so, I thought, it must actually be a town. Seems reasonable to me. Being an ‘outlet’ town, I was expecting something similar to Bicester Village, Vicolungo or Serravalle.

I don’t really like them, as you may remember but this was one of the first in this area and is in Switzerland and, travelling by road, to and from the UK, I have passed it many times.

In fact, it’s only just past Como, so immediately, one thinks of beauty with the backdrop of the Alps.

And, as it was so famous, I did want to see it. It’s less than an hour from Milan and easy to get to (Motorway all the way unless you don’t want to pay the annual motorway fee in Switzerland.

Apart from the fact that it rained all day; we weren’t high enough to see snow-capped mountains; and the place itself – it was wonderful.

So, why didn’t I like it? Well, it’s not a town. It’s called Fox Town but, really, it’s a shopping centre (or mall, to you Americans). And a very ugly one at that. Everything seems Italian (the language, the people) except the currency which is Swiss Francs. The prices are not so cheap for the fact that it’s stuff that’s already out of fashion – certainly no cheaper than Vicolungo or Serravalle, although on the plus side, the guy assistant in Iceberg was rather cute.

Overall, much more of a disappointment than I thought would be possible. And then, back in Milan and my umbrella was ‘borrowed’.

To be honest, if it’s a nice day, I would prefer one of the other outlet centres, should you be visiting here and insist on doing outlet shopping.

Meeting up with Helena Christensen

We get invited to some charity auction thing at Tommy Hilfiger’s. The shop is quite close to our house and we shall be meeting friends, so it will be nice.

We are late, of course. V has decided to wear his kilt. I no longer care if he wears a kilt with me around as I am no longer responsible and he can look as ridiculous as he wants. It’s impossible to tell him that he does not look good, especially when the Italian women just want to feel him up! But, I’m sorry, he just looks like a prat. His legs look shorter and stubby. It’s not a good look.

We arrive and wait for our friend with a second home on the lake (FfC). She arrives by taxi and we go in. Unfortunately, the apero part has, to all intents and purpose, finished and they are on to the charity auction. The room is filled with Italians who are there to be seen and would-be models walking around expecting something (probably attention). They spend most of their time looking around the room to see who is there that might be important. V tells me that ‘there is the guy from MTV’. This is lost on me since I rarely watch MTV and care less about someone who presents on MTV.

Luckily, there are waiters who are serving drinks. The trick is to grab a drink as they go past or, since these are free and this is Italy, beating your way through the throng to grab a glass.

The same for the bite-sized food that they are serving although by the time we are in they are on to deserts. One I had was two raspberries sandwiched with the tiniest amount of whipped cream. You get the idea.

FfC goes somewhere. V and I are alone for a moment. V says, excitedly, ‘There’s Helena Christensen’. I know the name. I knew she was going to be there.

‘Where?’ I ask.

She is standing with her back to us about 6 inches away. V is exasperated that I fail to recognise someone I am not interested in. However, she is dressed in an off-white (magnolia) dress that does look rather nice. She is not as tall as I would have thought. She’s older than I thought. I’m not really sure what I was expecting.

FfC arrives back and V excitedly tells her, having failed to make any real impression on me. FfC is suitably awed.

‘I want to have my photograph taken with her’, V exclaims!

She is standing next to a shortish guy who is, probably, someone very important. Maybe Tommy Hilfiger or someone? I don’t know. They are talking and I’m thinking that V, acting like a little super fan, is just going to be a pain in the arse for her.

‘I don’t have a phone that takes photos, can you use yours?’ he asks me.

So, he asks Helena for a photo and, graciously, she says yes. I am holding drinks so FfC tries to take the photo but cannot seem to do it so I handed her the glasses and I took it. I’m afraid it is not a good photo – we were outside, the lighting was not good and it’s only a phone camera – but it will have to do.

V_and_some_woman_called_Helena_Christensen
V and some woman, who is famous or something.

[Update:  After downloading it, it really is a dreadful photo but the only one I have, so there!]

After that, of course, the floodgates opened and everyone wanted their photo taken with her.

Anyway, she seemed really sweet and waved to us after several more photos had been taken and she was escaping with the little man! Oh, yes, and she also thanked us for coming. Hey, Helena, it was free booze and, had we got there earlier, free food as well! And, of course, we met you! What more could one ask?

After we went for an Indian with FfC and, once again, V explained about the ‘retreat’ weekend and more of that later in another post, probably.

And, the winner is…………..

It’s not all done and dusted yet but it’s getting there.

Last night it was the revisit to the flat-with-the-terrace with FfI. She had already decided that this was the flat I should have

First, we met in our mutual friend’s shop. She’s from London and has a clothes shop – but not just any old clothes, specific designer clothes from the UK and Japan She is lovely and beautiful – tall, black and just stunning. Her shop is in Isola.

We walked to the flat-with-the-terrace. On the way, FfI saw a couple of guys (who looked a little like Beppe Grillo) and we spoke to them for a bit. They are jazz musicians who live in Isola and play, regularly, at the Blue Note Café which is also there. Nice guys. When FfI explained what we were doing one of them said we should go to his friends agency round the corner – but the problem is agencies. They always want between 10-20% commission (based on the annual rent). This equates to thousands of Euro which, given that I have to put down a deposit, pay three months rent in advance AND move furniture, etc. is just money down the drain, as far as I am concerned.

Obviously, when we first came here, we had no choice as we didn’t know the “rules” of renting in Italy – but oh how I wish we had known. It would have meant a much nicer flat for less money than we actually got in the end. Still, as I say, we didn’t know squat then and had no one to help us with the translation or anything, so it had to be.

The guy was there to show us round. When my friend had phoned originally, she had asked if it was an agency and had been told that “no, it wasn’t really and there would only be a very small charge as he was doing this as a favour for someone”.

The flat was great. Empty, the balcony on the front, overlooking the church was big enough for a small table and several chairs; the terrace at the back was, really, another room, only overlooked by the flats above. The kitchen seemed bigger than I remembered. Nearly all our furniture would fit if V chose not to take anything.

It was going to be such a difficult decision.

Then my friend asked about the rent (which was very reasonable) and the “spese” (this is the annual charge for the upkeep of the building, the cost of the doorman/woman, etc. She was shocked at how much it was. But again, the guy said that we could make an offer and he was sure that the total payable per month would fit my budget. It was looking good. The owner wanted the 3 months deposit and 3 months rent in advance, of course. This was going to make things a bit tight but it was do-able.

But then, my friend asked about the fee. It was to be 20% of the annual rent! It now became impossible. My friend suggested that, maybe, it could be paid over a period of time. “Oh yes”, he replied, “it wouldn’t have to be paid until the contracts were signed”! As my friend said – that means a couple of weeks from now!

Well, on the plus side, it took away the need for choice. It was now down to the perfect-flat-on-the-perfect-street.

Off we trundled into the centre of Milan to meet with the owner of the perfect-flat-on-the-perfect-street, as had been planned.

We arrived at a fabulous old building, just off Via Torino, one of the main shopping streets of Milan. The offices were on the first floor. We went up to see a typical Milanese older lady (probably in her 60s), smartly dressed, with money, jewellery, style, etc. She seemed nice.

On the internet, whilst searching for a flat, you can, usually, select those flats that are being offered privately (rather than through an agency). For this one it was in the private section and the woman living in the flat explained that she had put it on because otherwise she would lose 6 months rent. There was no agency involved.

However, whilst, maybe, not saying that we would have to speak to the owner (although I’m sure she did), she certainly implied it. In fact, this woman we were in front of was the Administrator of the building and not the owner (apparently the owner is 99 and I would get first dibs on the flat, to buy, when she dies!).

Now, here’s the thing, if you get a flat through the Administrator, it is similar to the agency thing. They want their “cut” She wanted 1 months rent as her fee! This was considerably less than the agency fee but, still, with 3 months deposit and 3 months rent in advance it was extra expense that I could do without.

So, I started to get my coat, explaining that the woman in the flat had said/implied that this was with the owner directly and a private deal not through someone wanting their cut.

The Administrator reduced her fee and then reduced it some more. My friend suggested that I pay the three months in advance and one months deposit, over time, building that up to three months deposit.

The woman asked someone else who said absolutely not but – I could pay three months deposit and then pay the rent monthly!

Perfect!

I filled in some details and paid her the ‘fee’. Of course, as it was so much less, although I had a receipt for the fee, once the contract was signed we would tear up the receipt so that the fee would be ‘in nero’ (in the black/under the table). Anyway, the result is that I pay less than I thought in advance even with her fee!

So, it was done! Obviously the contracts have to be drawn up and signed and the woman will try to get the current tenant out by the beginning of April. As soon as she’s out I can move in – and, as a bonus, the contract will start from 1st May so whatever I get, in terms of time in the flat, in April, will be free!

I was very, very happy.

As we were close to Peck and, as I have never been, FfI took me in. It is wonderful. Similar, for those of you who have been, to Harrod’s Food Hall. The displays of food were amazing. And, for future reference – they have Stilton. Immediately, I thought of Stilton and a good glass of Port. The Stilton looked wonderful. I’m sure that heaven, should I get there, is one big food hall, just like Peck!

In celebration we called in at Princi which is really a chain of bakeries – that do apero as well – the food, freshly baked on the premises is great and the cost of the apero, including a plate of food was only €5. For those of you coming to Milan it is one of the best places to go.

Then we made our way back to Isola as our friend-with-the-shop would be closing up and we could go for a drink. We had a lovely time and several drinks.

I still can’t quite believe it and have to keep saying to myself “I’m going to live on the perfect street” just to make it true!

Crisis Over, for now

Many thanks to J, a colleague of V’s, who, yesterday, gave V 160 Tetley tea bags. Hurrah! Obviously they won’t last forever but at least I should be alright for a bit.

Sunday was the start of Men’s Fashion Week. A rang to say she had been to the Dolce and Gabbana or Versace show (I forget which) where a male model (apparently famous but I have no idea who it was) was signing a pair of men’s underpants should you buy a pair. Apparently, he was acting like Father Christmas and allowing the person having their pants signed, to sit on his knee. A and her Texan friend were tempted. Later when they were about to go they noticed that he was surrounded by gay men. Quell surprise!

For me, Fashion Week is less about fashion and more about traffic. Traffic and parking. The lesser shows are put on in available spaces – and some of the available space is in my area, so the traffic becomes unbearable and the parking non-existent.

I feel dreadful, though, that I missed both Beyonce and the Spice Girls. Well, no, that’s a lie. I don’t feel dreadful at all. And, as I’m rushing from my car to get out of the cold and rain, a nice warm house and a glass of wine seem so much more inviting.

A weekend away – 2; What do they want with Vanda?; The season of the wardrobe change

And the weather was truly fantastic. On Sunday from about 11.30 a.m. for about 3 hours or so, we sat outside a café, in the sun, without coats, watching the lake and the people, Rufus lying at our feet (having had several long walks already that day).

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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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