And, yet again!

And_yet_again

Isn’t it a shame the way we cheat each other, treat each other,
beat each other?
It’s a shame the way we use one other, abuse one another,
and screw one another

Make You Crazy – Brett Dennen (featuring: Femi Kuti)

I know it’s not actually true but since I moved into the perfect flat, I seem to have been speaking to Telecom Italia more often than using their service!

And, so, again, this morning. Apparently the whole of Milan and the Hinterland has a problem. It will be fixed within 24 hours. Or, maybe, 48 or, maybe, in my case, after it is fixed it will be another 2 or 3 days before I can actually get access.

Except that I will, probably, go away on Sunday for a few days and they don’t work over the weekend and it’s the holiday period and I won’t be here Monday or Tuesday so I will have to ring them again on Wednesday and then the will tell me that they will fix it within 3 days (which will be Friday) and then it won’t be fixed and then I will have to phone them again on Friday but because it’s Ferragosto on Sunday, it would be, probably Tuesday before they could come out except that I will probably be away again and then Best Mate will be here when I get back so it will all be too difficult and I ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY FUCKING HATE THEM, THE BASTARDS!

Oh, yeah, and so I may not be online for about 2 weeks.

Did I say that I didn’t like Telecom Italia very much?

Update: Well, as I’m writing this update on Friday, just after 6, you can tell that they did get it fixed and it did not require an engineer to come out.  I hate them a little less than I did (but only a little) and this one time that they were as good as their word hardly makes up for the most times when they aren’t.

Memorable Weddings

There are only three weddings I have been to that remain stuck in mind for being different – so much so that you remember them.

But, if I were ever to get married, this would be such a wonderful way to make it memorable for you and everyone else, don’t you think? Although, how you top that for the rest of the day beats me.

Enjoy.

I write this post

I_write_this_post

I get up, having woken early as seems to be ‘the normal’ these days.  The red digits on the ceiling, from the special clock V bought me, had said it was 4.30 a.m. when I first woke.  I try to get back to sleep but the thoughts come rushing in, filling my brain and I know it is useless.  It all seems so dark and I remember that this is how it is, the summer so fleeting, the heat still here, unlike the UK now that I’m living in Milan,  but the mornings so dark.

The light has not come on in the lounge yet.  Since the power cut the other day, the timer should be reset but my laziness means that it is now about half an hour out.

I slip on my T-Shirt and shorts and sandals.  Switch the computer on and we (Rufus & I) go and get Dino from the kitchen.  They are as excited as always to be going for a walk.

There are fewer cars – more car parking spaces.  A & F leave for their holidays today and it seems that most of Milan has already gone.

I notice that the sprinklers, near the dog walk are on.  I had thought that, perhaps, they had been switched off recently to stop the puddles of water that result and permit mosquitoes to breed but it seems that they have turned them on again.

I see the normal homeless people in their normal homes – the benches that they sleep on during the night and I note that the lady who is always by the larger dog walk does actually get wet from the sprinklers although the ones near here have finished already.  I had always assumed that she knew one of the dry places to sleep – it seems not.  I am grateful that I am not in her place and try not to make too much noise as if this is her bedroom and I should not disturb her.  As normal, her fake Louis Vuitton bag securely tucked under her head which is probably, almost certainly, also a way to ensure it is still there when she wakes up at about 6.

There are lights on in some of the flats.  These must be people like A & F, I think.  Leaving early today to go back to their homeland; to their parents where they will spend the next 2, 3 or more weeks.  I am grateful I am not them either with that obligation to spend time there as opposed to somewhere else, although I realise this is a choice and every choice comes with some drawback – as my choice does, for certain.

Walking back, the streets seem a little busier than normal.  A few more cars, taxis – too early for the trams though – just.

We pass the newsagents and I am surprised he is not open.  It must be 5.15 now and he is normally open but, perhaps, like my favourite Saturday café, he is also shut until the end of August.  These are idle thoughts.  I have already been through various conversations in my head (or, when I forget myself, out loud).  I have re-written (in my head) another stupid email that I sent when I was far too tired, hoping that the one I sent was not as bad as I think it is.  Rewind and reset the answer I receive, or no answer, which may be worse or better, I’m not sure.

I see myself, in a few years, like the lady on the bench but worse, one of those people who sit on the pavement, talking to everyone and no one, having those conversations that have no meaning, make no sense to anyone except me, reliving something that had happened before, in the past or some future that only I can see.

I get back and make the coffee, sitting at the computer to drink it and see if there are any emails (checking the one I sent last night and wishing I had not for it served no real purpose and I am scared that it may mean a change to something that I already like – I really should listen to myself more and just not send emails, texts or anything else without doing a draft and sitting on it for a day or two – like the post that I wrote that Best Mate read and said ‘Wow’ but sits there in drafts, me unsure whether to post it or not).

I know that A & F are leaving, by taxi at 4.30.  It is now 5.30 ish I presume and they will be on the bus to the airport.  I text A, wishing him a good holiday.

I glance at the clock on the computer.  It must be wrong.  I check the clock on the phone.

It’s 3-fucking-55 in the morning!  It must have been 2.30 when I woke up and 3 when we went for a walk, the dogs being absolutely useless at telling me it is far too early!  I toy with the idea that I should go back to bed.  It’s now gone 4.  I still have the coffee to finish and, anyway, now, I will never get back to sleep and not because of the coffee either.  I know I will suffer later but there is little I can do about that.

I go back over the slightly strange things that I saw this morning – the sprinklers being on; the newsagent being shut; the fact that it was darker than I thought it should be – and then realise I’ve just sent a text to A at this hour!  Oh shit.  But I can’t send another just yet.  I shall have to wait until it really is after 5!  OK, so they may have been up, but maybe not.  Damn.

I write this post and next I will iron the jeans I need for today.

About Families and Death and stuff

About_Families_and_Death_and_stuff

S, my colleague, has a father who has the cancer associated with asbestos, with which he used to work. When she first found out she asked me to look on the internet to see what British doctors had to say as she was thinking he should get a second opinion.

I looked for her. It became clear that, in spite of anything she may wish, this was terminal, with or without chemo. I feel sorry for her but in a detached way, as he’s not my father nor is she, really, a friend, for whom I am likely to empathise much more. And, in spite of the fact that she had complained about him and how they didn’t really get along for the last few years, I can see that it is affecting her deeply.

Another friend also has problems with his father, who I have now met. However, he doesn’t really tell me much although I think he’s worried. His father seems to be in and out of hospital most of the time although there seems to be some indication, from what he has told me, that it may be a little hypochondria.

And I wonder, at what point does the parent become like a child? When the child-that-was becomes more concerned over the parents well-being, health, state of mind, etc. than the parents ability to influence the child’s life? And, is the worry more associated with guilt on behalf of the child, rather than anything else? But, and this is just me talking in my own special circumstances, why the guilt? Is it because the child feels they ‘owe’ something to the parent who gave birth and/or nurtured them for the first x years or the blood-thicker-than-water thing (which, obviously, I don’t believe in)?

I have thought about my parents from time to time. I have played the scenario in my head where one of them is on their death-bed and, although seemingly impossible, they find me and I get ‘THE CALL’ – the one that asks me to go to their side.

I wondered why they would do that? To try and make it right, perhaps?

I have also played out the possible two responses. The first being that I would say ‘no’ because if the point was only to satisfy them then that’s not good enough. The second being ‘yes’ because who would ever deny a dying person the right to at least
to fix a problem that’s existed for over 30 years! I mean, with their last dying breath and all!

And would I, at that point, feel the guilt that everyone else seems to feel as their parents approach their last years? I would like to say ‘no’ but if I am to be honest, then I really don’t know.

Of course, the reality is that it would be very difficult to find me. Not because I’ve gone out of my way to make it so but because it has been over 5 years since the last contact with any of my family and, although there are ways they could find me, it would take a great deal of effort and, basically, have to be my sister who worked it all through. After all, I have one ‘advantage’ over some other people – my name is a very common name and there are many people with my name who are much more famous and, therefore, take up most of the Google web search result pages (and, yes, I have looked, as have most people, I would think). Although both this and a conversation recently means I really should take another look to see how difficult it is to find me, If one were to make a determined effort and had some basic information.

And, anyway, going back to the subject, I don’t fool myself that this call will ever come. I cannot believe that after all this time they would want to make it right. What good could it possibly serve?

Thanks to Ico who inspired this post and, in my case, whereas the rest of my family may be on one island (although I believe that they ‘suffer’ the same situation as Ico’s family), certainly, I am on an island well adrift from theirs and so far away that it is over the horizon and, if not in reality, might as well be the other side of the world.

A Night Out with Best Mate

A_Night_Out_with_Best_Mate

Best Mate and I went out the other night. Well, it was the same thing but we actually stayed at home. In our own homes. And used Skype with videocam. I drank wine and she drank beer and we chatted and laughed and so on as you do when you’re out for a night on the town. Except we were in our respective bedrooms.

It ended up being for about 3 and a half hours. We had to have a break at one point so she could stock up on beer.

It was necessary. It was good. We talked about everything that’s going on right now, both in her life and mine. I was explaining why I am crazy and what the symptoms and causes were. She understood. She chided me where it was necessary and comforted me also.

It was a good night out with Best Mate…….

……who is looking and feeling much better and that makes me very happy. She will be over again in a few weeks and I am really looking forward to that.

The Killer Car Wash

The_Killer_Car_Wash

One of the funniest posts TSM has made.  Excerpt below:

As I walk away, I hear screaming coming from the car wash.  I happily ignore it.

Bombshell: “Their car wash is work now”
Me: “I think so, they’re screaming”
Bombshell: “Screaming?”
Me: “Yeah, I think the car wash is killing them.”
Bombshell: “Shame”
Me: “I know”

I had forgotten……

I_had_forgotten

……just how bad Telecom Italia were.

I am reminded this morning. No Internet. I phone the line. They ask if the ADSL light is on. It is. They do a check. They inform me that it will, definitely, be fixed before Thursday.

Someone (and I forget who) was surprised that Infostrada/Wind were so much better. But it is true. I think, in the 2 years (or whatever) I was with Infostrada, I only had to phone them once (and I’m not even certain that I had to do that!).

Whereas, with Telecom Italia, I had to phone them quite often.

They are, as I said before Teminally Ill – and crap with it.

I HATE TELECOM ITALIA! May they and all they arrogant, supercilious employees, rot in hell.

I remain, slightly, angry, in case you hadn’t guessed.

Musing?

musing

I am taking a break from cleaning, whilst also waiting for the Terminally Ill Techno Guy to come (now just to fix my telephone line).

I cleaned and sorted much of the bedroom and then cleaned the lounge and re-arranged everything as to how it should be.

But, I do wonder, who is it for? What real purpose does it serve? Let’s be honest, V was the home maker. He did all the curtains and the fancy stuff that made it a home. I would live without curtains – not because I want to, just because I couldn’t be bothered. And why spend all that money which could be spent on something else?

I mean, for instance, the bedroom really needs a chest of drawers. I know where it should go; I know what it should look like. And, if I got one, it would look good but I probably won’t get one now and, therefore, I will manage – for ever!

But V would have one and, somehow, it would make the bedroom just so much better. I sit here, at the open window, in the perfect flat, knowing that, if V were here, it would be better than perfect.

Strange things with the Internet

I laughed with Best Mate when I said –

“I bet, as soon as you go, the internet will be up and running”

And, as freaky as it might seem, it turned out to be perfectly true.

I rang Telecom Italia (although the initials TI might be better represented as Terminally Ill) to say that, after two days, my Internet and telephone line were STILL NOT working.

As is normal for the ignorant and unhelpful Telecom Italia operators, I was told that it had been up and running since about 4 p.m. that afternoon.

I insisted that it was still not working. The man agreed that they would send someone out but that it couldn’t be tomorrow (i.e. today) as this was a holiday and it would be Saturday.

I am less than impressed.

So, today, whilst BM was asleep (or at least, resting) I tried everything I could to get it working, to no avail.

After arriving back home after dropping her off at the airport, I thought I would have one last go at connecting. And it worked!

OK, this is not entirely the full story. The full story is that I found it [Edit 2015 – I don’t know what “it” is, I’m sorry] on the floor on the day that it didn’t work. The dogs, who have been sleeping in the bedroom, with me, whilst Best Mate (and also whilst FfI) stayed with me had knocked it off the desk.

So, the reality is that I thumped it a few times before trying to connect.

So now I don’t know whether it was me thumping it or that Terminally Ill did something else.

Who cares? The phone line still isn’t working properly so they can come here anyway. I know that because I tried to use the phone to tell them not to come and it won’t ring out.

I really, really, bloody HATE Terminally Ill!

In the meantime, Best Mate is on her way back home. >I shall miss her being here but know she must go home. I hope to see her again soon but at her place.

Unfinished but posted anyway

30th April, Early Afternoon.

An overwhelming sense of dread strikes me as we’re walking around town, in the sunshine. I don’t tell Best Mate. She’s got enough on her plate as it is. I just can’t shake it off. Even now, as I write this (still offline) it is with me.

It is warm outside and there is nothing more I would prefer doing than sitting at some café with a beer with Best Mate watching the world go by but we are here because the furniture restorers are returning any moment now to finish off the bookcase.

Then, perhaps, I can get the lounge into some sort of order and open my boxes of books as, now, without a book to read, I feel something is missing, even if, were the books all out and on display, I wouldn’t be reading.

The time with Best Mate is nearly over. It’s far too soon, even if we seem to have done nothing. Maybe that’s why the feeling of dread. Did it come before or after she reminded me she was going home tomorrow?

The sun streams through the window making the right side of me hot. The left is cold so that I may have to put a jumper on.