Tag Archives: Piero

I don’t really belong

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I don’t think I’ll ever be something other than a foreigner in a foreign land.

I mean, I’ll never be totally relaxed. I came to this realisation whilst driving the dogs to the pineta on Sunday morning. I reached the traffic lights and, as I sat there, waiting for the lights to turn green, it struck me again that it’s not the place I am “from”. To the right is a place that looks a little like a timber yard – except that it sells marble. To the left is what look like a run-down workshop – except that it is a place where marble is carved into headstones and statues. The weather is warm and there is not a cloud in the sky and yet it’s towards the end of September and I am dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. This is not deepest Herefordshire.

It’s not such a bad thing – it’s just that it is, in a way, a little bit frightening. I don’t know that you will understand that and I’m not sure that I do either. Still, there it is.

The night before I had been with the family. This was the close family. This was F’s Mum’s birthday dinner. So F’s Mum and Dad, his sister (with husband and niece), twin brother (and girlfriend) and him (with me). There’s no strangeness from his family towards me at all. I am accepted completely and surrounded by his family and, in some way, feel part of it.

We went to Ristorante Venanzio in the small town of Colonnata, near Carrara which is situated deep in the mountains and surrounded by the marble quarries, famous for their white marble. It’s also famous for it’s Lardo di Colonnato, which I love.

Normally, when we go to Carrara for the weekend, we arrive sometime on Friday night and, usually, we drop the dogs at home and then go to Bati Bati for a pizza. I always have the pizza with Lardo, asparagus and aubergine (egg plant to Americans). It is one of the very best pizzas I’ve ever had. And, even now, writing about it, my mouth is salivating (really)!

However, at Venanzio, we had Lardo as antipasto (along with a load of other, very nice, things) which was “to die for”. So tasty. F’s brother told me that they have a special source for it and you won’t find it for sale anywhere else, even in the small village of Colonnata. We had a selection of pasta dishes (my favourite being Lasagnetta with sausage sauce) and then, I had lamb. Unfortunately, like most of Italy, the lamb was only so-so. Not a replacement for La Brace. However, I tasted F’s rabbit with lardo. It was slices of a rolled rabbit joint with lardo and herbs filling it. It was incredible.

Service was excellent (but we were the first there). Sweet was a cake (as it was F’s Mum’s birthday) which was very nice.

It wasn’t so expensive – about €40 each, including wine (4 bottles), a glass of sweet desert wine with the cake and a digestivo. Would definitely go again, the only downside being getting there (or, rather, getting back). The only way is via a narrow switchback road from Carrara – so you really MUST NOT drink and drive!

Anyway, you should go there for the Lardo!

Sunday was a day on the beach and it was one of the best days on the beach. Now, being the end of the season, half the umbrellas have been taken away so there’s much more room and, of course, a lot less people. Now, at this time in September, you can sit in the sun all day without becoming too hot – the breeze is cooling, the sun not so fierce. And so we do.

F talks about coming down next weekend, if the weather is good. It will be the last weekend – the beach closes at the end of September, the café is doing some sort of buffet spread on the Sunday. F suggests we might take a few hours off on Monday so we can stay down Sunday night. Let’s see how the weather is.

But, even here, on the beach, I have the same kind of feeling as I had in the car. It’s not really my place. Even if I feel relaxed and read (I finished “Bring Up The Bodies” – Hilary Mantel, which was great, btw), I almost don’t really belong.

There will be a room for cleaning products!

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It should be good. Why on earth, then, was I felt left feeling uneasy? Almost to the point of being scared? It doesn’t make sense, even to me.

I’ve just spent three weeks at F’s flat in Carrara. It’s not the “perfect” house, by any means. First, he shares it with his brother (at the moment) and that means that his brother “leaves” a mess which causes stress to F (and so, to me).

Then the house has not been “done up” since it was built (more or less) – the kitchen is old (but serviceable); there is only cold water in the bathroom sink; the hot water boiler sometimes gives you hot water but, mostly, gives tepid water; the toilet has been “fixed” (since last year when we used to have to use a bucket of water to flush it) but the plumber or whoever did it didn’t clear air out of the pipes and so it makes a terrible noise (you have to leave the cold tap running in the sink until the toilet cistern is full); the garden is not really grassed as such but is full of that rough grass; etc., etc.

It’s a house (or, rather, two flats) built in the 50s, I guess. It’s not really my “style”.

But, I’m not complaining. It’s been great to go there for weekends and holidays. The dogs love it and this year even F agreed that we had a very relaxing holiday.

He wants to do it up. The old guy who lives upstairs is a sort-of relation. In any event, in his will, the flat goes to F’s brother (he who used to look like Johnny Depp but doesn’t any more). But it needs a lot of work done – new roof, the walls need to be re-done (as they’re letting in damp) and, as part of the deal, F will pay for the repairs and his brother will sign over his half of the ground floor flat to F. It just needs to be made to happen.

But F really wants this. And, the night before last when we were out with An (where I had tartare which was incredible – I will put details of the restaurant up later), F was excitedly telling her about what he wants to do with the flat. Which walls he was going to knock down, how he was going to arrange everything, how there would be room for me to do English lessons ……..

This is something (the English lessons part) that he mentions regularly. This is the good thing. Isn’t it?

Well, yes it is. It means he is thinking of our future, not just his. He’s thinking of us living there and me doing lessons as a real job (which, of course, is about the only thing I could do there).

And that’s the problem, I suppose. For one thing, I don’t really think of the future any more. I stopped doing that more or less after I left England. Now, even thinking about next year is a rarity, let alone a few years hence.

The second thing is that, although this future includes me, I don’t have any real say over how the house should be done. Oh sure, I’ve made a couple of suggestions but, as I won’t be paying for it, I don’t really feel I have any right to say much.

For example, he draws the furniture in. It’s not my furniture. I’m attached to the furniture I have. I know it’s not important and I try not to be attached to anything any more. After all they’re only “things” which are not really important (those of you who read my blog know this already), it’s experiences and friends and the dogs that are important. Things can be replaced, destroyed, etc. They have no feeling. But, you know, if I’m going to be there, in this future he’s creating, I want something of mine.

I think.

So, suddenly, I came over quite cold and scared. The future. A future with me. But without things that are part of me. All these things make me a little uneasy.

However, to lighten the post a little, at one point he is describing the “laundry room” that he will create. It will have the washing machine and some shelves. On one side it will have shoe storage (he’s a bit of a maniac about shoes – they have to be aired and they have to be stored – usually in individual boxes). On the other side, I suggested we could put the sheets, towels, etc.

“Oh no!” he exclaimed, “this is where we will put the cleaning stuff.”

I laughed and laughed. The room will be mostly cleaning products. As I pointed out, he’s the only person I know who would build a room for cleaning stuff. Bless.

Away

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Well ……….

Sorry for the lack of posts over the last few days but my phone is getting worse and I’m worried that it would break whilst I’m away. Obviously, I wanted to make sure that all my contacts and calendar entries were safe, so I looked online to determine how to transfer these to keep them safe.

Apparently, there’s no really secure way and so, over the last few days I have been transferring contacts and calendar entries across to my email system, manually. One day these phone companies will properly understand that you want to keep everything and transfer them to the next phone.

So, I have been busy and, also, someone at work asked me for historical details of a previous project – so, in between entering all my details, I have been finding this information and sending it to them.

And now we’re on the last day. There’s still some of the last task to do but, in about seven hours from me writing this (or earlier, maybe), I shall be on my way home for three weeks of holiday. As such, Internet connection will be more difficult (with my phone as it is and with the house not having Internet connection) and it is highly likely that I won’t post anything nor respond to anyone much over the 3 weeks. I can, of course, get access in an emergency.

And the plan?

Well, F has only 2 weeks (the first two of my three) and, given that, on the 14th and 15th August, Marina di Carrara celebrates the public holiday with fireworks on the sea (and Dino does not like fireworks), we may, if all goes well, go away to Umbria for a few days or even a week – somewhere away from people and, as long as there are places to walk the dogs and a swimming pool, we will be very happy. Also, for F, it means a real break – and that will make him very happy and so, in consequence, I, too, will be very happy.

If I get the chance to post something, I will, particularly if we go to somewhere in Umbria.

In the meantime, should you also be on holiday (Lola) or not (Gail), have a great three weeks and I’ll see you when I get back.

Maybe this will be the last year?

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“If my brother won’t do anything I don’t want to come here any more!”

He goes on to say that the beach place is expensive (which it is) and that he wants to be able to leave stuff in the house without it being moved or other junk being placed (or thrown?) in there all over the place.

I don’t say anything. What can I say? It’s not my house and not my family and not my home town. I don’t have any rights. But I am a little disappointed. But I don’t think he means it, really. I think it’s just frustration coming out. He’s coming down later next weekend, on the Saturday, and then staying a few extra days to do a proper clean and get the grass cut, etc.

I asked if he was going to try and get quotes for the work to be done. He said he wouldn’t have time. As I said to him, I was only asking – it really wasn’t a dig, just conversation.

But, in the event, he is getting the husband of an old friend to come over and give a quote – after the dogs and I have left.

In the meantime, I have finished another two books. This is not quite a book a weekend but quite close.

The first that I finished (weekend before last) was the one I really wanted to read above all, that is, Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel. And it was good. Absorbing and interesting and, of course, about Tudor times which, to us Brits, was the real “Golden Age” even if the reality was something very different. Now I have to get the next one, Bring Up The Bodies, of course.

Then, FfI lent me a book she said was really good. Which I read, mostly, last weekend and finished it on the Sunday afternoon. Now, I’ve read one of this guy’s books before. And there’s a thing about gay fiction. It’s at once interesting for me and boring as hell. Edmund White is, I suppose, the biggest name in gay fiction and, on the cover, it had some good quotes from famous writers.

But, for me, it leaves something to be desired. It’s not quite as brilliant as it had been made out. And, although the storyline was quite good, the last chapter was a complete let down – as if he’d HAD to finish it and didn’t really know what to write – and so he did it in a hurry. The book was “Jack Holmes and his Friend” and, personally, I wouldn’t recommend it.

In addition, I finally got a book that I should have ordered a couple of years ago. It’s by a friend of a friend and, I think, is self-published (which, to be honest, doesn’t bode well). Still, I’m supposed to recognise some of the characters. We shall see. I don’t think it will be my “next book” but we shall see. The book is “Quinn’s Way” by Steve Gray. As far as I know, it’s his only book. Well, I’ve bought it now and, at the rate I’m going through the books I did buy, I will need it.

But, next, I’m thinking of Dickens. That should slow me down a bit because it’s not really “light” reading although I do like Dickens and his stories and descriptions are always good.

The weather is getting hotter and hotter. The forecast for this weekend (in Milan) is somewhere near 37°C – which is very, very hot. Luckily, for much of it, we shall be by the sea, where it will be considerably cooler (I can’t believe I’ve just written “luckily”!!!!!) and much better for the dogs.

And it’s less than two weeks till the holidays :-)

No, it happened after I left, of course!

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Can you believe it? I missed it …….. again! And everyone at work has been asking as most of them knew I would be there.

Now, some of you or, more probably, all of you will think this is a good thing and, probably, had I been there, I would be thinking the same but, as I wasn’t there, I feel like I missed out.

I heard about it about 2 hours after I left. Apparently, again, people were “fleeing the beach” at the Marina – where I had been just 2 hours before.

Getting burnt. I had put cream on – a spray cream that I bought especially because F was not there to put some on my back. With this I could spray my back. I put some all over because the sun, even at about 9.45 a.m. was strong and there wasn’t a cloud in sight, unlike the day previously when, after about 3 hours on the beach, I gave up since I was shivering and the few people that were there had towels wrapped round them to shield from the cold. It reminded me of a beach in the UK!

So, I put cream on – even on my legs. It was factor 30 – so not nothing. I lay in the sun but got bored and, so, sat up to read. I did, at one point, later in the afternoon realise that my knees had got a bit cooked and also the tops of my feet. I moved into the shade of the umbrella.

However, by the time I got home to take a shower, I was nicely (?) burnt. Down the outside of one leg and the inside of the other. And, of course, the tops of my feet.

But I guess the cream had some effect since it didn’t really hurt. Much.

The trip down was a bit longer than expected with a couple of accidents and, because of them, long queues. But I took it easy – not driving like a maniac. When we reached the motorway that runs along the coast, the windows were open and Dino was sniffing the air as if remembering the smell (although I didn’t smell anything particular – but, then, I’m not a dog) but when we came off the motorway, he got much more excited. Heavy sniffing (sounds almost pornographic!) out of each window. Oh, yes, he knew where he was alright.

The whole weekend was barely contained excitement for him. The trips to the dog area in the pineta, the trips back, the food, the house – everything. In fact, the excitement was so barely contained that he was, almost, excited all the time. Piero less so but even he remembered the way to go to places – the pineta, the walk after playing.

The nice thing about dogs is that they are easily pleased.

And I finished the first of my books – Cat’s Eye by Margaret Atwood. If I’m honest, I really do like her books that aren’t the usual science fiction/fantasy stuff. It was good and, as always, well written.

I was late up on Saturday. Thank goodness F wasn’t with me or you can be certain I would have been woken earlier. Then I found only one of my beach sandals. I hunted for the other one but couldn’t find it. So I went to buy a pair since I didn’t want to use my leather ones for the beach. I, wrongly, went to Esselunga first (thinking it was Carrefour.) As I came out (with nothing), I heard someone calling my name. It was Fr, an old school friend of F’s. she had a stall in Carrara that evening in the “Marble Weeks” event. She said I should go. I said I would see.

Then I went to Carrefour and managed to find my way (which itself was something of a miracle). I found some. It didn’t really matter what they looked like – they just couldn’t be flip flops as my feet can’t take them – within seconds the place between my big toe and the next becomes red-raw.

Then I came back to the house because, apparently, the towels were there. I found them. Then I went to the beach. The sun was shining through thin cloud, the wind was cool but when it clouded over later, the wind took any heat away.

Saturday night was dinner with F’s parents. I brought some ice-cream. Well, you can’t really go there with nothing, can you?

They were lovely of course. And did too much food, of course. it was too much food even if F had been there. We talked and, more or less, we had a decent conversation.

There was “interesting” moment when, on the news (for the television is on in the kitchen, where we eat, during the meals) there was a report about the first gay marriages that happened in California after the recent ruling by some court in the US that the marriage of gays was legal. It was interesting because I wondered if they would say anything to me. They didn’t although F’s mum gave a dismissive wave of the hand as she walked to get ready for bingo (Saturday being one of her “bingo nights”).

I didn’t go to Carrara. For one thing I was quite tired, I didn’t want to wake up late, I had no jacket and I knew it would be colder in Carrara itself and, finally, I didn’t really want to go by myself. Maybe I shall go next week, if it’s still on.

I was at the beach reasonably early, having done the pineta with the dogs followed by the walk. I had my coffee and pastry at the beach and settled down for the day. F’s sister and niece came to say hello and I said hello to everyone when I left at about 3.30.

I went home, cleaned up a bit and we set off.

Nothing remarkable had happened until I was around Parma when the news said there had been another earthquake had happened and people were fleeing the beach at Marina di Carrara. Damn! That was my first thought. If I had been there I would have taken video – maybe. Of course, after the first few moments I expect (indeed, hope) I would be fleeing too. After all, the dogs would be at the house and I would want to make sure they were OK.

Anyway, I missed it again. But I’m sure, in this seismic country, there will be other occasions.

Going to an Earthquake Zone?

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You may or may not have heard about the earthquakes that have been occurring in the Apuan Alps.

And, even if you had, you may not have thought much about it.

But, let me explain that Carrara, where F has his house and where we spend the summer, is overlooked by the Apuan Alps. In fact, Carrara is partly up the mountains. Where we actually go is the coast – but we’re talking a few miles.

So, Marina di Carrara, Avenza and Massa di Carrara have all felt the earthquakes quite a lot and, according to one newspaper, yesterday, people were fleeing from the beach at Marina di Carrara – which is where we have our umbrella.

And, next weekend, I shall be going there. F is working but we have the umbrella and he wants me to go as, otherwise, it doesn’t really make so much sense to take the umbrella for the whole season (as it’s not exactly cheap) and then only use it for a couple of weeks.

And, with the idea of fleeing the beach, I thought, initially that that was not such a clever thing to do. Of course, in different circumstances, I would stay – however, in my circumstances I would be racing back to the house. Not for me, you understand, but because Dino and Piero would be there and I would be worried for them and, most likely, they would be frightened.

So, let’s hope the aftershocks are all finished by next weekend.

p.s. the title is a bit misleading since the whole of Italy is an Earthquake Zone!

Am I dreaming or what?

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Everything just seems “not quite right”.

I’m not going to be able to explain this very well.

If, at all!

The alarm goes off. I had already woken almost an hour earlier. F had opened the window and turned the fan off. He is Italian and drafts are like some black magic. Drafts make you ill and can, probably, kill you. Therefore the fan, excused by the need for the dogs to keep cool, had been left on for a few nights. But the weather has “broken”. It’s not so hot (although still hot by British standards). Therefore we can now turn the fan off. Personally, we could keep the fan going all summer – however, not for him.

Instead the window is open although the shutters are drawn.

But Friday is bin day. The bins from the apartment block have to be put outside. The guy comes around 5.30 a.m. to do this. He is noisy but it’s not so bad if the windows are closed – open he might as well be dragging them past the bottom of the bed!

I wake up. And then it’s difficult to get back to sleep with all the noise and so I get up and close the windows.

So, back to where we were. The alarm goes off. I feel like I’ve been drinking the night before – which I had, of course. With A. And I promised not to blog about it, so I won’t.

Anyway, that’s not the point.

Unusually, instead of turning the alarm to “snooze” mode, giving me an extra five minutes (not of sleep, of course, since I am always worried that, inadvertently, instead of pressing snooze, I have pressed “dismiss”), I get up.

It’s all a bit sudden. And all a bit early. And, for some reason, it’s all quite wrong as if I have forgotten something.

I go to the kitchen and switch the coffee machine on. This is normal and, yet, it doesn’t feel quite normal.

It’s as if I am not quite in my body and yet I am still controlling it. It is just taking a bit if effort.

I go to the bathroom to shave. I am doing the normal things without thinking and, yet, I am having to think. I am having to make myself and my limbs and my fingers do things. Obviously, I know HOW to make them do things but this morning I am having to concentrate to get them to do anything.

And, yet, they seem, sometimes, to be doing things on their own, as if I am, in fact, not needed nor indeed part of the act.

I shave, shower and get partly dressed and then I go back to the kitchen to press the button to make the espresso pour into the cup below the nozzle and press the switch so the steam can pressurise to make the frothy milk.

I return to the bathroom to dry my hair.

I wonder if I should wake F up. He had said, earlier in the week, that today he would get up at 6.30. But there is something in my head saying that we had a conversation last night and he told me that it was not necessary now because “someone else was going to do it”. Whatever “it” was that he was going to do.

Except that I’m not sure if I had the conversation with him or not.

I weigh up the possibility that I had, in fact, just dreamed that we had the conversation. Was it real or not? Should I wake him to check or not?

But part of me is certain that the conversation was real and not a dream.

And, in my partial, out-of-body-experience state even thinking is by extreme effort.

But something is wrong.

I can feel it in the pit of my stomach. That sort of achy, butterflies thing. As if you’re going for an interview. I push myself forward and do the milk.

Perhaps, actually, I am dreaming. Except this cannot be a dream because everything is real. And, yet, I know that in a dream everything feels real so who knows?

I sit and have my coffee, reading the web pages that I normally read – doing the things that I normally do but with this very uneasy feeling that I should be doing something else. Or maybe that something is about to happen? It’s not exactly a feeling of dread although it isn’t pleasant.

For sure, something is wrong.

I realise I am going to be a little late abut I am finding it hard to motivate myself to move. Much as now, I am finding it hard to motivate my self to type. To think. To do anything.

Yet I do get up and wash up and clean my teeth and gel my hair and go back to the kitchen to put my shoes on. Piero comes to say “hello” and I give him a stroke.

I leave the flat. As I reach the internal courtyard, I light up my cigarette. It’s not the first this morning, of course. I’ve already had the usual three. As I walk towards the door of the building I feel for the car key in the bunch in my hand. But the keys are different – lighter – and missing the car key because, actually, these are F’s keys. Damn! I KNEW I should have changed them last night.

The lift is at the bottom. I take the lift to my floor and go in and swap keys.

I reach the car and get in. It still doesn’t feel quite right. I am worried that, at some point, I shall lose my ability to control my limbs which is still taking some effort. I am still not wholly inside my body but neither am I outside of it.

I drive to work. Things seem to be “in my way”. I try to concentrate on driving like you do when you’re a little drunk. You know? When everything requires you to do something that normally you “just do”. But I’m not drunk. This is the same and not the same. I feel like I’m going to have an accident. Like some sort of premonition.

This feeling of an almost impending doom won’t go away. No, something is most certainly not right.

And I still have it. Not quite so bad as this morning but, all the same, it’s still here.

So, there you have it.

Not explained at all well but I just can’t seem to put my finger on it.

Can’t wait ’till I’m home. Thank goodness it’s Friday.

Where I get to see a bit of Italy I haven’t seen before.

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I’ve lived here almost 8 years now (I know, I can hardy believe it myself)!

And, much as it was in the UK, I know I’ve seen hardly anything of Italy. There are tons of places I’ve never been to, even places near Milan!

But, this weekend (well, as of Thursday) we shall be going to the toe of Italy, namely, Calabria. It’s my first time a) in that area and b) that far south in Italy. Not right at the big toe, so to speak, but in the toe area – more like the instep now that I’ve looked at the map to check.

We’re flying down and so leaving the dogs at the place we bought them from. Then hiring a car to get to this place called Catanzaro. Well, not actually there, but close by.

We’re going to a wedding. Not one of F’s friends but, rather, one of mine. And not an Italian friend but, rather, an English friend who is marrying someone from there. Actually, it’s an ex-colleague from the time I had the business. And he’s of Irish extraction, so the place will be full of Irish people getting, I suspect, absolutely plastered. We’ve decided to stay a few extra days and make a long weekend of it.

Normally, when you speak of somewhere in Italy (that isn’t Milan), Italians will tell you how lovely it is. Not this time though, which was a little bit of a shock. I had been under the impression that everywhere in Italy was beautiful (according to Italians), except Milan (which, as you know, I think IS beautiful).

We’re staying at the hotel that is the venue for the reception. It means drinking without having to worry about driving.

But, then, I thought I would just check Trip Advisor. All the English reviews don’t have anything good to say about it – apart from the views. The Italian ones, say it’s wonderful. I’m tempted to put a review up after we’ve been – just to try and balance it one way or another. I thought that it must be OK as it will be local to her family and a lot of the English guests will be staying there. Surely, they wouldn’t have the reception and people staying in some sort of dump? No, surely not. Well, we shall see.

The place is near the sea – so beaches may be involved. It must be near some other things that may be worth a visit – I must check some of my books to find out.

Anyway, it will be a weekend away and one where we don’t have to get up early to walk the dogs. And the forecast suggests that, although it may not be as warm as Milan, it should have almost zero chance of rain which will be nice.

And then there will be the food – which should be good (although, of course, that isn’t guaranteed).

So, a weekend away without the “children”. I am looking forward to it :-)

He comes to stay. And other things

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I went to a second-hand book fair last Saturday.  It was organised by the Anglican Church in Milan of which, one of my friends here is a member.

I came away with 6 books to add to my other 2 that I am saving for the summer weekends and weeks on the beach.  I can’t remember all the titles or authors but they included Bleak House which I have never actually read.

In fact, I realised as I bought it, the only Dickens I have read was when I was at school and I thought it was about time I read one of them for pleasure.

Previously, I had bought Life of Pi and the Hilary Mantel book, Wolf Hall, her historical fictional account of Thomas Cromwell’s rise to power.  In fact, I shouldn’t have bought Life of Pi at all.  I was lent it by someone but then Piero got it and it was turned into small pieces of paper, spread all over the flat, so I bought another copy and I might as well read it before I give it back.

So, that’s my summer reading all sorted now.  All I need is summer which is taking a rather long time to come through and all the rain we are having is rather annoying, not to say anything about how cold it is.

F, having spent all last week in Spain (for work), became ill but still travelled down to his Aunt and Uncle’s 50th Wedding Anniversary “party” on Saturday.  I was invited but I don’t think he was so keen for me to go, so I didn’t.  However, he rang me during the meal because his Aunt wanted to thank me for the present (which F bought in Spain – but which he said was from both of us) and his cousin just wanted to say hello.  It’s nice of them but I still get confused with S and, in fact, his Aunt called me S.

But that really doesn’t bother me at all on the basis that they see us as a couple in the same was as F & S were and, after all, they’re both foreign names to them :-)

F only went down for the day (the party was a lunch) but by the time he came back he was worse.

Sunday we went to the hospital.  The sister of P (One of F’s best friends and who got married last year in Villa Singer), E, has just had her kidney replaced (she had been on dialysis for ages) and, until the middle of last week, had been doing so well, they were going to send her home.  Then it started rejecting and so they needed to put her on stronger drugs and keep her monitored.  Obviously, as she comes from Cararra, she is a long way from home and F tries to see her as often as possible.  Sunday, we went together.

The hospital is one of the biggest in Milan and only a little way outside the city. It took us about 10 minutes to get there by car).  The strange thing was that, apart from the hospital beds and people walking around with bags hanging from them containing liquids of various kinds, it didn’t actually SEEM like a hospital. I mean it didn’t have the usual hospital smell that I really hate. It almost seemed quite nice!

Anyway, P rang F later to say that she had been very happy to see us, so that was nice.

By Sunday night F was feeling worse. Yesterday, he didn’t go to work and this morning, he went to the doctors to be told he had otitis and he’s off work until Friday (which is good because we have the Lisa Stansfield concert on Friday night).

Now, here’s thing. I mean to say, here’s the point of this post.

F doesn’t really do being ill very well. In fact, he always prefers (he says), to be on his own.

However, he has gone home, on his way back from the doctor’s, to get changes of clothes before he comes to my place to stay with the dogs! This is a huge difference from previous illnesses when he would go home and stay there. Of course, I guess it helps that I am there in the evenings to make drinks and other things for him. Bless.

A fantastic Easter

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A day late, I know but, Happy Easter.

Probably, this was one of the best Easters I’ve had.

Yesterday, it was just the four of us. And, like Christmas, it was just us. F had cleaned the flat the day before and I mean “cleaned”. Doing the top of the cupboards, picture frames, etc. Stopping occasionally to show me the cloth. I’m afraid I was not really impressed since I knew that the cloth would show that neither I nor my cleaner do these bits (and, most certainly not I). However, it seemed to make him happy.

So the house was incredibly clean – what I would call “spring cleaned” even if the weather doesn’t really feel like spring – far too cold and wet and downright miserable. Still, at least we don’t live in the UK where they still have it in the minus figures and have snow and stuff.

We got up. I took the dogs for a walk whilst F cleaned (obviously!) the floors. Then we went to have breakfast and pick up the colomba (the traditional Easter cake here which is actually similar to pannetone – a kind of bread-like cake but with a different shape) and then we spent a few hours relaxing a bit before starting the lunch.

I was having lamb which, these days, I don’t eat so much since F will not eat it. Just lamb chops but better than nothing. I had made some fish cakes for him. Obviously, being in Italy, some ingredients are hard to find. I had walked the length of Corso Buenos Aries and back looking for the only fish shop I know in this area but, unfortunately, either it has closed down or it was closed for that day because I couldn’t find it. In the end I chose some salt cod and added a bit of smoked swordfish (it was supposed to be smoked haddock) which I got from the supermarket. The other ingredient I needed was cardamom seeds (but for the sweet I had planned). Again, this is not easy to find but, after trudging through the relentless rain on Saturday, eventually I found some in a herb shop.

So, Saturday afternoon was spent by creating the fish cakes and then doing the sweet. The sweet was a chocolate mouse (well, it is Easter). I think I used nearly all the bowls in the kitchen to create the chocolate mouse! Melted chocolate, separated eggs, whipped cream, orange juice and grated rind, etc.

And, so, Easter lunch was, in the end easy and lovely. F did a mix of courgettes, carrots and leeks, thinly sliced and fried until they were just soft. I did roast potatoes to go with the lamb and fish cakes. We had bought lasagne from our usual place. After an antipasto of some meats with bread, the lasagne for primo piato and the main course, we were both quite well fed. The fish cakes, by the way, were superb. I had make six and cooked two (the rest went in the freezer) but F only managed to eat one so the other will be for today, shared between us. My improvisation regarding the fish seemed to work fine.

We couldn’t eat sweet straight away and so took the dogs for a long walk. The sunshine was out and it was much warmer.

Then we came back and had the chocolate mouse (which was really good), a piece of colomba and some of the Easter egg that F had bought. And we finished off the bottle of wine – EACH! He had white and I, red.

And, as you see, nothing really special and, yet, very special, like Christmas – we spend all day together and cook together and take the dogs for a walk and, somehow, it is so relaxing and enjoyable and I really love it.

One day, hopefully soon, we shall be able to do that more often.