Tag Archives: Italy

Missing me; Tuscany, maybe?; Weather in Italy – when to have a holiday; In hot water; This blog

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“Looking forward to seeing you and the babies”

It hasn’t been that long.

“We are still in the restaurant, eating outside. I imagine our holidays – with the babies”

I take them out of order and, probably out of context. It’s my blog and I can do what I want.

In fact, it is only since 5.45 this morning when I got up and left him to wake up more slowly. But he was getting up at 6 anyway. He was going to the store near Venice.

It is hot and sunny there and cooler and more rainy here. But the rain will pass. And, for our holidays, I hope it is not like other years and remains hot and sunny, even if it is the third week in August – not the best week for being on holiday here, in my experience.

In fact, if you wanted my advice, holidays in the Northern part of Italy should be taken in July for the hottest, sunniest weather, with June and September cooler (but still hot) but more risky for rainy days. August, around the 15th, is almost guaranteed rain!

But I did notice that, in the message I put at the start, I was mentioned first. I also realised that he is, really, really looking forward to going away with the dogs (and me).

He has an idea for Tuscany (this is NOT the holiday). The problem is the dogs (or the babies, as you will). His parents place means that we sleep in two very small rooms and he is concerned because they go to bed early (and are up early – which all sounds good to me) but (and I more than agree with him) it’s not so easy with the dogs. The flat, which he shares with his brother, is currently being used by some cousin or something.

I don’t know how many times I have to say that I was only joking (even if the reality was that I was only half-joking). His plan is that he goes down on the Friday and I follow Saturday afternoon. Then I stay Saturday night and I (or, maybe we) come back on Sunday.

“I want you to come to C”, he says. And I really think he does. And I don’t want to take the dogs to his parents. at least, not until they know me better or something. Gentle introductions are required here, I think. Even if they will never know who I really am and are unlikely to with the language barrier.

However, he is thinking of doing this in the next couple of weeks. Let’s see. With him, I can’t get too excited lest it doesn’t happen. His mind is still unfathomable to me. I know he thinks about things a lot but what actually goes on in his head is just impossible and I can’t follow his logic (if there is any) (and that’s after my advice to Lola earlier this afternoon hahahaha).

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We expect things to work and we certainly take things for granted. Yesterday, in my head, I was looking forward to the shower I was going to have.

Except after nearly three hours, the three men went away, leaving me with a brand, spanking, new boiler …………. which didn’t work!

Another guy came today to fix it. It took him a while but he has done it. It was a blockage!!  As I said to someone at work, today.  I had one guy to carry things, one guy to fit the boiler and one guy to watch them do it.  Now, I could add – and one guy to make it actually work!

So I went to lie down for a bit and then I heard the sound of someone coming in. It was my cleaner guy. Since he had to leave early yesterday (no water) he was going to add hours next Wednesday. Instead, he chose to come and do the ironing today.

So, tonight I have a long, hot shower AND I have all my shirts ironed.

Cool, if you see what I mean.

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Today, I was recounting the story of how F & I met. The girl, A, thought it was a lovely story. Of course, my blog allows me to recount the circumstances in more detail than I would ever remember and for which I am grateful. She also wanted to know how it was to be gay; when did I know?; what about girls?, etc. I explained. I have nothing to hide. She was a bit shocked but then, in this country, there is an unawareness about it all that still surprises me. I wondered if this is what it is like in most of the world. I am truly grateful that I was born and brought up in the UK.

But back to the blog. I’m not sure that I always say all of the really important things but I think I was, mostly, faithful with my recounting the story, since it was written at the time. It makes me wonder, if, in a few years time, some of the essence of the whole thing will be gone from the blog. It’s not really a diary, is it? It’s more a collection of random thoughts and random happenings in my life. Some things are deliberately missed (for various reasons); some things omitted by accident.

The boiler is being fitted; A dictionary that may help with training

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Well, they’re here. There are three of them to fit a small boiler! Not sure why so many. Maybe it’s ‘cos siamo in Italia?

At least it’s being done although I think that if I’d not chased, I would still be at work now, waiting for the call. Anyway, the important thing is that there’ll be hot water for a shower tonight!

And, I’ve seen this book. S, my colleague brought it in this morning. It’s a ‘dictionary’ – or, at least, that’s what it’s called. From and to Italian………..

and……………

cane! Yes, dog. Apparently there’s also one for cats and one for something else. I intend to go and get one for F. I know he will love it! From what I can understand of it it’s really quite funny (and has serious points as well). It covers the dog’s behaviour and why and, I think, I hope, how to stop it if it’s not good. I intend to buy it this evening, assuming the men have finished here, which is almost certain to be before the bookshop closes.

S has bought it to try and train her dog – or, rather, stop it from barking at cyclists and cars and stop it doing some other stuff but, maybe, we’ll find some hints as to how to stop Dino licking (everything). Other than that, he’s almost perfect.

Well, I say that. There was the other evening when he growled at F and then tried to bite me. Not that he did bite me as he realised he should not but his jaws were round my wrist.

Since then we’ve been having some rather serious training to ensure that he knows that, in reality, he is the bottom of the pack and not, as he might have thought for a moment there, near or at the top!

The training includes the going in and out of everywhere last and not first. Still, after a week of this he has got the idea and now waits for everyone to go through before he comes. It’s a start, anyway.

Of course, as with any teenager, he’s only flexing his muscles a bit but it has to be stopped anyway.

We’ll see if the book can help with the training. Especially, ahem, with the training of F as, actually, it’s the things F does that allows Dino the thought that, maybe, just maybe, he may not be the bottom of the pack!

Murphy’s or some other law

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The water starts to warm up. Of course it does! Today, after almost 2 weeks of not doing that, today, of all days, it starts to work!

What’s it called? Murphy’s Law? Or is that the one that says ‘what can go wrong will go wrong’? I am, of course referring to the law that says, at the moment you have decided/or are about to do something to fix something – it starts working again!

Today, apparently, is the day that the ‘technico’ comes to fit a new boiler. This is after almost two weeks of it being broken and me going round to F’s place for showers. And I’m getting fed up with it. I like my shower and I (yes, I’m aware that this sounds quite crazy) don’t feel clean enough! This after going round to someone to whom cleanliness is the reason for living!

I had asked the girl what time they were coming. Apparently, she didn’t know. I explained that it would take me one hour to return home from work. She said OK, she would ensure they rang me to give enough time and that, if I hadn’t heard from them by mid-day, I should give her a call.

It’s now 10.30. I haven’t heard yet. The phone is silent. I have not missed a call. I expect that I’ll be phoning her in an hour and a half. The reason that I hadn’t heard from the fat bloke (sorry – technico) before was that he had forgotten. I’m expecting him to have forgotten this fitting of a boiler too – or, if he’s not forgotten, to have found that he doesn’t have all the parts, or some other excuse.

Which means, probably, it won’t get fitted today. Which means, also, the hot water won’t be working tonight and so being squeaky clean will have to wait for another day.

Damn!

The games of a relationship – part one – jealousy

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Relationships are bloody difficult, for everyone, it seems.

A, on a ‘break’ from Fr, and I went to this cocktail thing last night. The wine was good. The food was good. It was ‘finger food’, A’s new craze right now. He’s doing us Sunday lunch this weekend – which will be finger food.

Fr phoned him several times. He was annoyed.

“She shouldn’t be phoning me because we have agreed to meet at 9.15″, he moans to me. He doesn’t answer her calls.

As we’re walking away from the cocktail do to his car, he tries to phone her.

“She’s switched off her phone”, he moans further.

I ask where they were going to go. He says just ‘for a walking’ near to her place. I suggest that he goes to her flat anyway – the risk being that she doesn’t answer the door. I also suggest that he doesn’t say he was in the swimming-pool all the time as, if he gets to see her, she will smell the alcohol on his breath. I suggest, instead, that he blames me (as, anyway, she blames me for his drinking too much).

I tell him that he should stop playing games with her. Her phoning and he not answering. Then him phoning and she not having her phone on. He, of course, denies playing games, as, probably, would she. But, the reality is that, as in any other relationship, he (and her, probably) is playing a game. We all do it to a greater or lesser degree.

I don’t know whether he went round or not. I will email him now.

And then, this morning, S, my colleague, was upset. Upset because of her husband who she had seen, sitting at a café with other people. One of these people was a woman who, some time in the past, he may have had an affair with – perhaps – maybe. And she rang him and so they had a fight. So she wanted advice (but, as is normal, didn’t really want advice at all but to be told that what she planned was the right thing). She’s going to change her route because then she doesn’t see it – but, of course, that doesn’t mean it goes away. Her husband, of course, denies everything. She then spoke about, maybe, she should start going out with her friends. It’s more game. I suggested that she didn’t as going out with her friends meant that she would be doing it to try and make her husband jealous and if it didn’t work, then where would she be?

And so, interrupted by colleagues, she has been telling me the story over the last ‘x’ years. And why it all happened and asking what I thought. And I feel sorry for her as I do for A and I wish I could make it better for them but I can’t. But I did try to explain to her that I, too, have these feelings of jealousy – it’s just that I know what they are and I force myself to act in a proper way and not give in to them.

My example was this week. F texted me to say that he was going out with a friend. Of course, my immediate reaction is – who, what, why, where????? And what relationship do you have with them? Or have had with them?

I do none of that. I know that for what it is. And I prefer that he feels free enough to tell me this much. Later, on the phone, he said that he did not stay with them and went out for dinner on his own. It was complicated and he will explain it to me after; later; apparently.

And that’s OK. Maybe I will mention it or maybe not. In any event I have to explain the other night so that he knows I am not angry with him. Maybe it will come out then. Maybe I should explain that I have the feelings but don’t act on them. Maybe. Perhaps. Or not, of course.

A asked me when will we move in together. I said not now. Not yet. Maybe never. He didn’t understand. I said I would wait for F to decide. He thinks I’m crazy and that I should push. I know that I should not. When or if it is right, it will happen. F complains that his flat is too small. It will come – in time. There is time (or, at least, one has to hope for time). And, anyway, if there is no time, then there is little to be done about that.

In the meantime, I am, again, like a rabbit in car headlights. The fear of everything is causing me to freeze; to do nothing and, therefore, making everything far worse. However, today I did some stuff. And some stuff is better than the ‘nothing’ I had been doing until now.

At least, now, finally, the weather is more like summer. High twenties already and set to get higher with almost clear blue skies.

Even if my life is not perfect, I love it still. F returns tonight and I shall pick him up – he asks if the ‘babies’ will be there too. I say maybe. And, as he flies into Terminal 2, which is smaller, maybe I will take them. I know that Dino would love it. And so would F. And, as long as F and my dogs are happy, then that is all that matters.

And, whilst I may play some sort of game with our relationship, it’s not the one of A nor S nor their respective partners and I will not let the jealousy thing become the thing that controls me and takes me over. Each time it happens I will make it stop in my head.

It’s too nice a day to have problems like that.

Two “I can’t tell you”s in one post – only one of which is a secret!

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I shouldn’t have had those two kit-kats – but, then, I didn’t know he’d phone with that offer.

“I’ve been invited out for dinner with a friend”, he says.

“OK”, I reply. I mean, what am I supposed to say?

“Would you like to come?”, he asks. Well, sure but it was all a little strange, for reasons that I cannot explain; I don’t have the words to explain why it was strange and not because I cannot tell you because it is a secret or anything.

“Well, yes, sure. If I won’t be in the way”.

It turns out it is with Sa, a work colleague. And this was the invitation that had been promised to me some time ago. This is his (probably) favourite restaurant in Milan. Or, maybe, second favourite.

We walk from my house. It’s about 10 minutes. Sa, I have met before. She is lovely (even if she is German :-) ). She loves dogs – so that has to be good.

Al Grissino is not a restaurant, from the outside, that one would immediately associate with the good and great of Milan. An unprepossessing entrance in a street that, although surrounded by streets with the houses of Milan, is not that great. Not right in the centre of Milan either, it’s not one that you would ‘find’ as you were walking by – simply because it’s unlikely you would be walking by in the first place!

Inside it’s OK but nothing really special. No, here one goes for the food. And one pays the price for this food. I actually don’t know if there is meat on the menu. We dispensed with the menus. We decided on four antipastos. Three chosen by F & S and one chosen by the waiter. I preferred the one chosen by the waiter which was some clams with zucchini (courgettes). Each of the four, served one after another, were individually served on three plates. The wine was a jug of house wine with strawberries and raspberries thrown in!

Main course was some fish (again decided by the waiter) – the only stipulation being that it had carciofi (globe artichoke). Italians really like this stuff. For me it’s OK but, probably not having been brought up on it, it is not something I go crazy for.

The fish was cooked to perfection and was so nice. It was served with a few roast potatoes. The presentation of the main course was very nice.

For sweet, F had zabaione, Sa had tiramisù and I had meringue (more like ice-cream and meringue tart slices) with hot chocolate sauce – mine was the best, the chocolate sauce rich and thick – but all were damned good.

After sweet they served us some really nice amaretti biscuits with tiny choc bars – yes, as in ice-cream choc bars which I never seen before. They were wrapped wonderfully in that it was a complete surprise when you bit into them (even if they were, obviously, cold to touch).

Fantastic meal. It is a little expensive though, so not somewhere to go if you’re on a budget. It cost around €180 for the three of us.

Lovely though. It will be nice to go there from time to time, for certain. And, for reasons that I can’t explain (because it is a secret) we didn’t have to pay. My favourite way of dining :-)

I cook passata

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Well, at least I didn’t let the tomatoes go to waste – like I did last time.

I thought it would be nice. And I cooked it from scratch rather than buying it in a bottle. It was all supposed to go like this ……. I cook the passata (the tomato sauce that goes with bolognese sauce for those of you from the UK (‘cos there isn’t actually a thing called Spaghetti Bolognese here)); I was going to buy some sausages to go with it; I would have cooked and served tagliatelle with some of the sauce and then served the sausages with more sauce and a salad – a nice Sunday lunch/dinner.

Ah well. He informs me that, after a week of eating meat and drinking lots of beer in Germany, he’s on a diet! And the diet – bananas and milk!!!! WTF????

He doesn’t even like milk!

But I cook it anyway. I told him when we were out walking the dogs. He said we could have it tomorrow. Bless him.

An Innocent Abroad

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It must be just me. Is this true? Is everything I’m told just complete bullshit? Or, if not bullshit, exactly, then not less than exaggeration?

For over 20 years I’ve lived a double life. There was, until more recently, the truth between V & I whereas, the stuff V said ‘in public’ was ‘exaggerated’. Then, more recently, there was the complete bullshit!

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not perfect. When I am with friends or acquaintances, I can do the “you look lovely!”; I can feign interest in their work, love lives, health, etc. Everyone does that, right? And, unless they know me really, really well, they are unable to detect the real ‘you look lovely’ from the slightly less than true ‘you look lovely’.

V’s sister, for example, could tell, more or less. To most people the difference is undetectable (unless that’s because they choose not to detect it). But it’s not a bad thing on my part, is it?

When it comes to my life, though, I can only really tell the truth. OK, well, that’s not always true, as such. I mean, sometimes, even if things have been a little shitty, I put on a brave face and say that everything’s good. Work, life, health, etc. People don’t really want to hear how ill you are, for example. Very close friends are different, of course. Best Mate always gets the truth.

But, in general, I don’t exaggerate. I would rather say nothing than tell a real lie. If, for example, someone asks me about work, I would say ‘it’s OK’ rather than go through the problems with management or issues with the job, not that there are those problems – at least, not more than normal and at least, not right now.

With V of course, some of the crap he came out with whilst we were together, I lived with and, to some extent, could go along with.

But, with F, I still have to learn. So, he tells all his Italian friends that we met in a pub. I can go along with that. He will never tell his parents. I can go along with that too. It’s OK. As long as too many questions aren’t asked of me, it will be fine.

The other day, though, was strange. We were outside a café with B, his colleague from Paris.

“Tell her how we met”, he says to me.

Puzzled and a little uncomfortable, I reply that we met in a bar. After all, that’s what he tells everyone he knows.

“But”, he continues, “you use the chat”, he states, waiting for confirmation from me. I reply in the affirmative, not really understanding where this is going.

“It’s OK”, he laughs, “she knows the truth”.

So, what was that? A test? A joke?

Still, on Sunday, when I asked about the place in Puglia, I was shocked to get the reply that he hadn’t actually booked it but just checked the availability! Anyway, it might be Umbria, apparently.

I will get used to it. I have, after all, lived with it for so long. But I still don’t understand why people (and, especially him) say these things when they’re not true.

I have ‘warned’ him before that in spite of anything he may say to anyone else, he should always tell me the truth. I hope he heard that.

Didn’t she almost have it all?

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When one has potential it always seems such a shame when the potential doesn’t materialise. Worse still, when it’s your own fault.

I’ve seen her before at, what I would say, was the peak of her career but actually near the beginning. For me the first two albums were the best and it was steadily downhill from there.

When I saw her I hated the fact that she acted like a diva. It seemed that 10 minutes of song were followed by 20 minutes of nothing – whilst she went off to get changed into yet another frock, whilst we were entertained (or, rather bored to tears) by some dancers or some music. She annoyed the hell out of me because we had tickets to see her and I wanted to hear her sing not see what pretty dresses she had in her wardrobe.

But, there was no doubt, the voice was tremendous, the songs superb (I just wanted there to be more of them).

But it was with some trepidation that I went last night to the Milan Forum at Assago to see her on her ‘come back’ tour.

I’d read some reviews (particularly those of Birmingham in the UK and some in Australia) and watched some clips on YouTube from the recent tour. Ah well, I thought, perhaps now that she’s been doing the tour for a while and got rid of the ‘bugs’, it will be a lot better.

But I wasn’t really too hopeful.

The first couple of songs were from the new album. I don’t know them. OK, so her voice didn’t seem perfect but it was OK, as far as I could tell. Then a couple more.

The voice cracked in places. The same sort of ‘crack’ that happens when a boy’s voice is changing. Then she seemed to beg. Begging to be liked is never a good thing and this is what it seemed like. During the whole thing references were made to the fact that she was only human, that she hoped that her voice would be OK. She said something about there being a cold draught from one side of the stage and that, as any Diva would tell you (which made me almost laugh out loud – her? A Diva??), was a difficult thing – comparing herself to Aretha Frankly and Dione Warwick! WTF?

Then she went off. We were ‘treated’ to her brother making some dreadful attempt to sing one of her songs. I hardly recognised it. There was some boring dancing. We waited.

She reappeared in some sparkling, golden, diva-style dress with a fur coat over the top (to stop the draught, I suppose). She looked old and fat – but fat because she was bloated not fat that comes to us all with age. She looked tired. She sweated a lot (and I mean A LOT).

And then she sang some songs. It was as if the almost acceptable woman had gone backstage and changed outfit but also changed into a different person. It was absolutely dreadful.

It sounded more like a really poor Ertha Kitt – at least Ertha could hold a tune!

OK so, the most well known song wasn’t as bad as the ones I had seen on YouTube but, still, the range has gone and the voice did crack in one place.

It was like watching a train wreck happening in slow motion. At one point, as she went to sit on a high chair, it seemed as if she was going to topple over backwards! She seemed older and, to be honest, it seemed as if she had had several lines of coke whilst she had been backstage.

There were occasional flashes of what she was. Some parts of some songs, filled with the emotional power she became famous for; held in tune.

But this was sad. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see her collapse on stage and to be told later that she had died. It was like everyone was there to see her very last performance.

The crowd went wild at many parts. But this was not because she was good. This was because of what she had been and the fact that they were fans. I am not a real fan. I could hear how dreadful it was. Quite a number of people started leaving before the end – maybe they had other reasons to leave.

I shook my head as I watched her; I squirmed inside for the sight of a once-great singer singing out-of tune; I felt sorry for her and for what she should have been but, now, would never be, even if she did ‘clean herself up’.

Towards the end was this one below – but by then it was apparent that she couldn’t sing any more. I prefer to remember her as she was. This song was the one that used to get me excited about going out – going out to a club and dancing – curbing my natural shyness.

Whitney Houston could have been great by now. Not, perhaps, in the same way as Barbara Streisand but great, nonetheless. Instead, it would have been better for her not to have performed. If I had paid the €180 it cost to sit in the first few rows, I would have been more than disappointed.

But it was sad to see and hear. And, in spite of the cheering and ovation, I wonder how many of these people would go back to see her again?

Such a shame. This song of hers seems to sum it up.

Update: Of course, within a couple of years she was dead and so, I saw her twice. I prefer to remember the first time.

Italian begging is different.

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There are a lot of beggars here, in Milan.

There are those whose ‘job’ it is, sitting on the pavements, hand outstretched, wanting money. Italians, down on their luck; people with deformities or missing or mis-shapen limbs – showing off those limbs like some circus freak show; ordinary people who want to cadge a cigarette from you.

And then, yesterday afternoon there was the guy asking me for a couple of euro for ice-cream!

I mean to say, I understand all the other people – but begging for ice-cream?????

Only in Italy, I’m sure.