Tag Archives: Italy

The start of many more?

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I am thawing out.  Everything is wet, especially the dogs which, in turn, means all the floors are wet.  The snow, outside, is starting to turn that mucky brown, as it does in the cities and on the roads.  The park, though, was white and although there had been many people, it still retained it picture-postcard (or should I say, Christmas Card) look.

Dino loved it.  Running through the now, jumping, playing, shoving his nose in it and coming up sneezing and coughing, or similar.  Rufus, although OK with it, has the problem of ice balls forming under his feet and there was a heart-stopping moment on the way back.

We had come out of the park and started to cross the road, where there was no snow.  The ice balls, although small, meant that he couldn’t walk properly.  At one point he just stopped and lay down on the ground, head on the floor and wouldn’t move.  For just a moment I wondered if this was it.  I cleared his paws but he wasn’t moving.  All limp and somewhat dejected.  I picked him up and got him in a sitting position and rubbed his paws again.  This time he was prepared to move but not entirely happy about it.  Still we made it home and he seems OK.  I spoke to F about it later and he said that, perhaps, it was time to take them out separately, which may be true although not entirely a pleasant thought.

Last night, having got home really late, about 8, because of the snow and the traffic, which was, at times, gridlocked in the centre of Milan, I had a shower and took them out, the snow falling thick and fast and then went up to F’s place as had been planned.  F, in the end, didn’t go to his Christmas meals because of the snow.

I walked up the street, umbrella in one hand, trying to stop my bag falling off my shoulder, smoking a cigarette and then a text message came through.  It was FfI who, not a genius with technology, didn’t seem to realise that, although my Skype account showed I was at home, I wasn’t actually there.  So I texted back with gloved hands something that I hoped she would understand.  She didn’t.  Several more text messages came through.  I ignored them since I wasn’t going to take my gloves off and texting was impossible if I didn’t.  The place had that weird silence.  The few cars that were braving the snow were muffled as they drove along the streets, the engines almost quiet and the only real sound was the sort of crunching, scrunching sound as their tyres fought to get a grip on the snow covered streets.  It was magical and beautiful and, anyway, I was on my way to be with F.

I passed the cinema and thought, briefly, what a good night to go it would be.  Especially to see A Christmas Carol, perhaps.  There would be hardly anyone there and it would be nice to have the cinema almost to ourselves.  And then, come out to this magical world.  Another time, I thought.

By the time I had got to F’s place she had already sent him a message asking me to phone her.  I texted her.  Thinking about it as I write this, it was nice of her to be worried but she a) knew I was going to F’s place and b) knows (although she doesn’t seem to get it) that I leave my computer on 24/7 so sometimes it looks like I’m there when I’m not.  I’m kinda glad she shows concern but, really, you’d think that by now she would understand.

When I got to F’s flat, this time, of course, I could let myself in.  I placed the keys on the side and told him I had left them.  He took them back but then gave me the real spare set and said I should have those.  I smiled, inside.  even if it’s only for a short while, it’s nice to have the trust in me and nice that these little things show that this relationship continues.  Continues to grow and be stronger.

In the end we decided that, maybe, I shouldn’t go to work today.  I set my alarm for slightly later than normal.  I got up with alarm.  The snow had stopped but it was deep and curling up with F seemed so much of a better idea, that’s what I did.  We got up several hours later, went down and had breakfast and he went to his new flat whilst I went home to take the dogs out.

Before I took them out, I Skyped with Best Mate.  She is planning to come over in January.  Of course, it’s a crazy time to come here, especially if the weather is like this but I am so looking forward to it anyway and, more importantly than anything else, she gets to meet F.

And now, I go to La Rinascente.  I need to get a flan ring to do Lemon Meringue Pie for Christmas Eve and look at the prices of 25-year-old Balsamic Vinegar for an old mate.  On the way back, I shall stop at Esselunga and, hopefully pick up a Faraona (Guinea Fowl to us) which, even though F won’t eat Goose, he will eat.  Don’t see much of a difference myself but whatever makes him happy.  Our Christmas Day lunch will be Lasagne, Faraona with carrots and roast potatoes followed by the Milanese Christmas Cake – Panettone.

It will be lovely – and, mainly because we shall be together.  Our first Christmas.  And I hope the start of many, many more :-)

The spare set of keys (II)

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Europe has winter.  And, as we’re in Europe, so do we.  Snow has fallen (but mostly gone from Milan city, itself) but more snow is forecast this afternoon and tomorrow.  I hate it.

Regular readers to my blog will know that I’m only really happy when the sun is shining and the temperature is above about 25°C.  So that would be about 30° higher than this.  You can, therefore, imagine how I feel about it.  Still, I know we’ve only got another month or month and a half before we should see some improvement.

‘I will be spending more time at your house’, he says, over a pizza last night.  He is still trying to do his flat.  I said that it makes it easier for me.  But this doesn’t mean moving in.  He added that ‘when I’ve moved in it will be much easier because when you stay at my house, you can go and walk the dogs and then come back to mine’.  Hmm.  It will be much easier but then the incentive for him to stay with me will, somewhat, be lost, so we shall see.

‘Can I get Dino’s hair cut’, he says, unexpectedly, adding ‘I would like to see him with short hair, like Rufus’.  He’s good, I have to say that for him.  What he really wants is that Dino should have a wash.  I know that.  He had asked a day or two earlier if it was possible for ‘us’ to wash him.  I said it was difficult with only a shower. And Dino does smell a bit doggy.  My sense of smell is not so good so I don’t notice so much.  His sense of smell is good.  I replied that we could get Dino’s hair cut.  I don’t have a choice really and it would make life a little easier.

Today he has his Christmas parties at work.  Lunchtime is one for the showroom and this evening is the shop event.  He may go to both.  Last night he was saying that I could go to his place.  The logistics of it were more difficult.  I was about to say that he should call me when he was leaving the ‘do’ and I would make my way to his house.

Before I had chance to do this he suggested that, when I take him home this morning, he would nip in and give me the spare set of keys so that I could go up whenever I like.

Of course, I will give them back to him tonight.  He hasn’t said that I should keep them and, anyway, he won’t be there for more than a month longer.  I wonder what will happen with the new flat?

But, still, it is the spare set of keys!

So I may not have Christmas carols everywhere but at least I shall have Doris and Bing!

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It’s funny, really.  I only thought about it today but I know what’s different.

Christmas Carols.  There aren’t any.  Sure, we have the same kind of piped music in the shops.  Maria Carey with her greatest Christmas Hits, blaring out, not so subtly, for example.  But what I don’t see (although maybe it’s just Milan, or, even Milan centre) is groups of people singing Christmas Carols.

What we do have at this time of year is street vendors selling chestnuts, which is nice; flashing lights round people’s balconies or windows (thank God that the fad for Santas climbing up ladders seems to have almost gone); decorated trees or some sort of modern version in most shops; beautiful Christmas lights down the main streets or the little ‘centres’ that are outside the centre of Milan but are their own little community, like on a section of Via Stoppani, for example.

We also have (or have had) the local priest coming round to bless the ‘house’ although, being at work, I always miss it, which is, probably, just as well.

And last night, as I walked into F’s flat, there were Christmas songs being played.  Now I should point out that, for the last 20 years, on the dot of the 1st December, out came the Christmas CDs.  Some of which I didn’t have a problem with.  However, after the hundredth hearing of Maria Carey’s (breathy) Ultra-Special Christmas Album, I’d had enough.  So by about the 10th December I didn’t want to hear any Christmas songs again!

The difference, which was refreshing, was that last night it was all the sort of stuff I like – Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Perry Como and, even, Doris Day!  All the kind of stuff that I really do like at Christmas. But what he doesn’t seem to have is an Italian singer’s Christmas album (I shall, of course, check now).

So I may not have Christmas carols everywhere but at least I shall have Doris and Bing!

Everything is, always, mostly, nearly completely perfect.

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“That’s why I love you”, he says.

This may be in a jokey way – or maybe not.  Or, maybe both?  It doesn’t matter as it’s true, in any case.

As usual, all my doubts, uncertainties, confusion, etc. melted the moment that I saw him.  How does he do this to me?  I have to be honest and say that, were it not for the internet we may never have even noticed each other, even if we had met before, although, if we had spoken, maybe it would have been different.  But now, I only have to see him, even from a distance!

I had sent texts during the day.  He hadn’t replied.  I was aware that he may not, what with the BIG DAY being today and, I guessed, everyone running around as if the Queen were about to visit.  His responsibility being the ‘look’, I thought he may be even busier than most.  That was OK.  I knew what this was like (sort of) and, so, was not pressing.

I got home and waited.  Eventually, he called.  He was going to go home.  He was late.  I suggested that he may want to come to my place first, to check out and decide what I was going to wear for the ‘do’ tonight.  He thought that was a good idea.

He got to Porta Venezia and suggested going for a pizza and would I like to come there.  I said yes but I had to change and sort out the dogs.  Then he rang saying he was already at Porta Venezia and should we meet at Pizza OK.  I suggested Timeout 2 as it was closer to my place and he could then come back to mine for the five minutes it would take to sort through what I would wear.

I walked the few minutes to Timeout 2, realising, as I walked, that it was, probably, closed.  It was Tuesday and I was convinced that it was closed for that day.  It was.  I try to phone him.  He is on the phone (as usual).  I walk up towards Pizza OK as I know that’s where he’s coming from.  Trying to call him all the time.  Still engaged.  I start walking back to Timeout 2.  He is already there and calls out to me.

We kiss on the cheeks, well, almost on the lips.  We end up in the pizzeria Liù.  V & I used to go there when we first lived in Milan in Via Eustachi.  We talk.  He tells me about his day.  How the stuff he had to do in the shop should have taken a couple of hours but how customers would ask him about the price of this or that or how they find the right size or where is so-and-so and, so, it meant he was there for over 8 hours.  On his feet all day, a new phrase he learnt last night.

And how, because he was in the shop and so busy, he didn’t have his phone on and so only read my messages just before he phoned me.

He has electricity in his flat now.  He will be able to finish the decoration.  He is happier.  I tell him I’m meeting A on Thursday night.  He might come.  I said I had told A that F might not be there as I didn’t know what he was doing but that I would be there anyway.  I have to see A as he is leaving for his parents early next week.  I say that I have agreed to meet G on Saturday night for a beer and a pizza.  Again, I have said I don’t know if F will be there.  He thanks me for this.  I explain that I know he’s feeling stressed right now and I understand and so, although I have to see these people and would prefer that he were there, I understand if he is not.

And he thanks me again for being so understanding and that’s when he says “That’s why I love you”.

The pizza was good, the base being particularly nice.  I don’t remember if it was always this good.   We also have Milanese cake (that I forget the name of the cake but it is really nice – brought out at this time of year).  He says he will be spending a lot of time at the flat.  I explain that I have arranged to meet L and take the dogs (hers and mine) to the park near the airport on Saturday morning at 10 because I thought that he would want to go and do painting and that it would encourage us to get up and not waste the day.  He is happy with that and makes plans to come and stay at mine at Friday because he is closer to his flat and it means we can get up just that little bit later.

He tells me that he had planned that he would go home, have a shower, get his stuff ready for tomorrow and come and stay at mine.  I said that I thought it would be easier and better if he stayed at his, apologising that I wouldn’t be there as I needed to be in work on time.  He said it was a good idea.  And it was, even if it means spending the night apart.  He is, in fact, relieved that I came up with this suggestion as it will be much better for both of us.  It’s practical, anyway.

I tell him that, obviously, I would have preferred to be with him and that I missed him last night.  I tell him that much, anyway.

We go home.  I try on the jacket.  He is pleased with it and says it looks really nice and the sartoria (tailors) have done a good job.  I take all the jeans out of the wardrobe.  He goes through them, rejecting most.  He finds one that he likes and then another.  He looks at the jumpers I have (that I could wear).  He thinks a white shirt, or blue, is better.  For shoes he obviously is not impressed by my type of normal shoe.  It’s not his style, for certain.  But he decides, in the end, on the new ‘trainer-type’ shoe that I bought that time in Fox Town with A.

We hug and kiss.  He had said earlier that, being on his feet all day, his feet were doing that throbbing that they do.  I said I would drive him back home.  He protested that it was not necessary and I would have difficulty parking when I got back.  I said it would be OK.  I took him anyway and I know he was grateful.  I was back home within 15 minutes and found somewhere to park.  I was lucky, I know.

And, because I had seen him and been with him, sleeping, even if alone, was not so bad.  And I know that he misses me too and he had said, during the meal, that he had explained to a colleague and friend that he would be going to my place and staying there because it was only fair and that I had the dogs and he didn’t want me to be always going to his place because of them, etc.  I knew this anyway.

But, I still don’t quite understand why, when I see him, when we’re together,I don’t have any doubts or fears or concerns.  Everything is, always, mostly, nearly completely perfect.

The Fashion World – just part of his job

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He says it again. The three words; the phrase that I wait for. It makes me feel all warm inside. I don’t say anything. I already say them more than him anyway. And I do mean them, I really do.

It turns out he wasn’t at work at all yesterday. I didn’t realise that he was having all the windows replaced in the new flat. Well, he wasn’t, but his landlady was. And so, he had to stay in the flat, of course.

I text him before I leave work asking what time he would finish work, so that I knew or would have some idea as to what we may be doing and when I would go and see him.

That’s when I found out he wasn’t at work at all. He calls me as I’m driving home. A few minutes before, I had thought it would be nice to go to Baia Chia, the restaurant that is his favourite. I asked him if he would like to go but that I would be paying. He thought I said something about buying something from Ikea ….. buy eekaya (the way that they pronounce Ikea here). I explained. He said ‘Oh, Maria’s!’.

He booked and we were going to eat at 9. I was really happy about it as, not only is it a lovely restaurant and the staff so nice and the food so good – but he was going to let me pay! And, as I told him as we clinked glasses, it was to thank him for a wonderful 2 months.

And, although it wasn’t then, even if I don’t remember exactly why, he said the three words again and it made me very happy, as I am, often, with him.

He said that he was less worried about the flat now. He knew it would be small and that it didn’t worry him any more and that he would move in and everything would not be perfect but he would live with it even if it was a mess and that he would sort it out even if it took three months.

But I didn’t believe him even if I hoped it would be true.

I told him so by saying ‘I’m not sure that you can live without everything being tidy’.

He said that he could. Later he said that he doubted if he could. And, certainly, that I DO believe.

On the way home (his place) he said that he was more relaxed now. It’s not really true but I know he is trying.

He also said that we should quit smoking. Or, at least, cut down. I told him that he couldn’t change me so quickly and I was already doing other things. Which he knew and understood. And he said that, at least he would cut down. And I know that I will try, when I’m with him, to smoke less. I guess.

And I told him I was a bit worried about Rufus. It seems that the deterioration is going in spurts. He doesn’t wee in the house all the time but more often now. And that seemed to happen suddenly. Then, on Thursday night, I noticed, when we were out, that he seemed to be a bit drunk; Friday morning much worse; Friday night still just as bad. It’s not like he collapses (the back legs are very weak now) but seems to stagger a lot, just as if he is drunk.

I know it’s coming, the end, so I give him extra hugs and stuff. And, of course, I have the added thing of telling V. And, yes, it is a little upsetting, especially as he has been such a good dog but V will be really upset, which doesn’t help. Even if he really hasn’t had anything much to do with him for the last 12 months (since the break up, over a year ago now). However, it is all part of having a dog and I do have Dino now, as well.

F says ‘poverino’, as he does with Rufus.

And now, as I write this, I am back at home, having picked up my suit (after alterations) that F has decided to give me as my Christmas present. We are going to the cocktail party in the shop on Wednesday, where he is going to introduce me to the big boss and he told me that I must be very elegant – he will be showing me off, after all – even if he didn’t say that bit :-D.

He wants me to wear the suit or, at least the jacket with jeans. I said that, next time he is at my place, he needs to look through my stuff to decide what I should wear as I will wear whatever he wants. I said that I had no idea what to say to the big boss, other than ‘hello’ and ‘nice to meet you’. But there will be plenty of people there that I know so it will all be fine. And I get to see him in his element and I know, already, that he is good at what he does. So I am half looking forward to it and half apprehensive about it. I mean, I have to make a good impression, for his sake. And it will be another ‘first’ for me, as I’ve never met a ‘designer’ before, so that will be good. And, the fact that he wants me there and wants to introduce me to the big boss, says a lot, I think.

And so, in spite of everything, it seems I will be more involved with the fashion world after all, which I find quite funny now. Years ago, with V, it would have been important. Now, with F, it’s part of his job and, so, feels so different! And I am really outside it and, so, I think it all feels different for him. I will do a post after Wednesday to let you know how I got on in the Fashion World.

The story that cannot be shared

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I really don’t know how to explain this but I’m going to try.

Last night we went to a concert given by Ornella Vanone.  The problem is that, if you’re not Italian or lived here for a long time, you may not even know who she is.  Until a few weeks ago, I certainly didn’t.

She is, I understand, in her mid-seventies.  She has a good voice and sings love songs that, according to FfI are almost all about saying goodbye to a love and saying that she’ll wait for them to return.  All heart-rending stuff.

It was a good concert.  My first time at Blue Note which, as it is a jazz club, I had thought would be rather sleazy.  As it turned out it was rather nice.  Almost quite posh.

Ornella is Italian (from Milan, I think) and sings with a slightly husky voice.  A nice voice.  Not really anything that special but nice.  Of course, I don’t understand the words and, when she’s speaking, either because she’s old, or drunk (someone said she drinks a lot) or just because she’s playing to a Milan audience, her Italian is difficult to understand for me and she speaks very fast.  OK so I get some of it but not really enough.

F keeps asking if I understand.  I don’t want him to translate everything, not least because it will get so annoying for him.

But, with some songs, he goes really quiet, whilst on the other side of me, FfI is wiping away tears.  And this is the bit I want to try and explain.

Even if I could understand her words, her songs to their fullest, I’m not sure I would be so moved by them.  There’s a history that I cannot share.  Cannot even hope to share.  There’s a story behind all these songs, a story that’s different for everyone.  But, of course, that’s normal.

What I’m trying to explain (badly) is that, whereas, if I was with people from the UK or, even the USA, there would be a common, shared history to the singer.  I mean, if I was in the UK, and with someone from the UK and we were to watch someone like, say, Shirley Bassey, then, even if she’s not my favourite singer, we would all know something about her, about her history in the country, about some of her hits, about her love-life or private life or things like that.  It makes her a ‘real’ person and a person who can be ‘shared’ by you and those around you.

Whereas, here, I could not share it, could not be part of it.  I wanted to be part of it but, unless I were to read all about her, study her and her music, put each song into the setting of the time, I cannot be a part of this.  It is a history beyond my capability to perceive, to live, to have.

And to me this was striking and difficult to determine how I should feel about it.  On the one hand, it’s not important, of course.  On the other, it is a part of F that I cannot share.  I don’t mean the past, for, of course, the past is gone and neither of us can share our pasts with each other; only recount stories but never relive them.  No, this is also the future.  For the future or (in the case of the concert) the present, has a part of the past that is beyond either of us to share with each other.

We (F & I) are supposed to be going to see Joan Armatrading next year.  Being my favourite singer, it is important to me.  Her songs hold special meaning for me.  I know most of the words to the songs; can sing them with correct inflection, breathing, etc.  But, if we go, F, although with me, cannot be with me during certain songs.  Cannot be in my head or fully understand nor appreciate the meaning and the subtlety of each word.

It was a good concert.  Probably, if I had grown up knowing her, her songs, the history, I would have said ‘great’.  But I cannot say that.  I don’t know if it was great.  Was she always like this or was this substandard?  How the hell would I know?

What I do know is that it was good and that, being with F was all that really mattered.  As he held my hand or kissed me or lay (just for a moment) his head on my shoulder, it felt good and right and perfect.  And all I wanted to do was hug him whilst this (to my perception) slightly mad (and mad-looking) old lady, moved around the stage, drunkenly or unsteadily or maybe she’s always like this, singing songs about love or about the end of love, with a voice that reminded me of how, probably, Shirley Bassey is, now, in concert.

And, in my heart, so full of love for F, there was an ache for the ‘missing’ part; the part of me that is outside his experience and a part of him outside mine; a part that cannot be shared for, in a final way, we are, in fact, from a different culture, with a different history and in spite of anything that we may build together, a future of shared experiences, loves, hates, friends and enemies, there will always be this ‘missing’ history, the story that cannot be shared.

Just being together

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Sometimes, these things just don’t work out.

The rain was constant, from last night, about half past 10 until now.  Constant and persistent.  The dogs don’t really like it, hugging the walls of the buildings in order to stay out of it as much as possible.  This was about 10.30 last night.  It is much colder too although above freezing.

I took the dogs back and, as we had agreed earlier, made my way to the shop to collect the keys to his flat.  The plan being, that when he finished his work, he would come home, telephone me and I would let him in at the gate.  I looked forward to it.  Both being in his home (which is a little warmer than mine) and the idea of him coming later, me, probably asleep by then, but warm and someone that he could snuggle up to.

I was later than I had intended and not having had the couple of hours sleep I had intended either.  N had Skyped me to tell me off for not telling her about V and then L had asked about some court case, which I couldn’t remember anything about, so I rang V and we were on the phone for a bit.  And so I was late.  But, at least, I was going and we would be together, even if asleep, for some time; some time being better than no time.

To get to the shop, though, from my place is not straight forward.  There’s no easy way which doesn’t involve quite a bit of walking or waiting for connecting trams or metros.  The easiest involves a good walk from my place to the metro at Porta Venezia and then one stop down, walking from Palestro to the shop.  And, it being a miserable night, it was not so pleasant, that tempered by the fact that I would see him again and that I would be there when he got home.

I collect the keys.  He stops work for a cigarette with me.  I am happy to see him and happier that I will be in his flat when he gets home.

I walk back to Palestro station and catch the metro up to his place.  I let myself in.  He had left the heating on and the place is warm and lovely.  I do all the things as if he was there.  I make myself coffee, sit and do some Facebook and Farmville stuff and then go to bed.  But, by now it’s gone midnight.  Not quite as early as I had planned.

And I can’t sleep.  Not because I’m uncomfortable but merely in anticipation of his arrival.  As I’ve said before, I really hate the fact that I have to sleep at all, missing precious moments with him.  At one point I look at the clock on my phone which says it is nearly one.  Damn.

______________________________________________________________________________

The alarm goes off.  I realise that he isn’t home.  I feel gutted for him as he looked tired when I saw him but now he has had no sleep.  I get up and start putting my clothes on.  He calls.  He is sorry for me that, in the end, I had to spend the night alone. We are sorry for each other.

I need to get his keys back to him.  I think how much better it would have been for me to have stayed at my home.  But, if he had have come back during the night, it would have been so worth it.

I clean the place up and try to make it as if I have never been there.  Well, I try, anyway.

I go home.  Walking the familiar streets, still everything wet and more wet being laid on the first lot of wet.  I get home.  I take out the dogs.  I sit and have coffee for a few minutes and then shower.  I had hoped to have left before 7.  As it is, it’s a quarter past – the time I should be leaving for work.  I briefly think about taking the car – but I don’t know the one-way system there so well and, then, I would have to find somewhere to park.

I take the metro.  This is going to take more than half an hour which means I shall be at least half an hour late for work.  Plus, I am tired.  It is still raining.

The workmen have arrived to remove the scaffolding and to put up the tree.  F tells me that he still has some things to do once the workmen have gone.  After that he will go home and bed.  I wish I could be there when he gets home, even if he is so tired he would just be going to sleep.  At least he would be going to sleep in my arms!

And, even if he has been up all night, he looks so good and I look at him and love him more.  I give him the keys and we kiss on the cheeks, the closest we can do to the real thing.  Ah, well, there’s always tonight, after the concert.

I tell him that it all looks beautiful.  I mean him, of course, too but can’t say that; I don’t know who speaks English there, it not really being a secret language here.

I leave, saying I would only ring/text him if he rings/texts me, as then I will know he’s awake.  He says that, if he hasn’t called me or texted by 6, I should ring him to wake him anyway.

I leave for the metro and the car, parked back near home.  I am late for work.  Or, rather, later than I would like to be.  And tired.  I have the concert to look forward to tonight but, even better than that, is being with F and then spending tonight together and waking up tomorrow and having breakfast, maybe and just being together!

Test Results

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Just as a quick update.  I did the test.  Of course, it was an experimental test, apparently but I guess it gives the right result.  In any event, everything was good, as I expected it to be, since, although everyone says you should not trust your partner, for most of the 20 years V & I were together, I could.  And I knew I could.  And, to me, trust is the most important thing.

So, everything is as it should be.  And thanks to Lola (who has now disappeared….again), it was simple and easy and should be made a regular thing.  I hope it is.  In some ways, Italy is very, very good……and this is one of them.

Italy….a little frustrating….part 2

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I go back to the shop.  I am later than I would like and have difficulty parking.

The girl who sold me the deal is there (and she speaks good English).  I join the queue of about 5 people.  Not many except that there are only two assistants and each person takes at least 10 minutes.  We smile at each other in recognition.  It’s a weak smile from both of us.  She, probably because it’s been a long day (it’s already gone 6.30) and me because I am here again.

I notice a guy in the queue in front of me.  He was here on Friday too.  He had bought one of those mobile things for the pc.  Only it didn’t work properly since he tried to change from pay-as-you-go to a contract.  It seemed as if ‘the system’ couldn’t cope.  He was as unsuccessful as I was on Friday and was back to try again.  I nearly suggested we go for a drink!

Eventually I get to the girl.  She smiled and said she knew I would be here.  She went through the same things the girl on Friday had …….. and, in fact, from my perspective, it seemed that the girl on Friday just didn’t wait long enough.  On the same screen the girl had given up on, the system seemed to hang………..and hang…………….and hang………….but this girl knew the system better and we waited.  In fact, she served other customers whilst we were waiting.  But eventually it all came good and I am the proud owner of a new Blackberry!  Now, all I have to do is to set it up!!!!

But, in the end, I was in the shop for about an hour and a half!!!!  I kept thinking that, only here, would everything take so bloody long and require more than one visit.

However, it’s done now.  Her final words were that if I had any problem to come back but she hoped not to see me!  Bless!

Sometimes, I find Italy a little frustrating.

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Of course, I should have known better, really.  There are the three rules:-

1.  Siamo in Italia
2.  Customer Service.  Sorry, what was that again?
3.  Siamo in Italia ancora.

My phone was ‘broken’.  I really believe that they set a ‘useful’ life, at which point, the phone stops working, making it imperative that you buy a new one.  The reason for this?  I had a phone. Nearly 4 years old.  Suddenly, it stops making any sound or giving any screen display to show that a new message has been received or a call missed.

It’s just my phone, I thought.  Someone with the same model lent me theirs as they have no use for it any more.  It does the same.  And yet, if the sim is put into a newer model, it works fine.  Hmmm.

So, the choice was to go and get a new phone or change provider.  Since transferring to a new provider gives you a much better rate and a cheaper phone (special deals for new customers), it seemed the wisest thing to change provider.

First there was Wind (part of Infostrada).  I didn’t want it to go on my credit card (you don’t have the consumer protection thing here like you do in the UK – if a mistake is made you have to prove that it’s not your mistake an, in the meantime, the money is taken from your bank anyway), so asked to set up the equivalent of a Direct Debit.  We spent a few hours in the shop, taking copies of my passport, noting my Codice Fiscale (similar to a National Insurance number and absolutely necessary here if you want to do almost anything), etc.  Then came the fun part of typing it into the computer.  After a number of tries they said I must have either the actual card for the Codice Fiscale or the Health Card, neither of which I have.  So that was that.

Then I tried TIM.  TIM were great.  The situation would be sorted in about 2 weeks and when the number stopped working with 3 I was to go back to the shop, pay a small amount and get my new Blackberry.

After two weeks had passed I went to the shop.  Apparently there was no problem but it would be another week.

Another 2 weeks passed.  This morning I found that my 3 (spit spit) sim didn’t work anymore.  Great, in that the transfer was made.  Bad in that the new sim from TIM didn’t work in my (crap anyway) 3 phone as it is locked to 3.  Never mind.  This would all be fixed this evening when I went to the TIM shop and got my brand, spanking-new Blackberry.

Luckily, I borrowed an old phone to try out my sim – it’s working fine – but it’s not my phone.

As I sit here now at the computer I look at the phone a colleague lent me, very grateful that he did.  I drove from work, rushed straight to the TIM shop.  They were very helpful.  They found the Blackberry and proceeded to fill in forms; enter stuff on the computer and, as is normal here, generally take half an hour to do something that should, in reality, take about 10 minutes.

However, the problem, it seems, is that although TIM have moved the number, it takes 24 hours for the contract to appear on the computer system.  And the other problem is that the ‘special offer’ that applies to my contract has ended.  The brand-spanking-new Blackberry is sitting in the box but I’m not allowed to have it.

‘Can you come back tomorrow?’ she asks.

There was no solution – and, trust me, I tried everything I possibly could.

Tomorrow, I must go again.  That, plus get my suit altered, take the test, do Nan’s Trifle to take with us tomorrow night to R&Al’s, etc. etc.

Sometimes, I find Italy a little frustrating.