Tag Archives: Italy

Sardinian restaurant; V update and advice; my wine shop

Posted on by
2

Italians, as I have said before and as you would expect, have a thing about food. And, unlike the UK, it’s all very regional – however, I live in Milan and, here, we have restaurants from all over Italy. Last night we went to a Sardinian restaurant (Baia Chia – Vai Bazzini, 37).

It has, mostly fish (I guess because Sardinia is an island) although there are a few meat dishes. However, I decided on grilled Sea Bass for the main course and some raw tuna mixed thing for antipasto – this I shared with F who had chosen some prawn thing.

I have to say it was all delightful. When they came with the Mirto at the end of the meal it was, truly, the best Mirto I’ve had.

Not a big restaurant but well worth a visit – even if it is a little off the beaten track.

F admired the jumper some woman was wearing and said he wanted it…….so, partly as a joke and partly because it’s me….I went over and found out where she had bought it and gave the info to F – he seemed pleased but it may have been just because I had the nerve to ask in the first place :-)

AfL was lovely. F paid for the whole meal which annoyed both of us – but what was done was done…….it just means I have to be better at spotting what he is doing.

We walked part of the way back together and then I left them and went home.

____________________________________________________________________

Earlier, I had texted V to wish him well for Monday when he said he was going to go back to work. He said he wasn’t going back as he had had some results from the tests.

I phoned him. It seems he has a problem with some nerves in his wrist, which is why his arm keeps going numb and they have also found a problem with one of the valves in his heart!

I don’t know whether it’s serious or not. He would probably never tell me. We chatted for a bit, easily with many laughs.

I told him about the problem with the kid. He told me that, perhaps, I shouldn’t be my usual self and should be a bit more like him…..letting the guy down very, very gently. His opinion is that Italian men are about 10 years less mature than British men…..which would make the kid 20! Scary!!

I got him to promise that, in future, he would keep me up to date about his tests and health and joked that I would need to know so that I could come over and put post-it notes on the furniture I wanted!

He won’t keep me up to date, of course. I know him better than that.

_________________________________________________________________________

Later. I go to the wine shop. We are supposed to be going to his friends’ place for the meal tonight. I ask the guy for a really good bottle of dry white and a good bottle of sweet white. He has some expensive wines in the shop. By expensive I mean €60 plus. He points me to one costing €28 and says that is particularly good. More or less the same with the desert wine. It’s why I keep going back. And his choice is almost always perfect.

He tells me that he has some more Macallan 7-year-old whisky (I had bought for a colleague once) and would knock something off the price.

Really, this guy is good. Of course, it’s all in Italian and I don’t understand everything he says but I can rely on him. If you tell him exactly what food you’re going to eat he will pick the wine to accompany it. Love it.

Then F phones to say that we are now going to a restaurant anyway. Well, it’s not as if the wine will go off, so there’ll be another time.

I am learning but it seems a long lesson

Posted on by
4

It was misty.  Not misty so that it made everything wet but a ‘high mist’ that just made the skies particularly grey and half-hid the tall tower blocks, like they had had a thin veil draped over them.  I hate this period – you know it only leads to winter and cold and wet and unpleasant and that you have to go through all that to get to February and March when things get brighter and warmer (and less dark).

The guy was sitting there with a piece of paper, seemingly engrossed with its contents.  I cannot tell you what he looked like nor how old he was.  I sensed he was not Italian and I cannot tell you why.  I was standing next to him, eyes bleary, the contact lenses grating on my eyes, which were watering anyway.  I really should have taken them out on previous nights – it’s not good to leave them in whilst you sleep.

I glanced at the page.  It looked like some sort of poem, almost.  There were 15 lines, I counted them.  And a post-it note on the bottom of the page, the page having been torn out of one of those exercise books.  This page being from one of those commonly used to do graphs.  The writing was capitalised and neat – but, still, Italian, which I find difficult to read anyway – and I was looking over his shoulder; and my eyes were not at their best – so I just counted the lines.  Actually it wasn’t that difficult although it took me a few moments to realise that.  They were grouped in sets of four lines, just like a poem.  The last group only being three and yet, in my half-awake state, I started counting from the top before realising it was four times four less one!  I felt slightly stupid, even if there were good reasons.  I was only on the metro for about 10 minutes but, in that time, he studied the page as if it were some long and difficult thing.  Even with my poor Italian, it would not have taken more than 1 minute to read – and so, why?

I guessed that, either he was learning Italian and knew less than me or that it was just a ploy so as not to look at anyone else.  The ploy I use is to keep my eyes looking at the floor being, as I am, dressed as if I’m going for an evening out; with hair that has obviously not been through a shower or, even, combed; with eyes that still have the traces of sleep and, because of the conjunctivitis (a result of not taking out my lenses in the previous 6 nights away) look like shit, the bags deep enough to put a weeks shopping in them.

Yes, I look like shit.  I am grateful, in some way, that F didn’t really wake up and that, when I kissed him goodbye about 10 minutes earlier, the room was dark and he could not see me.

I wish there was some way of getting home without having to see people – well, there is but to try and find somewhere to park and then drive home and look for somewhere to park again would probably double the time of my journey home – and I am already getting up almost an hour later than I should although F doesn’t realise this.

I decide that I can’t continue this much longer.  I’m just too old for it.  I need more sleep.

_________________________

I had told him that A wanted to go to the outlet on Sunday – for shoes.  He didn’t know where this outlet was.  He said it was dangerous as he spent money.  I thought of V.  And not in a good way.  The difference is that, although we are a couple, I am not responsible for him……yet!  And so there is none of the worry.  But, I wonder: would it be the same?  I’m not sure I could go there again and yet, it seems I attract and am attracted to these type of men.  Boh!

The outlet trip depends on what AfL wants to do and ensuring that we get back on time for the dog.

He asks if I would like to go out tomorrow (that is now today) when AfL arrives – almost certainly they will go out and he wants me to come – if I want to come, that is!  There really is no need to ask.  With or without AfL, I would be there. He will call me.

So, it will be every day that we shall see each other except, maybe, Sunday, when I will go to the outlet with A, whether F and AfL come or not.

I worry about how F and A will get on.  I want to explain to F that, although A can be a bit, shall we say, abrupt, he has a heart of gold and is, really, really, a nice guy.  I want A to like him anyway.  Which he will.  Or, at least, he will say he does; only now is he saying that he hopes F is easier to talk to than V, who he found a little difficult!  Who knew?

We cannot be late back (if F and AfL come) as F is dog sitting, remember?  And so he must be back for the dog.  Who sleeps on the bed – did I mention that?  F will be putting a sheet over the top of the bed to keep the dog from getting ‘dirt’ on the actual bedclothes.

I also have a problem.  I can’t talk about it yet.  I need to sort it out and then, maybe, I can talk about it.  I sometimes think a brain transplant would be an excellent idea!

But, last night was wonderful.  I had missed him so much and yet, I cannot continue like this.  It is wearing me out.  I’m not 30 years old now; it’s not my own business; there are too many difficulties.  It would be much easier if we lived together.

Today F goes to sort out his flat.  I wished him good luck this morning as I left.  This morning he didn’t tell me he was like porcelain.  Perhaps, because, last night, I called him on it, saying I had seen the smirk the other morning.  He grinned and said but he was like porcelain in the morning.  I said that, perhaps, it wasn’t quite true.  We hugged and kissed.

I am learning but it seems a long lesson.

From the first kiss, he was all mine

Posted on by
8

From_the_first_kiss_he_was_all_mine

Well, here goes.  The meeting of the important people.

We spoke several times, on the phone, yesterday.

A came over and we went for a pizza at Time Out 2 in Via Eustachi.  A liked the pizzas and I was very pleased about that.  After all, he’s Italian and I really get so nervous about recommending anywhere to Italians.  The pizzas are cheap and, it being A, we ended up with one and a half pizzas each.  And a bottle of wine.  A said that he shouldn’t be drinking at all and was going to have just a glass of wine but they don’t do wine by the glass and he didn’t want the house wine (and I don’t really blame him as it’s not that good) so chose a bottle of wine – and then, instead of having a glass, had half the bottle.  I’m really a bad influence!

He’s going through a bit of a tough time at the moment.  We talked crap and about him and his F, about me and my F and so on.  It was a nice evening and, ever since that time when he was unexpectedly so supportive, I really have a lot of time for him.  In fact, here, in Italy, I would say he’s my best friend.  He doesn’t get along with everybody but that’s OK, my best friends aren’t your usual people – they suit me and that’s all that counts.

I rang F after I had taken the dogs for a walk but he was in the restaurant.  He phoned me back when he had finished and then phoned me again when he got back to his hotel.

We talked about Thursday.  He hopes to be back by about 8.  I will probably go over about 9.30, if that’s the case.  We shall see.

Then he asked that, if I had no plans for Saturday, we had been invited to go out with his ‘friends’ – the ones from the last post – and AfL.  Apparently they ‘really want to meet me’.  I bet they do!  I said, of course, that would be fine.  I joked that they would be wanting to ‘check me out'; ‘to see if I was good enough for their F’.

He got a little defensive but he knows it’s true.  It’s true of all friends, not just them.  My friends want to do the same.  They are intrigued by how someone can be so important in such a short time.  They want to see if the attraction is valid; see if they can detect the feelings are genuine.  I understand.

So, Saturday night will be important.  I said that I would be on my best behaviour, which I will.  I must select the right things to wear and be able to come up with good conversation.  I will use V’s technique – be interested in them and get them to talk about themselves – it works a treat.

I am so looking forward to tonight.  This will be our last night together until at least early next week.

A is still amazed by how I went about all this.  How I was so selective and treating it like a purchase or selection of something else.  That’s true except that, when it came down to it, F doesn’t have all the things I would have chosen; is not the perfect person, perhaps, but it just felt (and still feels), so right at the time.  From the first kiss onwards and ATN.

Yeah, from the first kiss, he was all mine!

In the mornings I am stronger

Posted on by
2

I say the words.  I knew I shouldn’t.  It’s not the first time but, this time, he replies.  Before, he hasn’t, even if he did hear them, although sometimes I just say them when I know he is asleep.

Now he says that I scare him.  Of course, I don’t really understand and have to ask.  We have a conversation.  This is not the best time but the only ‘right’ time to have this conversation.

We have a different point of view.  We knew this from the beginning.  He says that he is scared for me not scared for himself.  I think he is scared for himself.  Even now, as I write this, in the morning.

But, then, I try to explain that I’m not always there, in spite of the fact that he says I am.  He had rung earlier to ask if I fancied going for an aperitivo but I had already made arrangements to meet K and (not his wife, after all) girlfriend M.  I said he could join us if he wanted.  But it was in the centre of town.  He didn’t want to.  I didn’t expect him to.

We said we would talk later.  Actually, K&M wanted to eat so we went for a pizza at the usual place in Piazza Santo Stefano, just off the centre.  Not massively expensive and OK.  Better than the tourist crap that is close to the centre or the really expensive restaurants that are good ….. but expensive.

I texted and asked if I could go round.  He said yes but we would have to go to bed (for sleep).  I said OK as that was what I wanted as well.

But, instead, we talked.  OK these things needed saying.  We still don’t really understand each other, I know that and yet…….

The mornings are best for me and worst for me.  It’s as if, after I have rested for some hours, I think differently, clearly.  Yesterday, as an example, in the morning I was certain that I would not see him.  I needed sleep.  Then, as the day wore on, I worked out how to get the sleep without missing out on seeing him.  Then it changed when K phoned, late in the afternoon but by then I had already set everything up in my mind to see him and I missed him and so, instead of sleep, I got to see him and hold him and we had ‘the talk’.

And, when I was there I wasn’t so tired.  And now I feel like crap.  And, as I was walking home, I knew he was right and I decided wouldn’t see him on Wednesday when he comes back.  I would spend the evening at home, with the dogs, go to sleep early and get some real rest (I am out either at the cinema or for a meal tonight).

And I knew that I would do that and I kept telling myself to be strong and not to give in; not become weak.

But it’s two days and one night away.  If he asks on Wednesday night I will fail; I will give in; I will succumb to the whole “being with him thing”.  And that’s the bit he doesn’t get.  But what of his thinking?  It’s not like he’s turned me away nor has he not suggested it.  I scare him, he says but I’m not so sure.  It’s like the smirk when he says he is porcelain.  I think he scares himself too.

And so, what to do?  I want him to miss me too but I don’t want to take the risk that he won’t miss me.  You understand?  And, after a few hours away from him my brain turns to mush and I become weak and all I want to do is see him, hold him, be with him.

This morning he stays in bed.  I dress and come back into the bedroom.  He reminds me he is porcelain, I tell him that I know that already and kiss him gently, several times.  He calls me his bambino, as usual.  I’m sure he feels the same as me and is just scared for himself.  It’s the afternoons and evenings where I lose it.

But, in the mornings, I am stronger.

Shocked and Horrified!

Posted on by
Reply

Shocked_and_Horrified

And the weather is so good right now, here.  Low to mid twenties, clear blue skies.  Saturday, I took the dogs for a walk in the park and got too hot with a winter coat on.  Sunday, no coat but T-shirt and top – still too hot, well, warm, anyway.

Today, stunningly beautiful and it’s the last week in October!  But, if only this was the worst that a Milan winter had to offer!

Tonight, F goes for the trial lesson for Tango dancing.  He gets home about 10, probably.  I’m not sure what to do.  After all, I want to see him (with him being away tomorrow) and I like that he is there in the morning (as porcelain or not) but…..I am so tired that, I feel, if I get to his place at 10, I shall almost certainly just want to go to sleep straight away.

Of course, I could do what I did when I first met V.  I used to go to sleep for an hour or two immediately I came home from work.  This allowed me to stay up when he got home (about 11.30) for a couple of hours.  It’s not perfect but perfectly feasible.

I expect that my desire to see F will outweigh the need for a good night’s sleep and I shall try to sleep for an hour or so before going round to his place.  Then have a shower, then take the dogs out.

Tomorrow, he is away so I shall try to get to bed very early and catch up on some sleep.

I wonder, idly, at what point I stop considering this as ‘dating’ and really consider it as a real relationship?  I try to phone him but his phone is either switched off or he is somewhere with no signal.  I decide that I will take a couple of hours sleep before seeing him tonight, probably.  He had said on Saturday that 4 nights was enough.  I jokingly said, last night, after the pizza, that obviously I was going home as he didn’t want me that night.  This, of course, was not true although with me going to sleep so quickly, maybe it would have been a good idea?

Ah, well, a couple of hours when I get home would be enough to keep me going, I know.  So, now, when we spoke, I asked if I was coming round.  He said he would phone me after the lesson – about 10.30 – so plenty of time to have a sleep and shower and take the dogs out!

And, if he says no, then that’s OK because then I go to sleep again.  If I go round then that’s OK too.  I suspect he will say I can go round if I would like to.  That’ll be ‘yes’ then.  If not, then I won’t take it badly.  In fact, there will be a little relief in that.

Of course, I could suggest he comes round to me but tonight would be difficult as tomorrow he’s getting up late and I have no spare key to give him.  Which reminds me to get a couple of spare key sets.  One for guests and one for the lady across the way, who has promised to take Dino out for walks during the day, if I get a key for her.

And, so, the one for guests could be for F, if he likes.  Although I may have painted the picture of the flat in a rather ‘black’ way, which may not be a good thing.  Still, one would hope that, when he eventually comes over, he will be pleasantly surprised rather than shocked and horrified!

Later:-  K phones.  He is in Milan with his wife (who is Italian).  K is an old work colleague from the UK.  We are meeting later for a drink and, maybe, something to eat.  I phone V who, although he knew about it now seems shocked.  He has to change some plans.  I wish I didn’t have to say this but it’s fairly typical.  Anyway, I said it’s not so important and he should let me know later.  I’m no longer responsible for him in any way!

So, no sleep after all.  however, I’m sure I can manage until tomorrow night, can’t I?

In the half-light, I could see the smirk

Posted on by
2

In_the_half_light_I_could_see_the_smirk

He tried, on the internet, to find a film in original language, bless him, even though I tried to explain that they did not have original language films on a Sunday any more.  They used to do it at the Odeon, near the Duomo but stopped it a year or so ago.  I guess not enough people went.

But he tried anyway and for that I was happy.  He had said he wanted to see the new film Julie & Julia, with Meryl Streep.  I told him that we could go and watch it anyway, even if it was in Italian.  In fact, I insisted we did as I knew how much he wanted it.  My Italian is improving, at least my understanding of it, mainly because I have less choice now and, although we speak almost exclusively English when we’re together, when we meet his friends or, in general, Italian is spoken much more often in my hearing.

We had had a rather lazy Sunday morning, including a quick trip downstairs to the nice café for breakfast followed by a quick trip round the supermarket for some essential items (including wine).  The clocks had gone back and so, effectively we had the extra hour – although, after so many days/nights like this, I was completely shattered and needed about 3 extra hours!

He was going to lunch with friends and then to see a flat that was, apparently, rather small but had a terrace and was on the top floor and, much more importantly for him, was 3 minutes from work.  This is not so important right now but the first three months of the year it is, as he works from about 8 a.m. until 10 p.m. every day.

I went home to spend some time with the dogs.  They are being a little neglected right this moment and so, when I’m home we go for longer walks and I play with them more.  Still, this week I have to spend some nights at home, which fact I still have to tell him.

We agreed that we would meet at the cinema. Before that I googled the film and got the synopsis and watched clips so that I would have a good idea of what the film was about.  It is more difficult to understand if I don’t really know the subject.  It looked a funny film.  I Skyped FfI who explained that Julia Childs was very famous in America – a sort of Fanny Craddock, I suppose.

So, when we met, I already had a good idea and could remember some of the clips.  We had quite good seats.  I did follow quite a lot of the film.  There were a couple of bits where I really didn’t quite get it but not so many and there was only one bit that I had to check with him afterwards – although I had got the gist of it after all.

Good film.  One of those feel-good films and one that I now want to see in English, to get all the nuances.  But I do think that he liked the fact that I went with him.  I hope so.  It’s all part of the strengthening of the relationship.  He also wants to see it in English.  At the end of all this, he’s speaking in English to me partly because he wants to improve his pronunciation and general command of English (although he is already very, very good).

On that subject (but see the bit about the bar, below), we went out on Saturday night to an Indian restaurant (The Dhaba, Via Castaldi 22) which has to be the best Indian restaurant I have been to in Milan.  Superb food and excellent service although, for those of you from the UK, a little expensive.

Whilst we were chatting over dinner I found that he doesn’t eat red meat – or, at least, not unless it’s minced up (ragù (Bolognese sauce to my English readers), sausages, etc.).  This would be a bit of a problem with Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding then?  Hmmm.  That’s a bit like really loving ice-cream and being told that you may never be able to have it again!  But he did tell me some funny stories of when he was a kid.  He still makes me laugh and I really like that.

Afterwards we went to a bar nearby (the corner of Castaldi and Via Settala) where a friend of a friend was having some special evening.  AfL, the friend, was there with her friend M.  AfL is married to an English guy and has lived in London for 5 years.  F asks me, when they have gone to the bar for another drink, if his pronunciation of English is better than AfL.  I tell him yes, of course.  It does help that it is the truth but he is immensely pleased with this.  He tries so hard to talk with a more English accent, bless.

I leave them to go and do the dogs.  I text him when I am almost back home and he tells me he is coming to pick me up in a taxi (as we had agreed).  In the taxi, on the way back to his place, he tells me that AfL (who will be staying with him next weekend) thought I was really nice.  This is good.  One should always be the best of friends with the friends and colleagues of one’s partner – certainly at the beginning.  You have all seen ‘Hitch’ haven’t you?  And the being friends with the friends is pretty crucial.  Luckily, all the ones I have met so far have been lovely so it’s not so difficult.  Anyway, I can be the perfect English gentleman with all the charm switched on, when I want.

Sunday night, after the film (we went to the 5.30 showing), we went to Al Basilico Fresco restaurant (Viale Abruzzi 21) where we had pizzas.  Nice place.  The pizzas are thin (like Pizza OK) but not so large.  Very nice and not so expensive.  I like that after the meal they give you a sorbet free of charge.  It is nicer than having a limoncello or mirto or something.

During the meal we were talking about films and cartoon films (which we both like).  His favourite was Ice Age, which I’ve never seen.  When we got home, he put the film on the DVD in the bedroom and we watched it.  It was good.  After the film was over, apparently, I went to sleep immediately!  And to be honest, I am very, very tired.  I’m almost looking forward to him going away for a night this week!  I need sleep.  Also, next weekend, it is very unlikely that we shall be together as, not only does he have AfL staying with him but also a dog, for whom he is dog sitting!  A dog who sleeps on the bed!

And, this morning, at about 6.15, just before the alarm went off, he again said that I should remember that he is like porcelain in the morning, but now I’m thinking that this may not be quite so true as, in the half-light, I could see the smirk on his face.

All the time in the world – and no time at all

Posted on by
4

The metro is not full – at least not at the back end of the train.  I look at the people but don’t really see them.  They are not the ‘city types’ that will crowd the train later, with their suits, briefcases and shoes; perfectly styled hair and, because we are in Italy, sporting the latest style of sunglasses – even if the weather is dreadful and gloomy.

No, these are the people who work at more manual labour or in bars or cafés or restaurants.  But neither are they smartly dressed – but then, why would they be.  I, on the other hand, look like I’m just on my way for a night out, which, of course, when I dressed, I was.

It’s only three stops to my home – well, to the nearest metro stop to my home – and then a 10 minute walk to home.  The streets are fairly quiet.  Not as quiet as when I usually take the dogs out, since that’s a little earlier, but, still, quietish.

I ponder, it being so late, do I take the dogs out immediately or do I have coffee and shower first.  It starts to rain but not heavy rain (thank goodness) just that light, misty rain.  We don’t get that so often here, not like the UK.

I arrive home.  They are pleased to see me and I them.  They smell the smells of a strange place and seemingly can’t get enough of it.  Let’s be honest, these jeans spent most of the time on a chair and not with me inside them!

I take them out after preparing the moka for coffee.  I was offered coffee before I left but decided it would be better to come home and sort the dogs out, so, declined.  We do a shorter walk.  I am already late.  Well, I say late.  Of course, I will be in at the time I used to be….which also means that I will leave later.  But, right now, that’s OK.  Later is later and not now and nothing can change the way I feel or the humour I am in.

It had been busy last night.  Many emails to answer.  V wants to borrow the car to pick someone up from the airport.  He was supposed to go to Berlin but decided he couldn’t afford it.  Instead he wants to pick his friend up from the airport.  We arrange that he should call me on Sunday and we shall make arrangements.  He asks after F and explains a little about him and Ig.  He’s not ready for a relationship right now and so it is not going anywhere.  I say he is starting to sound like an Italian.

Of course, that’s not really fair.  Most people are like this.  Not me.  For me too much thinking is involved.  You either have the Karl Spark or not.  If not then there is nothing, if there is then that is all.  Perhaps it is me that is totally at odds with the world?  Perhaps the rest of the world is right and I am wrong?  Still, it will change nothing.

FfI wanted me to call her.  She calls my phone and immediately hangs up.  The signal that I should call her back.  I Skype her.  She answers and says she is upstairs and that I should call her on her mobile.  I say it’s too expensive for me to call her back.  She thought it was a company mobile!  Some people!!  I say, I shall speak to her tomorrow, unless, as partially planned, I go to F’s for the night.

I start a conversation with another friend.  He’s a new friend, from Saturday but I really like him.  We have funny email exchanges.  He makes me laugh. I shall call him NfM.  We converse by email, Facebook and Skype, at one point, all at the same time.  Which makes for interesting discussions.

He wanted to look at my blog.  Given Lola’s comments in the post below, I am slightly nervous about it.  I mention him and think that, perhaps, he won’t fully understand the way this works.  That anything I say here are only my thoughts at the time.  And may not even be all the thoughts but some partial thought, some nuance.  I briefly contemplate that I don’t give it to him but that seems stupid.  If I am frightened of what I say then I shouldn’t be doing this, this blogging.  I give him the link and try to explain (badly) that if he reads something about himself it’s not meant in a bad way.  After all I do like him.  You may ask what the hell am I doing putting it down here if he’s going to read it.  Well, first of all, I doubt that he will (it’s a little bit wordy for him) and secondly it helps to explain the problem that Lola mentioned.

So, he reads some stuff and finds himself mentioned and I feel bad that it doesn’t say wonderful things about him ‘cos I really do like him.

F suddenly arrives home.  He is earlier than I expected.  I thought he would be much later.  I am happy he is home though.  It means he can tidy his place and then he can be ready for tomorrow, when I may go round, if he wants it.

I don’t know this at the time but he reads my emails with the links to songs that I love or ones that explain me or ones that are for him.

We chat over Facebook for a bit.

I’m still chatting with NfM.  F calls.  He asks me what I am dong.  I say that I shall go and take the dogs out and then have a glass of wine.  He asks if I want to come over for a glass of wine there.  I don’t know why he asked.  It is totally unexpected but so what I want to do.  I say yes, I would love to.  He says to give him 10 minutes for a shower and stuff and the place is a mess.  It makes me laugh.  I tell him that I am sure his place will look immaculate to me.  I tell him that I will be about half an hour or so as I need to take the dogs out and have a shower myself – without adding that, obviously, I need to be dressed well, smell good, etc., etc.

It is, in a way, a little unfortunate as the conversation with NfM was good and now I have to blow him off quickly.  I don’t want to do this as, I feel, we are building quite a good rapport but this is life.  I tell NfM that I must go.  The next day he complains that I was rude and didn’t say goodnight.  He’s right.  It makes me feel bad.  Especially as now, he may have the wrong impression of me.  Relationships – a bloody minefield.  I haven’t had time to explain to him yet, for him to know who I am.  Damn.

Still the dogs go out.  It’s fast as it is raining so hard and they don’t like the rain, so they hurry too.  I am hurrying for a different reason.

I am worried – ‘cos that’s the way I am.  I worry that my old problem will come back – tonight.  I don’t know why that is.  But I worry anyway.  It seems that is what I do – worry.  It’s all in my head anyway, I know, but then the problem is in my head, I know that too.  And I worry that the worry of it will cause the problem.  Bah

I take a shower and leave.  It’s a 10 minute walk to the Metro and three stops away.  About 20 minutes in all.  I notice nothing, not even the rain.

I arrive and phone as I go through the gate, following some other people.  I arrive at his door as he opens it.  It is raining so much that I don’t do what I had thought in my head  I walk up the stairs, him following.  At the top of the stairs we stop and kiss.  It’s a needy kiss from both of us.  And long and deep.  He misses me, for which I am happy; I miss him too.

He says, as we sit on the chair with wine, we can be a couple, if you want.  I want to reply that, for me, we already are.  I want to say that, in spite of what he might say, I know that we are in his head too, even if he is scared that I will just disappear like all the rest.  He doesn’t need to worry.  I’m not going anywhere.  Instead I say that I would and that it would make me very happy.

I say that, if we are a couple, he will have to meet my friends.  He tells me that he cannot because it will be too embarrassing.  He will meet them only as a friend of mine.  This is a little ‘lost in translation’.  He really means that he will feel pressurised by this and, therefore, can only handle it if he is introduced as a friend.  Hmmm.  This means I have to explain this to my friends – but I know they will understand.  Even the newer ones have begun to understand me well enough.

I need not have worried about needing the miracles.  I have one but, really, it is not necessary.  Even during the night, I wake up, from time to time, and hug him or stroke him, even for a few moments before drifting back to sleep.  I think I hear him say that he loves me….but in his sleep.  Perhaps this is someone else, or perhaps this is me.  But I think it is me anyway.  It is enough.  We have all the time in the world – and no time at all.  That’s the bit he doesn’t get but I’m working on it.

He needs to feel secure with me, to trust me, to know that if I say something, it is true.

The alarm goes off at 6.30.  I want to hold him and kiss him and hug him.  He gets up because he has to let me out.  He will go back to sleep until 8.  That’s OK.  He needs his sleep and he needs to feel secure that I will not disrupt his routine too much and not treat him like shit and not take advantage of him.  I won’t but he does not actually know that…..yet!

I leave and catch the metro.

We have all the time in the world – and no time at all.

One of ‘our’ things

Posted on by
2

And if you want to be alone
Or someone to share a laugh
Whatever you want me to
All you got to do is ask

Willow – Joan Armatrading

I watched the other people.  Waiting, as we were, for loved ones or colleagues or friends or, maybe, someone to do with work (although that was less likely).  We all watched each other.  Checking to see if the person or persons being met were ‘special’.  Was there even a tinge of jealousy in that?

Nobody looked happy.  All solemn faces, solemnly watching each other but, obviously, pretending we weren’t.  Some standing, some sitting.  Some anxious – standing as close as they could to the exit doors where soon, the loved ones/friend/whoever would appear, bag in hand or trailing the bag behind them on wheels.

I arrived and the plane was due to land at any minute.  I went and sat down in my usual place, more or less.  My usual place, I say, since the same as last time (was it really as far back as August) when I went to pick up Best Mate.  I knew that it would be about half an hour and yet, with a slight feeling of stupidity, when the first tranche of people started coming through about five minutes later, I am scanning the people, just in case, you know?

The guy next to me, seemingly as miserable as all the rest – as me, in fact.  But, since I wasn’t miserable at all, it was just a thing, a thing we must all do, I guess.

I wondered how I would feel.  I wondered if I would be happy, genuinely happy, to see him at a distance, before we touched, before we kissed, before…before…..

I wondered if I would smile, I mean, really smile or, whether, since it has only been just over a week since I first met him for real, it would not be the same.  I am plagued by doubts and self-doubts.  It has always been like this, it’s not new.  It annoys me intensely and I wonder if everyone is this bad or if it’s just me.  Not just by this sort of thing but by everything.  Grrrr.

I think about going to get a beer – but worry that I might miss him and I had told him I would be there, so I must be there; I must keep my promise.  Not that keeping promises is difficult, no, but this is more important.  Not even 5 minutes late would be acceptable – at least, to me.

I think about going for a fag; I could watch through the glass doors; I decide not to, again, just in case, in the second that my eyes were averted, lighting the cigarette, distracted by someone outside or something, he came through.  I didn’t go.

Another wave of people came through.  Some kids with parents, the kids small enough to go under the barrier and, on seeing their grandparents, running underneath the bar, shouting ‘Nana, Nana!'; the grandmother getting up and almost running to take the one in her arms.  Bless.

As normal, the people greeting the people from the plane blocked the exit way so that those without anyone there had to fight their way through.  So annoying, I know, having had to do that so many times.  And this is Italy.  It always seems worse.  Complete disregard for those others.

I scan each person as they walk through.  I worry that, perhaps, he will look different than the guy in my head.  The guy in my head is this guy but is it the real guy?  It’s been almost a week since I’ve seen him.  I worry because that is what I do.  I hate that too.  And, normally, it’s unnecessary, in the end but, you know, just one time it might be right to worry?

I see him.  I don’t know if I smile.  Yes, I do, of course I smile.  I smile as I write this, remembering the moment that I saw him.  My heart skipped.  He does that to me.  I think it is good.  I get up and start walking towards him.  He is scanning the people, looking for me.  Our eyes lock.  My smile becomes a grin and he grins back.

He is wonderful.  We kiss on both cheeks but, just for a moment, it seems he is going to kiss me on the lips – and I would have done it too, even if it is in a public place but we are both unsure exactly whether this is right and our faces turn slightly so that we kiss on the cheeks.  I want to grab him and hold him and hug him and smother him in kisses.  I feel so very happy.

He introduces me to his colleague, Ily.  She is taller than me – almost not Italian – I ask her when she gets out of the car at her flat – she confirms that yes, she is very tall for an Italian and an Italian woman in particular – taller than most Italian men.  I guess that must be a problem for her.  She is beautiful.  It is what I would expect one of his colleagues to be.

They both smoke and so we make our way outside.  We stop and have a cigarette.  We talk.  I ask about their trip.  They say they have eaten too much; drunk too much beer (Italians that drink – I just love it!); travelled too much but that, it was wonderful.  I am really pleased.  I’m glad he had a good time.  I would have preferred to be with him, of course, but, still……

We walk to the car.  They both say thank you for me coming to pick them up.  I tell them that it is nothing and, anyway, it’s just as much for me as I get to see F (I’m taking a risk here, and I hope I haven’t jumped the gun but, obviously, his real name wasn’t Gordon at all and now he will be F) and so it’s worth it.  Maybe that was too forward but, using an Italian phrase, I know my chickens or, as Gail would agree, I trust my gut as normally it is right.

F gives me a present – some chocolates – he was in Belgium, after all!  I didn’t expect it and it was nice.

As we drive back into Milan, F tells me about their time away and what they did and, of course, about the concert.  It doesn’t take as long as he thought.  I smile.  I say that there will be other things that he remembers; that he will tell me; later.

My hand is on the gearstick.  He touches my fingers.  We play the game where I go to hold his finger and he pulls away, until I catch it, of course.  But then, it’s a game.  It’s touch.  It’s what we both want

Ily suggests to F, in Italian, that she can get a taxi.  F tells her, in Italian, that certainly not, we shall take her home.  I say ‘esatto’, agreeing with F.  This is why people think that I understand Italian so well, I think to myself.

She does live just round the corner from me (sort of).  I didn’t know the name of the street except our friend L lived there and there is the GS supermarket.  We all get out of the car and Ily gets her bag.  F waits until she is in the door of the block of flats.  I like that, although I don’t say anything.  It’s what I would do.  It’s the right thing to do even if this part of Milan is hardly dangerous.

When we get back in the car he moves towards me and we kiss.  And keep kissing like we are old time lovers who have been separated for a while.  And that is how it feels.  I kiss his hands.  Kissing his hands reminds me that, it seems, many Italian men have what I can only describe as women’s hands.  Shorter fingers, slightly strange shape, I don’t know, sort of small and delicate.  But so many of them do have these hands.  But I smell and taste the shower gel he used this morning.  It’s a nice smell; a nice taste.  I kiss his fingers, kiss the palm of his hand, hold his hand to my face.  We kiss some more.

He says it is a bit embarrassing.  Ily will go into the office and tell everyone that ‘F has a new boyfriend’.  I smile.  We both know that it is not embarrassing at all but that it will be nice for him.  He is out of the office for the next couple of days and so, when he gets back, everyone will know.  What’s also nice is that he said it and so, I guess, we are now ‘boyfriends’.  This makes me smile, even as I write it for you.

He asks how I found him on Facebook.  I remind him that he gave me his card.  I tell him that I keep two things – the two things he gave me – his card and the drawing with the beautiful writing.  I say that he probably thinks I am stupid for keeping them (knowing that he will not think it’s stupid).  He replies that he doesn’t think it is stupid – and I know this to be true also.

We drive round the corner to find a better place to park.  He thanks me for coming again.  He really is happy to see me and I him.  We kiss some more and I stroke his ears.  He stops me.  It turns him on.  I like that.

He suggests that, maybe, I can come over on Saturday as I could stay the night….

Later, in between more kisses, he says that perhaps I can come over on Friday night…….

Later still, he says, maybe even Thursday night.  I had been stroking his ears, after all :-)

He asks what plans I have for the weekend.  I say that I have none specifically but that I would cancel them anyway to be with him.  Which is not a lie but absolutely the truth.  I add that, obviously, I do have the dogs and they cannot be cancelled.  He understands. He talks about dinner and staying the night.  So he really wants me too.

He stops me stroking his ears but the fact that he is turned on means that I am turned on too.  I keep saying that I must take him home as he needs to sleep.  I know he does and now, now that I have had some kissing and cuddling, I can wait for the rest.  Now that I have held him and kissed his hand and seen that he is pleased to see me and know that it is true, I can wait.

And I don’t need to pose any questions, rhetorical or not, from the previous post.  I know.  Really know.  Am really happy with that knowledge.  I briefly think about telling him/asking him anyway and decide it is not necessary.  No, know it is not necessary.  I am his new boyfriend, after all.

We talk about his new flat.  I still want to say ‘move in with me’ but know that is not an option, right now.  There will be time.  We have all the time in the world.  Except now.  Now it is nearly midnight and he will be getting up at 5.30 and me soon after.

I take him home.  I drop him off.  I watch him walk into the building and on to his door.  He waves at me and blows kisses and smiles.

I get home.  I sit at my computer and he is on Facebook. He is trying to upload a small video he has made of the Diva.  It is not working.  We start chatting.  He asks me why is it not working.  I say that I don’t know but if I were there then maybe I would.  He replies ‘si’.  I say that I would be there at any time – all he has to do is ask and he should know that.  He replies ‘si’.  We both know and we both feel comfortable in that knowledge.

As I write this, of course, doubts and uncertainty come back but not so bad.  I know that he wants me to come over; wants us to have dinner; wants us to spend a relaxing (depending on your point of view) time together; to make it last.

I don’t know how long we shall last – 1 day, 1 week, 1 month, 1 year, for the rest of our lives but, oh, does it feel good right now.  I hope for more and will be happy with it, whatever.  No one can know the future but we can, at least, try, can’t we?

And, you know, what I really want, is, the next day, to do the new thing – to go for breakfast at that café.  It’s one of the new things and, more importantly, one of the things that belongs to F & me.  I am his new boyfriend and it belongs to us; it’s one of ‘our’ things.

A good afternoon out; Gordon comes back tomorrow – yay!

Posted on by
2

A phoned me. Would I like to go out for a spot of lunch and then a walk round some exhibition. Sure, why not?

He also wanted to go to Il Salvegente, either the oldest or one of the oldest outlet stores in Milan. But first, being A, it was lunch. Once again I find myself in the Corso Garibaldi area although, after walking down there we went back to Fabbrica in Viale Pasubio (No2, to be precise), just down from Corso Como.

I like Fabbrica although the one in the Navigli is the best one (for atmosphere and pizzas, in my opinion). However, they’re good pizzas and I was able to tell him all about Gordon. To be honest (and I don’t know why), by the time he came round I felt in such a good mood. Maybe it’s because Gordon is back in Milan tomorrow night and, if I have my way, I shall be picking him up from the airport as I have mentioned.

After the pizza we looked in a shoe shop and, rashly, I bought some (quite nice) shoes for €30. They will do as ordinary going-out shoes and stop me ruining my really good shoes. They may only last for a year but, hey, at €30 I can’t really complain.

Then we went to 10 Corso Como. This is a strange mix of shop, gallery, bookshop and café. A nice atmosphere. We walked round the photo exhibition, which, to be frank, was boring, then round the roof garden which was open and then the bookshop. Then we had a coffee in the café area. It was a lovely day, the sun shining brightly although a tad too cold for me. Still, it’s October, so what can I expect!

Then we went to Il Salvegente. This was a mistake, really. Before, with V, to help curb the expenses, I would rarely, if ever buy anything on trips out like this. First I saw quite a nice top with some nice detail and only €18 – so a bargain. Then I saw a Dolce and Gabbana jacket, light grey, excellent with jeans, for €170 (reduced from €429) and it was just my size and really looked good.

I said to A that we really needed to get out of there as I would only see something else. In fact, I went out today with absolutely no intention of buying anything…….and now I have a pair of shoes, a top and a nice new jacket.

There are times when being without V is really nice. Now I can do what I want without worrying about him spending money we didn’t have. And I end up with some nice things for myself!

Finally, we had a quick coffee and then home. I finished off the web site check and sent off the document for corrections and enhancements and, therefore, feel that I achieved quite a lot today.

And, during our trip, Gordon gave in and is going to let me pick him up from the airport. I am so very happy about that. I will see him again and we shall have a little time alone.

Strange Days Indeed

Posted on by
Reply

The world is a new, brighter, more interesting world. It’s a strange thing. There is this whole new life out there that I have only just begun to explore. There was a song, by the Weather Girls – It’s Raining Men – a great gay anthem when I used to go to clubs in Manchester – and it seems so appropriate.

But, in general, it seems I’ve lost interest. Not in life or work (although, right now, work is NOT the most important thing in my life) but in trawling the sites. The new world exists outside the sites where now, every man I see becomes a potential gay man – and so many are.

But, the loss of interest in the sites worries me. As I was explaining to FfI last night. What if Gordon is not ‘the one’ and I’m making a big mistake? Today, I am meeting Othello. Othello I found through the first site I signed up on. We’re a 70% match, so they say. These sites are full of shit.

OK, I’m shallow, maybe, but crucial to anything happening between me and a guy is how he looks (and there’s still a post in draft waiting to be posted on that one). I know I’ve been spoilt – V was/is, after all, stunningly beautiful – but I can’t go for something less.

Add to this that all I can think about is Gordon, I am less than interested. Gone, out of the window, is the idea that I needed more friends who are gay; that I would have loads of sex before I got far too old – just because I never did that, really and part of me feels that I somehow missed out on all that; and that I need to keep looking for ‘Mr Right’.

But, do I have that wrong? What if Gordon is NOT the one?

So, this, being written later (this post will take 2 days to write, I feel it), I have now met Othello. We meet in the park. Othello is OK. His English is excellent – he lived in London for 5 years. He has a wicked sense of humour – very like mine. We stay in the park until he gets too cold, then go for lunch at my Saturday lunchtime café (Free Time, just off Corso Buenos Aires) which he is really impressed with; and that makes me happy. We see some guy walk past to his table. I say to Othello ‘He’s gay, isn’t he?’ (and by implication, so is the guy he’s sitting with). Othello confirms this. My gaydar seems to be getting better.

We had talked in the park. Well, mostly I did the talking. He said his life wasn’t that interesting but I did get some blood from that stone, so that was good. It seems he has never had a relationship but ‘dated’ men who already had partners. Apart from that, we have much in common, well a sense of humour, anyway.

After lunch, we take the dogs to the nearest dog area and we continue to talk and take the piss (or is it pith?) out of each other. It’s good. He would make a fine friend. And I hope he is….we shall see.

Later, Henry, who has been saying he would come (he lives out of Milan) says he will come again (this would make it about the 5th time he says he is going to come – “going to” being the operative words and “coming” not actually happening – and HE’S the reason that, on that particular day I moaned at Gordon and why Gordon and I are, possibly, maybe, perhaps, something – I do think it is a strange world full of strange coincidences). I do not think he is coming. He arrives. I am really surprised! OK so I had made an effort to make the place a little less untidy – but not really going out of my way!

He only has about 20 minutes before he must go to the party. So all the things he said he wanted to happen are simply not going to happen. But, you know, whilst Gordon and I are not yet something, I was, kind of thinking that, perhaps, maybe, I should take the opportunity….my last chance and all that………….I’m not sure if I turned him on or he was just desperate or that’s the way he is……….in about 10 minutes it was all over for him. I may need a little more time amongst other things. Anyway, he didn’t actually come to see me but was coming to a party, for which he was late. Too rushed for me. Next time, perhaps….unless Gordon becomes ‘the one’ in which case – not ever. Shame really. Cute kid (and when I say kid – I’m talking about over 20 years my junior) and he seems nice…..but, let me see…….someone who’s 40 in a full-time job with a 30-year-old body or someone who’s actually 30 and no real job and not such a body!

Hmmm. Let’s see what happens.

Later still. I am out with friends for a pizza. Again I find they have Ham and Pineapple pizza – which I have. The place is Pizza OK in Piazza 8 Novembre, near my house (i.e Porta Venezia). It’s a new selection. Still the Italians don’t go for it but it is different than the ones we used to have in the UK (and, I guess, the USA would be the same). It’s not cubed ham but slices of fresh boiled ham and not cubed pineapple from a tin but slices of very fresh, very sweet pineapple. Delicious. Oh, yes, and if you like really thin pizza base, then this pizzeria is the best I have found in Milan for that.

During the meal, Gordon phones. He is in the concert of the Diva. He wants me to listen to a song but it’s just noisy and I can’t make it out. He phones later as I walk L home. This time I recognise the song. It’s a song for me. This is sweet and lovely and, given my day, a little scary.

(Diana Ross with Ain’t No Mountain High Enough)

I have said that, if he would like, I will pick him up from the airport on Monday night. He is with one of his colleagues. I said we would take her home and, at least, I would get to spend some time with him and get a kiss or something. We both have early starts on Tuesday so that will be all – but, to me, that is important. He said he would let me know – but I explained that it would get them home faster. I hope he takes me up on it. I really do want to see him.

It’s all very confusing and they are strange days indeed for me.