Tag Archives: F Says…..

Fastweb and Tennis

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Finally, summer is here. Over the weekend it was nudging the mid-thirties (degrees centigrade) and the next few days, it may get as high as 37° – or that’s the forecast – before dropping down to hovering around 30°.

This was the weekend where I got away with something – but I know I won’t be getting away with it for much longer. I got away with it because he is living in “my flat” – when the “my flat” becomes “our flat”, I know it won’t be tolerated.

It involved some stuff on the microwave. The microwave sits on the washing machine and is a very handy place to drop things that I must look at or do something with later. At one point he replaced the “general mess” with a shoe box. Now the top of the shoe box becomes the place to drop the stuff. He wanted me to clear it away. I explained that I needed to sort the kitchen out first as some things had to be put away when I find the boxes with like things inside.

He wasn’t happy but “It’s your flat” was the response. I know that I won’t have these choices in a month or so’s time. Ah well. enjoy it whilst it lasts, I suppose.

As part of the “getting ready to move”, I threw away lots and lots of clothes. And sorted out my shoes.

And we went and ordered Internet connection via optic fibre as it will be faster (and, in fact, the engineer is coming on Thursday). I mention this because, over the weekend it was the French Open Finals and, now that I can watch British TV, it was a delight.

Well, I say “delight” when, in fact, given the speed of my download, it kept hanging every few minutes. In fact, I tried my phone for a few minutes and got a much better reception via that!

The Fastweb connection, providing I cable my Mac to the modem, will be more than 30 times faster and should mean no more “hanging”. Unfortunately, we shan’t be in the new flat in time for Wimbledon – but there’s always next year :-)

A slip of the tongue.

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“We can put it in our bathroom.”

Of course, that wasn’t quite correct, as I already knew. But, even before I had time to question it, a fraction of a second later …….

“My bathroom.”

I laughed. And was sniggering for some minutes afterwards.

At first, he tried to make excuses:

“But you don’t like that one,”
“But you like the one with the shower,”

But, then he gave up, realising that I wasn’t angry or frustrated but just found it funny.

After all, I already knew which would be “my” bathroom which would also double as the “guest” bathroom. It wasn’t that we had said anything. True, the narrower bathroom had the shower, which I do prefer, particularly in the mornings. But, it wasn’t only that. I knew he would need more space. I knew I would need less. “My” bathroom is also one bathroom away from the bedroom, so I wouldn’t wake him in the morning. Stuff like that. It was never spoken but we already knew which bathroom belonged to whom.

But he does make me laugh because it was something he didn’t really mean to say, exactly. He used “my” to differentiate between the two, so that I would know which one he was talking about.

At the same time, although “we are deciding things together”, he knows and I know, that, in reality, it is as it should be and he is deciding most things.

Still, as I write this, it makes me laugh.

Planning and parking

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There are plans of the house.

And, by “plans”, I mean many, many plans. Each one is an opportunity for him to draw on where things will go, how it is to be organised.

We have quotations coming in for different things. The kitchen, the wardrobes, the bed base, the doors required for my “studio”, the cupboard for shoes (which will, apparently hold 40 pairs of shoes which are, apparently, to be put away in boxes and then put away in the cupboard), the cupboard for the entrance hall (to hold things like coats we wear regularly (e.g. for walking the dogs)), the units for the lounge and dining room, etc., etc.

He’s looking online to buy the furniture from IKEA (e.g. the units to hold the CDs and DVDs). He found out he can save a lot of money by having a matt finish to the doors (which is good).

Some things are already ordered or in progress, some things not.

Lots of things being done and still, lots of things to do.

But a rather strange thing happened, yesterday. I say “happened” when, in fact, it was all in my head.

I knew that F was going to my house and that he was going a bit earlier to take the dogs out before my lesson. Obviously, he was going to my house – he lives there now!

But the strange thing was that I kept thinking of finding some parking around the new house – as if we were already living in the new flat (which is, anyway, near to my current flat and I reach it just before I reach home). I had to keep “telling” myself that I had to continue to drive on, past the new flat. I would find myself thinking about where I would park and then realise that I was thinking about where I could park somewhere near the new flat!

And I would think about arriving home – in the new flat, with all the furniture in already!

It was all slightly weird and unexpected.

But, hopefully, soon, it will be as it is in my head :-)

There’s moving and moving.

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We were dropped off near his flat. We had been to lunch with some friends and it had lasted rather a long time. It was now about 5 p.m. It was a rather lovely lunch and the people are very nice and easy. They have a three-year-old boy who is a really nice kid.

At the traffic lights, I pause and say, “See you later.”

“Don’t you want to come and see my flat?”

“No, not really.”

“But you could help me with moving things.”

I guess the look on my face (probably one of horror), said it all.

“OK, you don’t have to. I can do it myself.”

I go home and make a cup of tea as I’m really thirsty. I have a lot to do. I have already, the day before, reorganised my wardrobe to allow space for his clothes and put a lot of clothes to either be thrown away or, if they were good condition designer clothes, to be sold. Now I’ve started on the other wardrobe – but there’s lots to do – and I haven’t even started on shoes yet!

But, it’s no good. The thought of him filling the car with clothes, then making the trip to the new house, then unloading everything – on his own – makes me feel guilty. Yesterday, he had a couple of guys with a van helping. Tomorrow, again. But, today, he is alone.

I message him, asking him if he would like me to come and help. I really don’t want to do this but my guilt wins the day. He replies with an “if you want” but it’s not as simple as that, is it?

I go. He has already partly loaded the car. We finish loading it and go to the new flat. We unload things (suitcases stuffed with clothes, shopping bags full of plates and dishes and other stuff). He has two clothes racks for the clothes to be hung up and several boxes ready to take the clothes from the suitcases.

He stuffs the boxes and the bags go on the floor in the corner of what will be the dining room.

Back to his old flat, we stuff the suitcases again and also take a load of hanging stuff. Back to the new flat and unload, stuff boxes and hang the hanging stuff. And again back to his old flat with, this time, just hanging clothes.

Whilst we are doing this, I am thinking 2 things:

1. The new flat is not nearly as big as I thought it was. In fact, I’m now worried that we won’t fit everything in! Of course, I remember feeling the same about the perfect-flat-on-the-perfect-street so console myself with the thought that, once everything has a place to go, it will be fine.

Still, it’s a bit worrying. What once seemed huge now seems, at best, a comfortable fit.

2. I remember very well why, for the last 6 or so moves, I get people to do everything. Pack, haul boxes and suitcases, lift heavy things. I AM NOT doing the same as him. People will be doing all this work, not me!

We finish at something to 9. I am totally exhausted. I want a shower and a beer. His place still has loads of stuff in it. But he, too, is tired, wants a shower and a beer. We both shower in our respective places and then meet up for a beer. Which is refreshing, to say the least but after two we are so tired we just want bed and sleep.

The next day, Monday, is a public holiday here. We are going to look for a kitchen. We need to go quite early because we need someone to help with the planning. F, of course, has all the floor plan and dimensions, including where the water, gas and electrical sockets are on the walls.

So, we get up quite early and have a quick coffee at a bar and then off to the place.

We book an “agent” and then go and wander around the store to pick the kitchen types we like and look at wardrobes as he needs one in the bedroom.

Our agent becomes available and we go and sit down and start planning the kitchen with the “kid”. It goes on for a long time. It’s not quite as easy as it’s not a square kitchen and things are difficult to fit. There are lots of “modifications” that will need to be done.

Eventually, we have two options that we like. The cost is at the lower end of my expectations. Whilst we are there, we add the wardrobes and a bed base. The order is “on hold” as we need to get a surveyor round to check all the dimensions before they will agree to accept the order and fit it all in. We do this.

We then go to IKEA to have a quick look at some of the units he has chosen for other parts of the flat, to hold other things. It’s quick because a) we both dislike IKEA and b) there are just too many people walking around like they’re on holiday and, generally, being in the way. We don’t buy anything – he’ll buy stuff later.

We go home. So far, this has taken over three and a half hours!

He has the guys coming back to move the rest of his stuff and I have lessons and I have to take the dogs for a walk and put away the dry washing and stuff. No sorting out for me today.

After my lessons he messages me to ask if we should go for a beer. I agree.

I get there first as he is doing the last delivery with the guys. He comes soon after with a couple of bags with stuff he’s leaving at my place whilst we live there for a month or two.

We drink our beer. He has, finally and officially, moved out of his flat and so, I suppose, we are, finally and officially, living together. But I only think of that now – not at the time of the beer!

Over our beers, he starts suggesting things.

“Once we have the kitchen in and I’ve started putting up the units we have, we can start moving your stuff.”

“But, I’m going to get the movers in.”

“Yes, for the big furniture but we can move the other stuff ourselves. I’m not trying to tell you what you should do but we can do a box an evening.”

But, of course, he IS trying to tell me what to do. I remember the day before and I AM NOT doing that.

“It will save some money.”

“Let’s see what the quotes are, first.”

He reiterates that, obviously, it’s up to me (which it most certainly is NOT, if he had his way) but he really thinks it would be better.

It’s not. However, I don’t argue. Sometimes it’s just better to go ahead and get it all done – in the way that I want!

Let’s see.

I get a surprise!

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“You know my family know, don’t you?” He means that they know we are moving in together.

Well, yes, of course. I didn’t really think it was a secret since his cousin had posted something to some pictures added to Facebook.

“What, everyone?” I ask.

“I’m sure,” he replies. “B (his sister) telephoned me.”

“I saw that E (his cousin) had made a comment,” I said.

“Yes, and she will have told everyone.”

I wonder, since he and I are, where not exactly a secret couple, shall we say, a couple of really, really good friends, even though, of course, everyone knows, what his parents think then, assuming they have been told that we will be moving together.

“We can invite them up,” he says, “maybe for Christmas.”

Now – “invite them up” is all the family? Surely not!

“Who?” I ask.

“My Mum and Dad,” adding, “I can go and pick them up but we would have to sleep on the sofa.”

I have no idea what to say to this. Inside, I know this is the “final” acceptance. This means that he is so relaxed about “us” that he can now invite his Mum and Dad up to stay into our flat and that, as they would see we only had the one bedroom with a double bed, there couldn’t really be any doubt – even though, of course, he would never, ever tell them. But that’s OK for me. I don’t need for everything to be explicitly said. Not any more.

“What a lovely idea!” I exclaim.

Of course, I can’t add all the feelings I really have inside – but I am really very happy about this surprise announcement.

“Maybe, not for Christmas but for a weekend, anyway.”

OK, as you want, I think and, probably, say. He goes on to say that his Mum has only ever been to Milan once before and his Dad never, despite him living here for well over 20 years! They don’t have this need or desire to travel. Even in Italy! I mean to say, I’ve seen a honeymoon picture which, I think, was taken in Rome but I’ve never heard tales of any travel.

Of course, I realise this may never happen, this trip to Milan but that’s not really the point. The fact that he’s thinking about it means so much in so many ways. Every time I think about it brings a new insight into the fact that he’s so very happy we’re together. Happy and more and more relaxed about it.

Which is more than can be said about the actual “moving” thing. For that he is exceedingly stressed. But it will settle down once he’s moved his stuff over – which is happening right now.

But that’s for another post.

There are times when it’s quite exciting ….

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For many reasons I am looking forward to it. There are just some times when I am taken aback.

Last night, for example.

We met in the bar, Polpetta. He was having a beer because I was teaching and I joined him when the last student left. He had been to the new flat and had made measurements of everything and then done a floor plan. Such detail! So perfect! This is what comes of being with someone trained in design and stuff, I guess.

“You can think about where you want things to go,” he says.

Well, yes, sure. Of course, he has already “decided” where most things will go. But, apparently, I am permitted to say something about this.

I say “apparently” because, in reality, he will decide. I know this. I am certain that he knows that I know this. I say,

“But it’s better for you to say. After all, you are good at this sort of thing.”

“No, we have to decide together.”

Well, yes, of course. What this means is that I should agree with his choices or have bloody good reasons why not.

But, apparently, we have to decide where everything is going before we move in. Although, eventually, he did concede that we could move things around later.

He’s going to paint the door frames a “colour”. I didn’t ask what colour. It’s not really important (to me).

He might paint a few walls – but maybe after we’ve moved in.

He talked about buying some Ikea (ugh!) furniture to put in the lounge (to put the TV on and somewhere to hide the DVDs, etc. My bookcase will remain a bookcase, it seems, and will go in the lounge (probably); the breadprover and chest of drawers will go in the entrance hall; the sofas will go in a particular place in the lounge; etc., etc.

And, at certain points, I held my breath. Let’s be honest, I knew already that I would have little say. It doesn’t bother me, exactly, except that, if I don’t really want something, I’m not sure that I will be able to get it changed.

Ah well, there are worse things in life. In the end, I’m sure it will all look lovely even if I really HATE Ikea furniture or, in fact, anything modern – except in the kitchen and the bedroom.

He hopes to move his stuff into the flat this weekend.

Eeek!

The new lounge and dining room.

Erm, celebrating ……. sort of

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I have an idea in my head.

It goes something like this.

We sign the contracts and we are both really happy.

We should celebrate!

OK, so he paid half for Piero, so this is not the first major thing we’ve done. But, you know, it’s a little different than Piero. This is a contract that binds us together for at least 4 years. This is where we have to live, whatever happens. This is not quite the same as buying a house, but damn well near it.

Of course, tonight I have a bloody lesson. But it’s only from 7 to 8. We can go out at 8. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?

Well, yes but he’s arranged to go for a drink with some ex-colleagues. I can come but it’s not near my flat so, as my lesson is at 7, I can’t. It’s just too far. It would be lovely – to celebrate the new flat that we’ve got together – but later, after my lesson. After all, he’s going for an aperitivo – just a drink. He’s coming back to my flat straight afterwards.

She’s late, my student. To be honest, she’s a bit of a pain in the arse. But I can’t really fob her off just to go for a drink. We’ve finished by 8.30. I text him straight away to tell him she’s gone. Perhaps, on his way back, he’ll suggest going for a quick drink to celebrate?

It’s now gone 9. He’s not replied. I wonder if they’ve gone on to eat somewhere? But I don’t know. It’s no good phoning. I know him, the sound is off on his phone and it only vibrates or, even if the sound is on, if it’s in his bag, he won’t hear it.

I open a bottle of wine. After all, I’m celebrating.

I am celebrating and ever so slightly pissed off.

I think of texting/calling my friends. But I don’t. I just sit here, typing this and celebrating our new contract together ………. on my own.

Well, the wine is quite good.

I think I’ll ring Best Mate. She should be the first person I tell, really.

I’ll celebrate with her over the phone.

But, you know, this is not really anything like I had hoped.

Excitement and Trepidation

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He’s not sleeping at all well. One night, almost no sleep, the next sleeping for about 10 hours ‘cos he’s so tired!

I put it down to the worry of getting everything sorted by 1st June and excitement at moving.

For, he’s certainly excited. You can tell.

Yesterday, as I mentioned, I paid the deposit and the agents fee. He came straight to my place after work and was so excited that I had paid the money.

“It will all be so tidy and organised,” he said.

I groaned, inwardly and silently.

Here will be the difference:

He will go in and stay up all night, if necessary, to put everything away and for everything to be perfect.

I will go in and, after a couple of hours of sorting things, I will have had enough. Plus, I prefer to “live” the place before deciding where to put everything.

“We can take the chest of drawers,” he said. Except he called it something else but I forget what. “Casettiera” in Italian – but that’s not what he said either. The chest of drawers belong to his old/existing landlady. It came to my flat because, by the time he had filled the flat with IKEA, white, fitted furniture, there wasn’t any room and, anyway, it looked out of place. It was always meant to be given back. Unfortunately, Piero did a bit of chewing on it, at the bottom.

She told him that she wouldn’t have anywhere to put it (as he’s leaving all the fitted furniture there) and she can’t fit it in her cellar. So, we are to keep it – at least for now.

“It will go in the entrance hall,” he suggests. “We can put the dogs’ leads and stuff in it.”

The advantages of him being able to go in there from the 1st June will be many. He will, for example, be able to organise his “Romy Schneider wall”. And, certainly, there will be one wall which will be exclusively Romy. I’m sure he will be doing this trick of hanging pictures on the floor again.

I don’t know where this wall will be but I suspect the lounge or the dining room.

I’m pretty certain that the majority of my pictures will be located in my room or stored away. But it’s OK. I don’t mind. As long as I still have them.

Once we get the keys, he will take the carpenter round there to see what he can do in the way of fitted cupboards so that everything can be put away and hidden. We really are so very different. Obviously, there will be some things out – but just specific pieces. Everything else will be away.

Bless him. I can see his excitement. And, then when I stop and think about it all, the trepidation returns.

On [the] edge

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I don’t really understand. Why DO I feel like this? On every previous occasion there’s been so much excitement that any doubts I may have, have been so hidden as to not be relevant. And yet, in this case, the feeling of nervousness is so strong.

There IS excitement. There is a vision of how much better everything will be; a knowledge that things will be more comfortable, more enjoyable, more settled. Everyone will be so much happier, after all.

Well, that is, everyone but me. It’s not that I won’t be happy. I’m sure I will, I tell myself. But, there’s the rub. I have to keep telling myself. And, that in itself is worrying.

But we’ve reached the point of no return. The brink. The edge. The no-going-back place.

So, on Friday evening, F told me that he’d found someone to rent his flat. From the first of June.

I cannot correctly describe the panic that swept over me at that news.

So, this is REALLY it. From the first of June, he HAS to move. The new place won’t even be ready, of course.

I thought, “but what will he do? Where will he live?”

Of course, we shall carry on as normal, except that most of his stuff will be in the new flat, I guess. Or being moved there slowly, bit by bit. And he’ll sleep at my place – so it will be almost as normal, then.

Except, not quite. Not quite because it’s really happening, this move. It’s no longer just talk, it’s for real.

So, why this feeling? It doesn’t make sense to me really. There’s no really good excuse for it. As people keep pointing out, we virtually live together anyway. So, almost nothing will change – again, as pointed out. And, whereas that’s all perfectly correct and, logically, i know it to be true, somehow it IS different in ways that I am unable to convincingly explain.

Saturday, we went off to see the sofa place to look at fabric for new covers. Luckily, I really like the colour that he loves and, even if it will be more difficult to match with other things, it is the right choice. Today he will be doing sketches of different things we can do (so that it won’t be too samey) – don’t you just LOVE having a partner who can do this type of thing?

I also found my way to the second-hand shop where I bought my dining table to look at doors – but it was closed. Maybe we’ll try again next Saturday or, even, Sunday.

So here we are, on the edge. And me, on edge!

And so it begins ……

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We should have done it at the weekend but, somehow, never got round to it. Plus I was really busy all weekend with various things, including a problem I am having with a website.

So, last night, once I had finished working, we met in the local bar for a beer and to go over the draft contract.

That morning, someone had visited to talk about recovering the three-piece suite, footstool, dining chairs and the armchairs we use in my kitchen. The price was high but it’s OK. We’ll get at least two sets of covers for the three-piece suite, which would be fantastic.

And then we go through the contract and make comments and he will ask for some clarifications and changes.

And then he told me what clothes he had bought that day.

“We can share things,” he says. Hmmm.

He then “complained” about the fact that I have more wardrobe space but less clothes.

“I will organise your wardrobe.” I smiled but in my head I’m screaming “WHAT?”

You have to imagine a wardrobe (his) which looks like a shop – everything neatly folded or hung, colours matched – everything in its place and a place for everything. My wardrobe is not “quite” like that.

All I could think was – and so it begins!