Secret things

Of course, I may be wrong.

Last night, I got home from the beach about 6.30. Almost immediately, I knew there was ‘something’. Piero had been chewing the newspaper I had left on the floor for him to pee and pooh on (not that he seems to need it). I have a theory about the chewing of newspaper – he only does it after he has been ‘disturbed’.

I went into the kitchen to have some milk as I am wont to do in this hot weather and noticed that the rubbish bag for plastic was not where I had left it. In fact, it was nowhere to be found. But when I opened the fridge I saw a bag had been left for me with food. Also the normal bin had been emptied. F’s mum had been in.

Yesterday, at the beach, F’s niece and boyfriend had come to the beach about lunchtime. I was eating my lunch – an ice-cream. I told them this and they laughed as I expected.

Today, she comes again and this time comes with a small tub of diced water melon for me. And she has tried to ring the vet.

I think they are all trying to look after me. And, I suspect, that F has something to do with this!

It’s kinda sweet, really, even if I don’t really NEED looking after. Still, we are in Italy and children stay children forever and, as I am F’s partner, I guess I qualify as a kind of surrogate child. Bless them.

The weekend on our own

It’s the last weekend we’ll be on our own. Just me and Dino.

We’re going down to the seaside house tonight and, although I enjoy it, it’s just not the same without F. I’ll do most of the things we usually do, even going to F’s parent’s for dinner – but, in any case, it’s not the same at all.

Still, the weather will be very hot and sunny and F will be working, so I really shouldn’t complain.

And I’ll have two days on the beach to improve my tan a bit – and play cards and continue reading the book that I’m enjoying (which I would tell you the title of – but it’s already down there and I can’t remember) and playing games on my phone and, generally, relaxing.

The one advantage of F not being there is that I should be able to sleep in a bit longer, which I am looking forward to – especially as, in a couple of weeks, when Piero joins us, I will be getting even less sleep than now!

So wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, have a nice weekend.

Is that I or we?

Of course, one must be careful. Things get lost in translation. The difference between “I” and “we” is huge – to us, native speakers of English. To those to whom it is a second language, it’s not that clear cut.

However, “We can live together and save some money. Not now but soon.” and “Then we can retire here.” are quite significant. And I’m pretty sure a mistake wasn’t made.

We were (well, he was) talking about the house, here, by the sea. It needs some work to be made comfortable but could be lovely with a garden for the dogs too. He wants to do it up but a) it will cost money and b) his brother (who shares it with him) doesn’t have the money …… nor a job.

Even if I’m not as clean and tidy as he would like, I’m obviously not that bad.

It was a nice few days away, even if the weather wasn’t always that kind to us. There was the Golden Wedding Anniversary party for his parents – it was a meal in an agriturismo. There was a lot of food but I was careful not to each too much and said ‘no’ on more than one occasion (I know, I even amaze myself sometimes!). His parents knew that the children would be there but not that so many other friends and family would be there so it was (apparently because I was getting stuff out of the car at the time) a very nice surprise for them. There was a lot of emotion. F is not good with emotion, I’ve found. Still, it was a lovely party, even if the weather wasn’t so nice.

His family are lovely to me. His mum calling me ‘Wendy’ which has become ‘the joke’ with me. For some reason, she can’t say ‘Andy’. At one point she confused me with S, F’s ex. For me, it was something of a compliment. I don’t look anything like S but I am obviously thought of in much the same way – and they like him and still ask after him.

Even if we came back early because of the torrential rain on Monday, it was a lovely trip.

Everything’s golden.

He told me that I needn’t but I couldn’t really go there with nothing, could I?

And, so, last Saturday I went hunting.

Before that, I asked him, “What are you going to get them?”

I’m glad I asked – a bottle of grappa for his Dad with a gold top or something and a gold picture frame for his Mum. Damn because the gold frame was what I had thought of.

“What were you thinking of?”, he asked me back. Quick thinking got me to say, “Maybe some gold coffee cups since they drink coffee every day”. Good idea, I told myself.

However, I found that gold coffee cups are NOT that easy to find. I did find some on my foray in the morning – but they didn’t have handles and looked rather cheap. Well, they were rather cheap so maybe that’s why.

But I had a brainwave in the afternoon and trotted off to La Rinascente (a huge department store by the Duomo). They had a section for fine china and the thing about fine china is that often it includes gold decoration.

And, even if they’ve changed it so that resembles more of an up-market market, I did find some. They are Wedgewood (so an English company, which makes sense) and they are simple, white cups and saucers with a rather fine pattern in …. GOLD! Hurrah!

OK, so they weren’t exactly cheap but on the basis that I get fed and looked after when I’m there, it seems (and is) a very small price to pay.

F said they were really nice. He’s going to wrap them, obviously, being so neat as he is.

And so I am set for our trip down there to the Tuscan coast. We leave on Thursday (probably) and come back on the Tuesday ……… unless, of course, Piero is born and we can go and see him. In which case F wants to go and see him – so we might either delay the visit by a day or come back a day early.

And, on the Sunday, which coincides with my birthday, we shall be having the Golden Wedding Anniversary lunch at some rustic restaurant in the foothills, on the veranda, overlooking olive groves, etc. All the family and cousins and so on will be there. And me :-)

It should be a nice few days away.

A bit sad although it may not have been like this.

Someone ‘shared’ a photo from one of the community-style pages.

It made me go and have a look.

And, then I came across this photo of Harding’s of Hereford.

I don’t recall very well whether my Grandfather worked there as a plumber or, because he was a plumber, he used to go there a lot to buy the stuff he needed.

And then I thought about him and wished I could see him now. I would have a lot to tell him about my life. I don’t know he would approve of it all but that’s OK.

And I felt a bit sad even if my memories probably weren’t true to the way that it really was.

Of course, if you can’t see the REAL problem(s), what hope is there?

Italy is going through a period of change, right now. One could say, a period of upheaval. Not unlike most countries,I suppose.

We have what is known as a ‘technical’ government. The Prime Minister and the cabinet members have not been elected. They are here, temporarily, to ‘save’ Italy from the same fate as Greece, Portugal and Ireland. Monti (the PM) has been tasked with introducing reforms. The idea is that he will reduce the amount of government debt and reform the labour market to make Italy more competitive.

At the beginning, like Obama in the USA, he was hailed as the saviour of Italy but it’s now all turning a bit sour – just like it is with Obama.

The latest problem for Monti is his determination to reform the all-important Article 18.

Article 18 is a law that provides for any employee who has been sacked to be reinstated to his old job if judges think he was unfairly sacked.

Apparently, most of the time, the judges tend to side with the ex-employee. This is judged as the reason that Italian companies do not sack workers and why people stay in their jobs for EVER, thus depriving young Italians of a chance to get real, full-time jobs – and youth unemployment is very high here.

In order to ease the situation, some years ago, there was a law introduced making it much easier to hire workers on a contractual basis. It was cheaper for the companies and, of course, was intended that they could ‘try out’ a worker before offering them a full-time job.

But it didn’t really work out. Most employers renewed the contract for a couple of years (the limit) and then let the person go and found someone else just as willing (desperate) to work on a 6-month contract basis for a nice, low salary.

Monti (and many other commentators) seem to believe that, by reforming Article 18 and making it much easier to sack workers (who are bad workers, of course), it will free up the job market, providing employment to the youngsters and getting the Italian economy back on track.

Workers are worried that nasty bosses will just sack workers if their face doesn’t fit. Bosses think that the reforms proposed (enacted?) don’t go far enough.

But, in my opinion, they are all totally wrong.

First, it’s not the problem. And reform is not the solution.

The problem is much more complicated than this. The problem is Italian culture and this won’t be changed by the change in Article 18.

in my experience, certain young people get full-time jobs without a problem. They do this because they are from a wealthy or powerful family and their parents ‘call a favour’. In one case, for one guy to whom I used to teach English, his father simply created an Estate Agency and put him in charge. Making money was not really its major concern. Giving his son something to do, was!

Take the company I work for. Many people who work here are related. Cousins, wives, husbands, etc. It’s the way it works. Jobs are ‘found’ for people’s relatives. People ask if ‘you know anywhere that is looking for a xxx’.

Sure, it can be similar in the UK but here it is more so.

But it’s not just that. My first landlady here decided she wanted to ‘change her life’ a bit. She wanted a different kind of job. She was in the chemical industry. She thought she wanted to move into the Energy industry with a focus on renewable energy. In the UK, to change one’s career drastically, like this, is not really a major problem. Here it is virtually impossible.

She spent a year or more getting the qualifications that she needed. Then she found some work. On a temporary contract. The problem here is that people will look at your previous employment and, if it is not exactly relevant, will, quite often, dismiss it. It is very hard to change career. In the end, because it was just too difficult, she went back to the chemical industry. She didn’t have any other choice. And the only reason she was able to do it in the first place was because she had rich parents to support her. She’s mid-30s, btw.

Changing your career is simply not done here. Any skills you have obtained become almost worthless if you try to move out of your field. Getting another job in the same field is difficult enough – getting one out of your field is nigh-on impossible – unless, of course, you have the right connections!

Then there is the financial incentive given to employers to take on people under short-term contracts. They get to pay less tax and NI (National Insurance). Why take on someone full-time when you save money by taking them on a contract basis?

And, in addition, I don’t entirely believe that employers don’t sack people because of Article 18 and the judges, apparently, favouring the employee. I think there is a deep-seated fear of confrontation. Employers don’t want to confront employees. Everyone here wants an easy life.

Even here, in my company, there are numerous instances where employees appear to ‘take the piss’. Sometimes, something is said. But then everything just goes back to the way it was before.

And, remember, I used to employ many people – so I’m not predisposed to come down on one side or the other.

The worst thing about this whole thing is the belief by Monti and many commentators that changing Article 18 will be the magic wand that a) brings young people into employment and b) gives a kick-start to the Italian economy.

It is my opinion that neither of these things will happen with the reform of Article 18. It is a red herring and will change nothing.

Monti and his gang are a group of economists/bankers, etc. Look where they’ve got us so far! It’s like putting the prisoners in charge of the jail.

One day, people will wake up but with the false promises about the labour reforms that Monti is putting in place, this is likely to turn out the same way as Obama in the States. People will be disillusioned but everything will continue just the same. Except that, maybe, Italy will lose something important along the way.

I don’t see a good outcome, unfortunately.

The Party

I had a sudden thought, in the car, on the way to the airport.

What if V were on the plane? For some reason this possibility hadn’t even crossed my mind until that moment and for some other reason, it made me feel uncomfortable.

There were three things about this party:

1. Ay

It was her 21st. From a beautiful baby to a beautiful woman. How time flies. My meories of her are precious.

2. The Family.

They were my family for over 20 years. They still are my family. I still feel at home with them which, I thought, was strange, since I had believed it was because of V. It seems not.

3. V.

Of course, this was my biggest ‘concern’ And, so, on to the party ……..

I got to the hotel and watched some TV (see earlier post) and then decided to go down for a cigarette. There had been dire warnings about how cold it was in the UK, so I dressed up – hat, coat, scarf, gloves, etc.

In reality, it wasn’t that bad and I felt almost foolish being so well guarded against the non-existent cold.

So, I’m there, outside the hotel, having a cigarette and wishing I was home. I phone C to ask what time it will finish as I need to phone a taxi.

“Probably about 4″, she states. OK, I know it’s a family whose roots are Jamaican and, therefore, should have known – but, really, FOUR!?!

She tells me there is someone who wants to talk to me. She passes me to V. He seems quite pleasant. I tell him I will be there later.

I’ve brought a suit. I nearly changed my mind but, in the end, thought it would be better. I go up to take a bath but, whilst it is running, I see the water is yellow and full of black bits. I decide to have a shower.

It’s after the shower that I realise I didn’t bring my brush. Nor even a comb. Bugger!

I use the only thing I have which is a nail brush. It’s not good but it’s all I’ve got. Luckily the room has a hairdryer so that’s something. The result I’m not happy with but there’s nothing I can do about it.

I get ready and go. I could be a bit early but better early than late. I go to the taxi rank at the airport. I get in a taxi and we’re there about 10 minutes early.

I go to the door. Outside are some people I recognise in some way. I guess they’re V’s brother’s oldest children who are in their 20’s. They recognise me more than I them. I certainly couldn’t put names to them – well, I couldn’t at that moment.

One of them goes in to say I am here. C comes out and goes a bit wild. There’s lots of hugging and kissing and stuff. V stands in the doorway. We say ‘Hi’.

We go inside into the entrance porch. There is of course the ‘How are you?’s; the ‘You’re looking well’s, etc. V’s Mum and Dad are there. I was pleased that his Dad looked really fit and well – it meant that I could honestly be delighted to see him and shock was not obvious on my face, even if I had expected to see him thinner and ‘shrunken’, because the only shock was how well he looked.

It was wonderful to see them. Ay wasn’t there but ‘getting ready at home’. Obviously, she wanted to ‘make an entrance’.

V was going to pick her up in the car. He suggested that I come too.

V looked good. Almost like his old self and certainly much, much better than last time I saw him. He didn’t look so old either. We talked a lot. It was almost as if nothing had ever happened. He was (as he was before) fun to be with. I enjoyed our time together.

Of course, the difference was that I didn’t worry about what he said. I mean, it didn’t matter if it was bullshit or not. It isn’t like it matters to me – I mean to say, it doesn’t have any effect on my life, my day-to-day living, not like before. So he could be whomever he wanted and I didn’t know, nor need to know, anything beyond the shallow front. And that was good.

Even P, his other sister, was nice to me!

He told me that everyone had been talking about me coming. That it was really important to them. It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not, it was nice to think they might have been.

But I didn’t scratch too deep. I’m not good with the sight of blood and what purpose would it serve anyway?

Ay looked fabulous. And, of course, to me, not 21. She looked like a little, sweet girl. But I love her still, even if she’s only my ‘niece’ by virtue of the relationship I had with V.

And I do miss the food – rice and peas, chicken, etc. It was really lovely to have some again.

And I do miss them all, even V. They make me feel warm and comfortable and, well, like being in a family.

So, the party was fine and V was very nice and everyone was very nice and Ay looked so beautiful and I cannot express how I feel now she’s turned 21.

And I got a little drunk and got a taxi back about 2 or 2.30 but that was OK.

Dust is dust and ashes are, well, just that.

I read that one British woman, who lives abroad, is suing the owners of Costa Concordia for the loss of her husband’s ashes.

I’ve always wondered what the fascination is about getting back the ashes. I’ve thought it strange. I mean, the person, as a living human being can make you laugh or cry can love you or hate you – but the ashes? What are they other than a pile of, well, burnt remains.

It’s a bit like ‘things’ really. I mean, I like to have nice things but, you know, they’re just ‘things’ – a piece of wood or metal or plastic or ash. I can’t get upset over a ‘thing’.

But tonight, as a first, I may be going to collect Rufus’ ashes.

Of course, this is for F really, as you might realise. For me, I shall remember the funny way he used to jump up, later to raise his front legs as in a rearing horse and latterly barely making it off the ground, before we went for a walk. Rather than Dino’s complete turn round.

I will remember his pretty face and the way his ‘trot’ was so ‘refined’ unlike Dino’s rather big-arse, swinging gait – Rufus walked like a model.

I shall remember his gentleness when taking food, much like Dino now, before he became blind and would snatch it out of your hand (almost, sometimes, taking your hand too!)

I shall remember the time he caught a live rabbit (although it wasn’t live for long) and then, on returning to the house how he wouldn’t come in until he had eaten every single bit of it. And my worry that it might have myxomatosis, even though, quite obviously, the rabbit didn’t have that.

I shall remember, when I was preparing to drive here with our belongings, how he got in the car about 8 in the morning and wouldn’t leave the car – not for any reason, as if he was frightened he would be left behind. And the drive down with him curled up in a tiny space and stopping often for him to have a stretch.

I shall remember getting Dino and Dino and him playing in the park with a huge tree branch that had come down in a storm, each trying to pull it off the other, lots of growling but no malice in that – it was part of the game – before Rufus became too weak to be able to match Dino.

I shall remember that he was a great dog.

But, of the ashes, I’m not really sure. I have mixed feelings about wanting them in my house. It seems kind of morbid. I must have become old. I think it will just be another thing that will want cleaning. And, anyway, I don’t believe it will be the ashes of Rufus. Just some ash. Not the same thing at all really. But I won’t tell F that. I’ll let him believe what he wants. I would even confirm that it was, if he should ever ask.

Will it be in some nice jar or something terribly gaudy and trashy? After all, in my head, keeping the ashes of something is trashy – or that’s how I thought. It wasn’t done in our family. And I’m a little nervous about how F will take this – whereas, for me, the essence of Rufus remains in my memories, just like the essence of my grandfather is not in some little plot in some churchyard in rural Herefordshire. I can’t get attached to some thing. It has to have a beating heart. Without that it doesn’t bring out the same feeling.

And yet …….

I feel some trepidation at going to the vet. As if there is some real finality about it all. As if, by not getting this, I can imagine him not dead but alive somewhere. As if he might come home. Or, perhaps this waiting for the urn and the ashes is, in some strange way, keeping him more ‘alive’ in my head. Stretching out the death process by over a week.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s not a sadness in these thoughts (although maybe a slightly damp eye). It’s an unknown and strange feeling I have.

But like all the other ‘firsts’ since I’ve come to Italy, I must steel myself and go do this thing, even if I would prefer not to.

Wonderful time and fantastic surprises.

Well, I suppose I’d better start by wishing my faithful readers a glorious and happy 2012. And to say sorry for not posting over the festive period.

Christmas was, as expected, wonderful, even if I did wake on Christmas morning with what seemed like ‘flu. I ignored it. I felt much better by Wednesday.

So the highlights were:

The best present I got from F was not the vaporetto (steam cleaner) that F was so delighted with giving me but the snow globe with the pictures of the dogs inside. Don’t get me wrong, the vaporetto is wonderful but I think that if I tell you that F’s excited question (as if a small boy with a new toy) later on Christmas Day of ‘Shall we use the vaporetto now?’ you will agree that nothing more needs to be said.

V’s Dad phoned me on Christmas Day. It was such a nice surprise and I was speechless. They never phone. They hardly ever phoned when V and I were together and so it was such a wonderful ‘present’. His Mum phoned on New Year’s Day to wish me Happy New Year. So nice of them.

On Christmas Day we cooked together most of the morning and ate together most of the afternoon. I couldn’t have wished for anything better (well, I suppose I could have wished for no ‘flu – but I’m not complaining). We opened presents, we had fun.

Of course, not everything was perfect over the period. I learnt that he really doesn’t have patience and also that he really doesn’t like the fact that I won’t argue with him – but really! A light in the bathroom, overcooked lentils, not being able to fit the roasting net over the cotechino, not being perfectly ready in time for our New Year’s Eve guests – none of these things are actually important things. Well, not to me, anyway. The light in the bathroom deserves it’s own post. Oh yes, and in addition to the lack of patience and me not arguing, one could add that he doesn’t listen to me – but then, that’s not really new :-)

I know that, for a lot of people, they are glad to see the back of 2011 but not me. It was a wonderful year and one of the happiest I’ve ever had. I hope that 2012 will be the same both for me and for all you out there.

Is this really what we have in store for us? God, I hope not (well, at least for me).

Everyone is different; has a different character and, most definitely, different needs.

I really don’t care if you are married, co-habiting, single (by choice) or anything else (I’m not sure if there IS anything else) – as long as you are happy and as long as (if you have a partner), I don’t want to kill your partner or partners :-)

To be honest, what you do with your life is absolutely none of my business – unless it directly affects my life – in which case it is my business. Of course, if you ask me, I may or may not (depending on whether you’re asking for a confirmation of what you think or really asking me) tell you what I think.

Luckily, for my lovely readers, this blog is about what I think (at this moment that I’m writing, of course – in two hours I could think the opposite although, in this case that’s unlikely).

From Lola’s blog, I read this article entitled “All the Single Ladies”.

The strange thing is that I was quite disturbed by it. I mean, unsettled. Basically it was saying that, given the way that society has changed and the general ratio of men to women, being a single person was now more likely.

Perhaps I was unsettled by the truth of it, for it is not a truth I want for myself.

I understand that some people say they are happier alone. Bar a very few people, I cannot believe it, I’m sorry. True, not every society works in the same way and, for sure, partly why I am happier being ‘with someone’ is that I was brought up to believe in a household where two adults live together (with or without children).

And friends are important. Good friends are irreplaceable, of course. I have many friends. Not thousands but enough for me. Being in a friendship takes work on both sides. And yet, there are friends (like Best Mate and I) who don’t need to be in contact for quite a while and just pick up the friendship where we left off. And I would do almost anything for Best Mate. She is there, even if I am having problems with my partner or even if I don’t have a partner. I love her to bits.

BUT

She is not the same as a partner – and I don’t mean for sex. After all, for sex, if I wanted to, there is a tall, leggy prostitute that hangs on the corner of the street and is there when I take the dogs out for a walk. We even say ‘hello’ now. Well, why not? Anyway, as an aside, business seems to be quite good for her. Maybe it’s one of those businesses that thrives in crisis periods?

But I digress. And, anyway, she is a woman so not really interesting to me.

So, if not for sex then what is a partner for? Why is it that I consider it essential for my life and others (including the woman who wrote the article) don’t?

But, then again, the article doesn’t say that a partner is not essential but that, given the fact that she dumped her (probable) partner some time ago, assuming that she would be getting one later and could settle down when she felt like it, and now, finding that a partner is unlikely to be found, she has, in fact, come to a realisation that ‘this is it’ and that she had better get on and enjoy what she has.

And I think that is my point.

My greatest fear is to be old and alone. Since I don’t have (and won’t have) any children, unless I have a partner, I shall be alone when I am old.

But it’s not even that, really.

After V, I thought that, given my age, I would remain alone. For those of you that have been readers for over three years, you will know this.

But I found, after a few months of being alone, that ‘being alone’ was not an acceptable life for me. I NEEDED a partner to share things with, to cuddle up with at night and, mostly, to not feel ALONE. ALONE I cannot handle. And, as you may know, I thought that I cannot be the only person in Milan who thinks this way and so I went out to find the other person who felt the same (or, more or less, the same).

And I think that’s the problem with this woman. She hasn’t come to terms with what her single life is and doesn’t want to commit. And, by not committing was thinking that when the right man happened along, they would both know and everything would be fine.

However, as I said before I started the online dating search, it’s no good waiting for Mr Right to come knocking at my door if I am stuck there night after night. No, I needed to go out and FIND him.

And I think that, in spite of her positiveness, she is, in fact, ALONE and, possibly too busy to feel LONELY – but she may well feel lonely later and that she is fully well aware of that.

Friends, of course, will be important to her but there are those times when (even when you’re with friends) you feel alone. With a partner, I don’t get this feeling. With F, I don’t feel alone anymore.

Anyway, sorry for the ramble. They are, after all, just my opinions and thoughts.