Tag Archives: Italians

It’s life Jim, but hardly logical.

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When you look at it, logically, there’s nothing actually wrong.

Just like those times when I feel angry for no reason at all.

But I am really pissed off.

Except when I’m with F. For some reason, everything just lifts when I’m with him.

Take last night. After a really dreadful day, followed by a lesson and then a dreadful drive home, meaning I was later than I wanted to be, meaning that, although I really rushed a shower, I arrived at the shop later than I wanted to, once I was with F, I was relaxed and happy. For the next couple of hours, even if he wasn’t with me all the time, I was still happy and relaxed. I knew he was there. It was enough.

It was the “Aperitivo”. They were holding it because it is the Furniture Fair. It was nice. I had several glasses of prosecco. And a couple of the small finger food ‘dishes’ they were handing out. There were lots of F’s colleagues there, of course. They are always so nice to me.

One thing struck me though. F, not usually overly demonstrative towards me, completely changes when there are a lot of his colleagues around. It’s quite funny. He seems, almost, to be jealous of any attention given to me – but not jealous that I’m getting the attention and he’s not. Rather jealous in that I’m his. Phrases such as ‘keep your eyes off him, he’s mine’ tend to come out (or something similar, since it is in Italian). It does make me laugh, inwardly. Of course, part of it is for show, I know that. He is, after all, a showman. It’s what he does best. It’s why he’s good at his job.

And now, as we rapidly approach 4.15, it is the weekend. And the weather should be OK (average for this time of year) and so, I hope, F & I will spend some time together and take the dogs for a walk, etc.

These are the times that make me really happy.

a

The Last Supper (the real one this time)

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Italy!

Sometimes, to be perfectly honest, it can be a real pain in the neck.

I was only chatting with R, last night, how, although everyone in Italy had mobile telephones the moment they were first introduced and a minimum of two when Britons were still umming and ahing about having their first, when it comes to the internet, they are a tad slow. So, whereas Facebook was a big hit in Britain, say, five years ago, it only really got a toe-hold in Italy in the last couple of years.

And web development is, to be frank, fairly crap here. It is almost as if they don’t really get the power of it. My colleague, S, for example, doesn’t like to book anything or buy anything over the net. So, using websites in Italy is quite hit and miss.

I needed to book tickets to see The Last Supper. If you haven’t been in the last 10 years or so, you really, really MUST. They have cleaned it up and it is, quite honestly, breathtaking. Any pictures you see of it really don’t do it justice.

But you should try to get tickets before you come. These days the viewing is strictly controlled. The number of people allowed in at one time is limited to about 20. You are only supposed to be in there for about 15 minutes.

It used to be quite difficult to get tickets anyway but now, with all the restrictions, it is definitely harder. You can book about 2/3 months in advance only. Even so, tickets are not that easy to get, especially if you are restricted to certain days.

So today, the tickets for July and August came on sale. And I learnt some interesting things that, should you be wishing to book, might help:

1. Getting through on the phone is almost impossible.
2. The website which shows available days, is updated ……… A LOT (so refresh the page as often as you can).
3. Pre-register with the booking site as, during the time you are trying to register, the tickets you thought were available will have been sold.
4. Do try the call centre again if you can’t find what you want on the site.

I had rung last month. The kind lady (there is an English section) told me that I couldn’t book for July, yet. Also, she told me not to worry as they always have tickets available in the call centre that are not shown on the site. I don’t rest easy with that sort of information. When people say ‘don’t worry’ in Italy, it’s usually the time to worry.

Anyway, this morning was the ‘time’ to get July tickets. I need them because D&S are coming over for their first anniversary. So it’s important that I get some for them. I suggested to F that, perhaps, I should also purchase a guided tour. He said, ‘No, I’ll do it’. ‘Really?’, I queried. But, apparently, yes. Well I guess he might know something about it since he did Art and stuff at college.

I got on the site. Until about 8.45 a.m. July and August were not even available as months to look at. Then July was there – but no days were available. Grrrr.

I try phoning the call centre. The line is engaged. I try again. The line is engaged. And again. Engaged. Engaged. Engaged. Engaged.

I get through. I press ‘2’ for English. They tell me, in Italian, that I have to be put through to an operator. I wait. They play a message apologising for the delay. I wait. They play another message apologising for the delay. I wait some more. They play a message that apologises for the delay but adds that the operators are all busy and so it is taking too long to wait. They cut me off.

THE BASTARDS! Having already spent money on the call, I want to wait more. Instead, I must phone again. The line is engaged. I try again. The line is engaged. Engaged, engaged, fucking ENGAGED! Bastards, bastards, BASTARDS!

I am now repeating the calls on both my mobile and landline. I get through! Hurrah!

The message about waiting for an operator comes on. I wait. I hear the ‘sorry for the delay’ message. I wait. I hear the same message again. I wait. I hear the same message plus the bit about ‘we’ve decided that rather than permit you to hold the line, we shall cut you off with no thought for you whatsoever and make you redial 6 million times until we get you get through to here, giving you false and unreasonable hope that you will actually get to speak to someone – but, at least, then, someone else can get through and they can have the false hope that they will get through. Anyway, it’s our joke because although this is called a ‘call centre’, in fact it is only one person sitting by a telephone’.

Bastards.

I go back to the website. I refresh. Well, you never know?

I didn’t know. This time, every day is available until the 13th July! WTF?

Ah, yes, of course, someone is just entering them by hand, right now! They are entering the available dates by hand because, well, this is Italy, and the thought of setting it up in a file beforehand so that the flick of a program makes them all appear at once is JUST NOT POSSIBLE!

Useless BASTARDS!

However, on a brighter note, it means that, if these dates have suddenly appeared, more dates will too. I hope. I sincerely hope.

I am now dialing the useless number that is always engaged and simultaneously, refreshing the page on the site.

The day I want comes up as available. Hurrah!

I select the date. Some times come up. I select a time. To continue I must register or sign on. Damn! I have signed up with this company before. I bought ballet tickets for V at La Scala. I can’t remember my username or password. Damn, damn! I try to register. I cannot. My email address is already taken.

I click on the forgotten login button. I will get an email. An email arrives. It has the username but the password is not there for security reasons. This is quite stupid. I wait for a moment for another email with the password. It’s not coming. I go back to the site. I go back a few pages – except I can’t. I am, in my head, screaming at ‘them’. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

This seems to have little effect. I go back to the original page. OK there’s even more dates available now. I click on the same date and the same time. Of the 7 tickets available, there is now only 1. BARSTEWARDS!

I try a different time. I try to log on with my username and say I have forgotten my password. I go back to the tab with the email and click on the inbox to refresh it, every few milliseconds. I fail to notice that the email has arrived and so click once again on inbox. This only slows everything down.

You might guess by now that I am a tad frustrated.

I copy the password and paste it in.

There is a message in Italian. I do not read it. I have no time for this. It is not letting me go any further. I try a different tab. The same thing happens. I go back to the first tab and try again. I reload the page from the beginning and try it all again. No dice still.

I read the message in Italian.

I am already logged on somewhere else and so must close the tabs and start again.

I close all tabs. I open a new tab. I start again.

The date and the time I want is still OK. They have seven tickets, still. I want four. I sign in again. They do not have all the details they would like. Anyway, the address is wrong. It’s the one that I used to have in the UK. I change it. I have to look up my codice fiscale on my phone. I ensure I have entered all the required fields. I tick the box to say I have read the Terms and Conditions. As with most people, I haven’t, of course.

I am not allowed to go further.

You utter, utter, fucking bastards!

There is a field they insist must be filled even if it is not marked as required. They do not need this information. It is not essential to this transaction. Am I a man or a woman? Why must you know this to allow me to purchase tickets from you (which, incidentally, are going to cost me an extra €1.50 EACH!!!! because I am booking in advance)?

I am tempted to say I am a woman.

I don’t.

I continue.

It lets me pay. But now there is this new thing with the credit card. I must enter my password. The one assigned to the card.

The last time, even if I know I entered the correct password, it didn’t work and I had loads of shit trying to get a new one, eventually having to phone a premium line from my mobile to get it working.

I enter the password, making sure it is 100% correct.

It starts processing. It is taking a long time. I am not hopeful. Eventually, a message appears. The transaction has not processed. For fuck’s sake! I re-read the message. The password is correct, the transaction is being processed now.

Oh!

I get the confirmation that I have four tickets. I print it, not really believing that after more than an hour of phone calls and messing about on the internet, I have actually got them.

F sends me an email with the picture of a dog, a picture of a shower-head, the date of Friday the 22nd and a picture of a clock at about 10 o’clock.

I reply with a picture of tickets, of the Last Supper, a poster with the date that I have booked the tickets and a clock with 1:15 on it.

Underneath I put a picture of a finger pointing out of the screen (you) and a picture of a tour guide with a flag.

We are done.

So, in case you wish to book to see the Last Supper, you can (maybe) book through this site. In fact, if you check right now, there are even a few dates that have become available in April, May and June that, previously, were all fully booked.

Failing that, you can try the telephone number on that site. But only phone on a day that is not the first day of sales. They say ‘Not to Worry’. Of course, I have lived here long enough to know you should. Still, it is worth a try, isn’t it?

Anyway, this was only my experience. I’m sure yours will be better ………….

Do you think I may, possibly, be a bit peeved?

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“I’m sorry, I forgot”.

Well, at least it was honest.

“I’m in Venice, at the dentist, so I can’t come”. Well, obviously, since Venice is several hours away.

“I’ll pay double next time”. He treats it as it should be. I like him. Anyway, unlike Monday night, I had no other plans and no one had invited me anywhere where I had said I couldn’t.

This morning was a slightly different thing, as I had suspected it would be.

“M! And Monday?”

I don’t even speak English correctly anymore. Like last night. It wasn’t ‘film card’ but ‘film star’ and yet I understood what ‘film card’ meant and failed to recognise that, actually, it should have been ‘film star’. I have developed this Italian-non-English way of speaking, mimicking the Italians. It is ever-so-slightly annoying.

He was shocked, in any case, to see me. You could see it in his face. The eyebrows arched and a look that was as if he had seen some alien monster was about to eat him.

The excuse:

“Ah yes, I didn’t have my phone, I left it in x.” I can’t even remember what he said as it wasn’t really important.

“And the reason you didn’t reply to my texts – even the next day? Just to say sorry or something. Anything, really.” I didn’t say this. I just thought it. I’ve already kind of lost interest in anything he might have to say since it’s all bullshit.

“I’ve bought some books yesterday and I’ve started reading them. I’m going to take my exam at the end of May. After I’ve done some studying …….”

“Yeah, call me”, I cut him off with this.

I’m already screaming in my head.

“BULLSHIT!”

and

“FUCK YOU!”

I don’t say that he’s lost that time. I’ll just say that he only has an hour and a half left. Fucking bastard.

It made me more angry that he couldn’t be honest and say he forgot. That would have been better although a reply to my texts (that I had sent on Monday night) on Tuesday morning would have been better still.

Obviously it’s too much to ask.

But it seems stupid to me since we’re bound to see each other at some point and then, instead of already having covered it, you have to come out with bullshit and be quite horrified to see me. What did he think? He wouldn’t see me? Some people seem quite stupid sometimes. Some people even seem quite stupid most of the time.

Bloody people.

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It has to stop. No, really it does!

I don’t really get angry. I just feel disappointed. I should feel angry but, you know, there’s just too much effort in being angry. And, anyway, it doesn’t solve anything. However, I could be, shall we say, firmer. You could say ‘more of a bastard about it’. And that would be true ….. to some extent.

But, overall, I’m just disappointed – both with the people concerned and with the resulting situation for me.

I don’t know why I do it really. The ‘planning’ bit. Even as I’m doing it I think, ‘don’t do this ‘cos it won’t all work out like this at all’. Still, I do it.

In this case, I’m talking about my students – but, to be honest, it applies to most things. One of them, who has to complete this test before the end of this year or else he loses his degree that he worked so hard for. But he doesn’t work hard enough (in his own time). There are excuses, of course. They are reasonable excuses – he works full time, also runs a business (a nursery) with his wife, has a baby daughter and fights with his wife most evenings. Oh yes, and he’s just bought a new flat which needs work to be done. Not really a recipe for success when the English thing is difficult for him.

So, as he hasn’t worked hard enough, he wants to stop the lessons. This is fine by me. His Monday, hour-and-a-half lessons at 9 p.m. were a real killer for me. It meant not getting to sleep much before midnight, making me have a lack of sleep that is showing in my face as I rapidly approach old age. He says he wants to self-study. He won’t pass his exam ….. even if he does actually take it. But he has no intention of using his degree; it’s too difficult for him to get work in his field without working for a while as an intern (meaning no money – which with all his other commitments is impossible) and he’s unlikely to get an internship at his age (being a few years older than is normal). Anyway, his long-term plans means that he doesn’t really need a degree. He wants to open a tobacconist (he works for the one below my house). You don’t need to be an architect to do that.

And so, he cancelled a lesson a few weeks ago and said he didn’t want to do any more. But he had pre-paid. I said he had two lessons left. And so, he booked for last night and next Monday.

I sit in my kitchen. Everything is ready. Well, I say ‘ready’. I have no real lesson plan. I’m not sure what he wants from the last two lessons. I will play it by ear.

F is packing for Spain and trying to do the music (see post below). He knows the lesson is until 10.30 so he isn’t rushing. He ‘does beauty farm’, as he says. After he comes (which is always after the lesson), we will eat the remains of the Cottage Pie. It is too late, really, but the other option is to throw it away.

I had, previously, rushed round to his place to show him a ‘solution’ that didn’t really work and rushed back to be sitting in my kitchen, with a cup of tea, by nine.

It reaches two minutes past nine. I have a ‘sense’. It’s not a good sense. I decide to text my student. I attach his message which gave the dates and ask ‘Are you coming or have you forgotten?’. I already know he has forgotten or, if not forgotten, chosen not to come.

I wait for no answer and am rewarded.

Ten minutes later, I text again, this time putting a delivery receipt on the text. This one just asks ‘Are you there?’. He’s not. Or he’s ignoring me. Or his phone has been stolen. Or he’s arguing with his wife (again). Or he’s in hospital or dead or something. But his phone’s still working and there is a receipt to say the message was delivered.

I am a little pissed. At least have the decency to let me know you’re not coming? I had turned down a drink with A (who is away the rest of this week) because of my errant student.

I decide that I will charge him this anyway. Stuff him. Unless he has a really good excuse like he’s in hospital. Or his daughter is, or something. Then I couldn’t do it. There’ll be some excuse, for certain. Also I had told someone else they couldn’t have a lesson at that time. Goddamn them. Bloody people.

But this keeps happening. People cancel. At the last minute. Now I have to be upfront about this. I have to set rules. It will make me seem like I am a money-grabbing bastard. But so be it.

As I found when running a business before, rules only need to be brought in when people start taking the piss. And so it goes.

It’s bloody people that are the problem!

Porca Vacca!

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Tick ……. tick ………. tick ………. tick

The sound seemed so loud. I cannot hear it now but then, at 4 in the morning, it was so loud.

I am in the kitchen. It is dark. It isn’t exactly my fault that I’m up. As I said to F at the time, it was very nice but a little too salty. In fact, it was very salty and I am now paying the price. Damn the Italians and their seemingly passionate affair with salt. Why? It’s not necessary and it does take away from what would, otherwise, have been truly wonderful.

We had been to Porca Vacca, near my flat. I had a Groupon voucher. Of course, this voucher was not so fantastic. Only €40 off the meal. So, by the time we had finished, we still had to pay nearly €100. Still the food was lovely, beautifully presented, etc. The wine was good. But the salt in the main dish, for me, just far too much.

And so, here, at 4 a.m., I sit trying to take away my raging thirst and unable to sleep because of it. Damn, damn, damn (which seems appropriate given the name of the restaurant).

Update May 2015. Sadly, Porca Vacca has closed. We haven’t yet been to the restaurant that took it’s place – although we keep saying that we must go – as it’s the closest restaurant to us and is now a Tuscan restaurant!

Raining. Really?

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Well, since I live here, I suppose I’d better wish Italy a very happy 150th birthday.

In the mean time it is ………. erm …….. raining. Again.

It seems like it’s been raining for a month, even though that isn’t true.

The clarinet is playing above me. I mean, the clarinet is being played by someone above me. I think it’s the girl that I see every morning, more or less. I should ask, really. She speaks some English. Or maybe it’s an oboe. Today, I can hear she is playing a record or a tape and playing her instrument to it. It’s kind of jazz or blues – I can’t hear it so well. Still, I like the sound of her playing. It’s kind of mellow.

F has gone home to make some CDs for someone. It’s a customer from Barcelona who keeps offering him a job and, as he says, you never know. I said I could always teach English, which is true, although the real meaning behind that, I think he missed. Or maybe not. He’s difficult to fathom out at times. He said ‘yes’ anyway.

And he’s working tomorrow, he said. Although one can never be entirely sure. I used to like to know what I was doing. To have some plan. But I gave that up, mostly, when we moved here. Now I don’t plan so much. It’s not really important anyway. And things keep getting in the way of plans. It’s better to ‘go with the flow’. It’s more relaxing. It makes me more relaxed.

Yesterday, in spite of the teeming rain, I went for lunch with FfC. We talked about many things but nothing really important. I had wine. She didn’t. But I’m on holiday and she’s not. Still, it was lovely to do that. She’s working today and tomorrow since she has to work when the stock exchanges are open – which is most of the time.

I had been doing lessons last night and F came round early or, rather, earlier than usual. He wanted to see some of the stuff I had done. Particularly the correction of errors. He is funny. For most of the errors, he corrected them or said them in a different way. His English is quite good really. Being as competitive as he is he wanted to be better than any of my students. Which he was, more or less. But he was far better at the listening exercises that he did. He makes me laugh. He wants to be the best all the time. Sometimes I think that we have absolutely nothing in common. But, when I look at him, playing games on my computer, as this morning, I truly adore him.

And now I really must do some things – put away the ironing that my cleaner guy did yesterday, do some computer work, maybe, even, make a start on the bedroom.

And so, I leave you for now. For those of you who are Italian, I hope you have a lovely celebration day. And for the others a nice day anyway. I hope the weather is better where you are than it is here!

Auguri!

Printers; I want to learn English NOW!; Update to weather and stuff.

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Those of you who know me or who have been reading this blog for long enough will know this is me.

I have been putting it off for about 3 years. But now it’s simply not good enough and I really do need to do something about it.

I am going to buy a printer – which has a scanner and a copier as well. I did a lesson today and I need to scan the resulting log sheet AND copy a couple of other things. I am not in work for over a week so I have no choice but to get one.

About bloody time really, to be honest. As usual (like the shirts I was going to buy the other week (and for the last couple of years) but didn’t),I keep ‘managing’ until it just becomes so difficult or so much of a pain or I have no choice.

I am, indeed, very lazy!

Or, maybe, very, very tight ;-)

Either way, sometimes, I do seem to make it difficult for myself.

Maybe I’ll get shirts tomorrow too?

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Today, for the second time in four days, I get told that the person wants ‘to be perfect in English’ – giving themselves an impossible timetable. Of course, it’s not ‘impossible’, just highly unlikely and impractical.

But, what does one say?

I want to say, ‘Did you learn Italian in one month?’

But I don’t. I say nothing or try to guide them as to the impossibility of this.

One wants to be in the UK soon. The other has, kind of, told her new employers that she speak English well and is now, rightly, scared that the reality won’t match their expectations. And, anyway, we spent the whole lesson talking about her inability to progress to the third date with her boyfriends – in spite of me trying to move on to different things.

Hmmm. Does this make me a bad person? Should I just say, ‘Don’t be stupid’ or something?

_________________________________________________________________________________________

The weather forecast, unfortunately, was right. Heavy and prolonged rain. In fact, heavy rain all day. However, the forecast for most of the rest of the week has significantly improved. On the minus side, F informed me last night that he was going to work some of Friday after all. Ah well, it’s not a disaster as we hadn’t planned anything. But I think I might try and persuade him we should go to Mantova for the day next Saturday :-)

The smell of dead things.

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Of course, certain smells and sights remind you of times, of places, of people, etc.

And I was in conversation with a couple of people the other day. I was explaining how our Purchasing department (occupied by three women) have plants and flowers dotted around but that most of their plants and flowers are in various stages of death.

And how there was one flower that, even when alive, I detested as, when alive, it smelt like a dead thing. And when dead it stopped smelling but looked like a dead thing. It has no redeeming features.

The other people were Italian and I was told that the smell was wonderful because it reminded them of spring. Of course, since we don’t have it in the UK, it doesn’t have this recollection for me – to me it is quite horrible.

The flower (or is it shrub) is mimosa and today, being La Festa delle Donne (Women’s Day) it the flower of choice to give to a woman. I suppose, in the same way, the flower for St David’s Day is a daffodil (since it’s almost the only flower out in the UK on St David’s Day).

I don’t give it. I couldn’t bear to have it in the same space as me. Dreadful, dreadful stuff.

Also, as it happens, this is Pancake Day – but only in the UK, I fear. This is a shame as I really like pancakes. I could make my own but, somehow, this not being Pancake Day here takes all of the impetus out of it.

I suppose, as it’s Pancake Day, it must also mean it is Shrove Tuesday.

Wow! There’s a LOT of stuff going on today.

Are you doing pancakes or celebrating Women’s Day or doing some other wonderful thing for this very full Tuesday?

Soon it will not be safe!

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Well here’s something that annoys me enough to write about. Hurrah! Sort of. If you see what I mean.

Marciapiede. That’s pavement (or sidewalk for Gail) to you. You know, the things on the side of the streets that, in theory, permit people to walk around without dodging cars. Kinda useful in reducing the deaths of people. Of course, a car going 100 mph and mounting a pavement is bound to cause a bit of damage, especially to any warm soft bodies in the way.

However, here, in Milan, that’s less likely to happen. I.e. you’re probably in less danger of getting run over, walking down the pavement here, than, say, in any other city in the UK! Although I have no actual figures to back it up. So I could be wrong. But it seems highly likely to me.

Now, why would that be, you ask. Or should be asking. Because if you’re not asking then this post is pointless. So ask then and I will disclose why.

OK. You’re probably safer from getting run over by a car here because ………………………

…………….. there are already a lot of cars on the pavement. Parked, of course.

I wouldn’t want to be pushing a pram around in Milan though. Then I would spend half my time on the road because, often, there is not enough room between the parked car and the building for me to pass with a push chair.

Not EVERY bit of pavement is taken up with a parked car. Sometimes they have barriers put up – to, erm, stop people parking their car!

But, then, these areas can be full too. Not of people. No, no, no. Full of mopeds and motorbikes. Obviously, a bike can get and park where a car cannot.

Or, if not, then pushbikes.

But, on the positive side, I don’t have a pushchair. I only have two dogs and I secretly pray, every time that we go past one of the ‘parked’ cars, that they will cock their legs. And they do sometimes and I am filled with glee.

Normally (in fact, always, in my experience) if you are walking past and a car wants to park (on the pavement, where you are walking), they will have the decency to wait until you have gone past.

However, my experience is that this is not so with mopeds and motorbikes. And I find that annoying. But it doesn’t happen very often.

What DOES happen, quite often, when I’m walking the dogs, is that a cyclist (pushbike) will be on the pavement and expect you to move out of their way.

Now, in the same way that I must learn some Italian phrases for when I see someone allowing their dog to defaecate on the pavement and then the owner not picking it up – which in English would equate to something like – You disgusting dirty person! Pick up your dog’s shit! – I should learn something like – This is called a marciapiede (meaning something like foot way) because it is for FEET and not WHEELS. The road is for WHEELS so stop dinging your bloody bell at me to get me to move and move yourself to the street, where you should be!

But I haven’t learnt that yet. And so, I was both shocked, outraged and immensely amused by this. It seems someone has been looking at other cities (like London for example, where cycling on the pavement can get you a hefty fine as it illegal) and decided that some of our pavements here are large enough to allow a cycle lane on them.

I snorted.

These people are completely crazy! Do they not realise that the cycle lane would simply become a ‘legitimate’ place for car parking. But then ALL the cyclists will think that, as their lane is taken up by the car park, they will have justified use of the pavement (or foot way) and so things will be worse than before!

(Actually, Pietro tells me that the cyclists on pavements can be fined. It’s just that here, I guess, the police and traffic wardens don’t know that fact).

Italian or British? Who is which?

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“Have you two had a fight?”

I explained that no, as yet, we’ve never really had a fight (apart from last summer, at the start of our holidays). I explain that he’s just stressed.

We had been there a little while, waiting for him. He had had to wait for his washing machine to finish. It leaks from a hose somewhere and so he has to stay to mop up from time to time. So, it was almost 9.30 before he arrived. And, when he arrived, he was on the phone and seemed angry and didn’t say anything to me and so they thought that we had fought.

But I know him well enough now and know he is not pissed with me. When he comes back to the table he tells me who was on the phone. They were talking about the funeral in the UK that will be held next Friday. He tells me he is not going to go. I have mixed feelings about this and none of them selfish. On the one hand, he should go as I think he may regret it later. This was, at least for 11 years, his father-in-law. On the other hand, he is so busy right now, that even a two-day trip to the UK will throw everything into disarray for him.

He tells me it is because S would feel like he would have to look after F and S will be busy himself, given that it’s his father’s funeral and so he will be unable to look after F as he would like. But it is more complicated than that.

Next week he has several places to go and one is Venice, so a night away. The following week is a full week in Germany. So a trip in the middle of this to the UK would just add to his feeling of stress.

In the lift, on the way back to my flat, he informs me that he is working both on Saturday and Sunday.

I say how sorry I am. Again, there is nothing selfish in this. I am sorry for him. He really needs the rest.

During the meal, last night, for some reason I now forget, it came up about the end of him and S. Apparently it was not a good ending. And it went on for some time. It’s part of the reason that he doesn’t want to ‘go there’ again. And I do ‘get it’ even if I don’t agree with it. And I don’t. But it explains some more things. It explains the way he is.

At one point he tells the colleague we are with that he keeps home and work seperate. He doesn’t talk to me about his work – good or bad. He doesn’t take his personal life into work, he says. Although, of course, he does, he just doesn’t realise it.

But I thought about him and how stressed and uptight he gets about things.

I thought, “but this isn’t what I expected from an Italian.

An Italian should be more relaxed and easy-going. An Italian shouldn’t get this uptight”.

And I wondered if, in fact, this uptightedness was more of a universal thing and not just confined to the British. Or if, with me being more laid back than he is, we hadn’t, somehow, got trapped in the wrong country when we were born. Is he Italian or British? I mean to say, is he more British than Italian? Am I more Italian than British?

As one could say he was a little more anally retentive than your average Italian (unless they are all like this and I just didn’t realise). But, perhaps, the British shouldn’t be portrayed as they are?

He says that “the problem with English people is that they don’t tell you the truth”. I am included in this. It’s not that we lie, it’s just that we don’t say it like it is and nor do we give our true feelings.

I think we call them white lies. These aren’t true lies, of course. These are things said so that you don’t hurt people’s feelings. Like – “you look lovely in that dress”, etc.

Perhaps they don’t have them in Italy? White lies, that is.

Do they?