Tag Archives: Relationships

Barrell

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Even if the move together has lost a bit of momentum (given the fact that F will have to make a largish payout for work on the other house soon), it’s still likely to be this year.

And, now, I’m looking at things that happen and trying to determine what that will mean in the future.

Let me be clearer. F is currently (almost) living at my place as a friend of his is currently staying at his. This means that he spends a lot more time at mine – and it’s almost as if we are living together.

This has plus sides, of course. But, there are a couple of things that cause concern.

The first is, obviously, his obsession with cleaning. But, I’ve spoken about that many times so I’ll ignore that for now.

The second is food. When I was with V and we were both working (here), we both got a really good deal for lunch. Up until that point, we ate in the evenings. We would eat next to nothing all day but have a proper meal every evening. When we started work in Italy (full time), we were getting the great lunch deal and then going home and cooking our normal evening meal. Needless to say, we started to put on weight.

Obviously, we had to cut out one of the meals. Since, in my case, I get lunch for about 7 cents per day, it seemed crazy to cut that one and, so, we stopped eating in the evening.

The problem with F is that he doesn’t really eat much at lunch and he has no canteen at work so although he gets a voucher, he doesn’t get lunch for 7 cents!

Plus there’s the fact that he has had a bad back all week, so has been off work and not really eating at lunchtime.

So he’s been cooking. An example would be that he bought some cece (chick peas) the other day and made some sort of thick soup-type thing yesterday.

So, last night, we had this cece soup. I tried to get him to give me just a taste but he can’t seem to cope with this concept, so although the bowl wasn’t overflowing, it was certainly much more than I either needed or wanted. But I can hardly not eat it, can I?

I’m thinking that, amongst the other things about living together will be me putting on weight. Or rather, me putting on MORE weight. Becoming “barrel like”, I think the term is. And this is NOT good.

So, now I have to find a way around this. Of course, I could stop having lunch at work – but here I get meat every day and with F I wouldn’t. So that’s no good. Perhaps, the only real solution is to just have the main course here, at work. But then if there’s a pasta dish I like as well as a main course I like, it will be very tempting!

I have time to think this through but it’s a bit of a bugger. And “like a barrel” is really not for me.

And, moving on …….

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Well, we talked.

Of course, it hasn’t really changed anything but maybe there’s some more understanding.

We went to look at the flat he really likes and I’m sure that it’s the one. I had a really good feeling about it when I walked in and could see “our stuff” in each of the rooms. Now I wait for him to make the offer and discuss the costs with the agent.

In the meantime, we are going to see another one tomorrow. It’s another that he really likes but, in this case, the position is not so good. We’ll see.

And, although everything is “sorted” – well, as much as it will ever be, I still have this slightly queasy feeling in my stomach regarding actually moving in together. And this is very strange for me and I don’t really like it (the feeling, that is).

The feeling is neither logical, sensible nor what I want.

Maybe this is as a result of doing this half-living together for so long. You know what I mean? Like – “why change something that works?”

Anyway, the next couple of weeks will see movement, I’m sure.

The race is stopped ………………. maybe

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We don’t argue.

Well, in part because we rarely talk. And by that I mean deep, meaningful discussions.

This is, in part, because we don’t have the same language as our mother tongue and partly, if I am perfectly honest, because I don’t want to.

The problem is that a) I would rather not know – I would rather live in my bubble of perfection and b) I am a “wordy” person which, if you don’t have the same mother tongue and aren’t inclined to be a “wordy” person but more of a “visual” person, as F is, creates an imbalance and an advantage to the “wordy” person with the disadvantage to the “visual” person, of which I am very aware and against which I guard.

There – that was “wordy” wasn’t it?

What I mean is that, even if we spoke the same language, we wouldn’t actually speak the same language – so discourse is difficult.

And so it has proved.

So, he gets the plan of the flat that he really, really likes; that I was due to see on Saturday but didn’t because the stupid estate agent has to get the keys from the portinaio (porter/doorman) and the portinaio doesn’t work on Saturdays. So, no key, no viewing.

Anyway, back to the story – he gets the plan in order to see where furniture could go. He starts placing things. He suggests a room could be the studio or it could be a place to put washing that is drying. I suggest that we could use it as both as I don’t have lessons on Monday and Tuesday and everything is dry by then.

He says that we will have to do washing every couple of days and not just on Sunday as I do now.

I don’t agree and say that it should be OK.

He suggests that, to do all the washing on a Sunday would mean needing about 10 drying racks (which is an exaggeration – but I get the point) and so I say OK.

He hates it when I say “OK” if he thinks I still don’t agree. Now, sometimes this is true – I don’t agree but decide that a) time will tell and/or b) my experience is such that I know him to be wrong and I am happy to wait until he sees that he is wrong. Or, of course, c) – which is where I think he is wrong and my experience says that he is wrong but, in fact, he proves, at a later time, he is correct – which is fine by me.

So then he goes off on one. I am, apparently, “typically English”. I never say what I really think. He has a point but in this case, he is incorrect. Apparently, I always say “OK” when I don’t mean “OK” at all. On this he is definitely wrong. I have said OK because he had a point about the drying racks. V and I used to do all the washing on a Sunday or Saturday and we didn’t have a problem – but I can’t remember how it wasn’t a problem. So, without the logic of being able to argue the point, I would rather have it proved – one way or the other.

I try to explain that I have not said “OK” just to shut him up but, rather, that I have said “OK” because he has a point about the drying racks.

However, he has stopped listening to me. Now he has decided what I have been thinking and this is not up for discussion.

He says that if we are to live together, there must be compromises on both sides. He is already having to “accept all your furniture” and “none of mine” and if we can’t agree on these things and we can’t talk about them without me “making my mind up beforehand” perhaps it would be better not to move in together.

I confess I was a bit taken aback by the comment about the furniture. I thought he had understood but, obviously, not. I again try to explain about my reasoning for saying “OK”, prefacing this with “perhaps it would be better not to live together if you think that arguing about something as trivial as washing can be a deal breaker.” I don’t use those words exactly, of course. Too many words/phrases he may not know.

We progress to silence. I put out the washing that has just finished. By the time I return the plan is back in the plastic folder. The “discussion” has ended.

And, for me, maybe it would be better not to live together? After all, I love my flat. Maybe, if we lived together and then split up, I wouldn’t be able to find a flat as wonderful as I have? Nor can I stand this “typical English” tag that he puts on me. Nor his way of assuming he knows what I am thinking, especially when it is NOT what I am thinking.

He went in to the bedroom to watch TV. I joined him after 10 minutes but only stayed for about 30 minutes. This was because there was no conversation and also because the film/programme was too difficult for me to follow.

After a while, and after checking the weather forecast again, I went into the bedroom to say that, as the forecast now said it might rain in the morning, I would take the dogs out in the morning. No answer. So, fuck it!

He was supposed to be going to see a flat this morning. I don’t know if he went or not. Normally he would text me. So far, he hasn’t.

In any event, at the moment, I think we should talk. I, certainly, have something to say.

1. Stop fucking generalising about me as “typical English” because a) I don’t generalise about him being “typically Italian” and b) because he really doesn’t know what I’m thinking.
2. I will move to a different area, if he wants. I will move to a newish flat, if he wants. And even if it is only for 4 years, there is a 50/50 chance I won’t be happy with it – but what the hell, it’s only to sleep in! But that’s what I did with V, when we came here, and I am trying to avoid living somewhere that doesn’t feel like “home” to me.
3. We don’t have to have “all” my furniture. I am happy to put most of it in storage (the rest can be sold/be thrown away). But he has to remember that these are all I have left from my 55 years of living on this planet. Yes, I know that “things” are not important in life and I really try very hard not to get too attached to “things” BUT, these are the only “things” I have – no house, no family, etc. and two of the items are a reminder of my Grandfather (aka my hero) and were bought using the money he left me when he died. So, we don’t have to have those things – but if we don’t then they have to go in storage because I will never sell them.

So am I just a bit angry? Yes, I am. Do I want to continue? Well, yes but now I am worried. It’s OK when when we’re not living together but I’m not sure it would be OK if we have nowhere to go “home” to.

Will we talk? Well, right now, I want to. It could change later, of course.

Maybe it would be better to leave things as they are after all.

Slowly does it.

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Well, that’s that, then.

Just over 2 weeks of holiday and this is the first day back to “normal”. And it’s a struggle.

Still, that was the best Christmas/New Year period ever. We had many good times and great fun with lots of nice friends.

For F’s birthday evening, he took me and An and her husband to Al Garghet, a wonderful restaurant, just outside Milan. The place was lit up by Christmas lights everywhere outside and was very pretty, the food was excellent and the service was perfect. OK so it isn’t cheap but it’s OK. The only way to get there is by car (meaning someone can’t drink) or by taxi. But totally worth it.

Earlier, I had given F his present which is shown below:

Cufflinks of dogs' paws

They are, of course, imprints of the dogs’ paws, reduced in size to become cufflinks, in silver. Dino’s is on the left and Piero’s on the right.

Now, what the hell am I going to do for next year?

But now we are back at work. And I’m gearing myself up to really start work tomorrow, since today, I just can’t do it! So, slowly does it.

In which I almost lose my power of speech …..

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It was the shock.

We’re out for a drink with An, a friend who lives up the road from me. We’re in Polpetta and I’ve arrived a little later than them.

And I forget how it all happened because, to be honest, everything else beforehand became a little blurred.

F is talking about his house near Carrara. He’s talking about doing it up (as I may have mentioned before). During this talking previously, it has been mentioned that it would be done so that, in due course, we could retire there. Of course, “retiring” is something that I’m not sure I’ll get to but, no matter, it’s not for a few years yet. And, of course, the idea of doing it up is not only for that but also to go down there more often. F hates Milan (whereas I love it) and dreams of being somewhere else.

If the house was done up, we could, for example (he says), go down for Christmas, Easter and other times. We would have computers and TV and DVD players and so on. We would have nice (new) furniture and it would really be a home away from home. The dogs would have the garden and it would be totally “ours” (well, his really, but you know what I mean).

I’m happy with this. It would be nice. We’d have his family and friends nearby; we’d have the beach for the summer; the dogs love it – so everything would be good.

Then, last night, he’s talking about it with An and comes out with …..

“Once I’ve got the money to do it and it’s done, we’ll move down there to live.”

My face must have registered the shock of this statement. He adds, to me, “I didn’t tell you before but it means we get out of Milan.”

We had always suggested that, once the house was done, should we lose our jobs or something else happen that we could, if we wanted, move there permanently. But this was a slightly different twist. This was more like once it’s done, we move immediately!

“It’s OK,” he adds, “you can do teaching and editing and I’ll get a job.”

Well, that’s OK except, the pay for teaching down there would be less than here – and here it’s not so fantastic. Plus, teaching means no pay for December/January and mid July to mid September. I don’t know if he understands that.

Not that we would need so much, of course. But, still …….

Then, as we’re talking, he qualifies his shocking statement to “maybe we move down in 1, 2 or 3 years.”

But it was the feeling I had when he first said it. It was a little frightening, to be honest. Now, that seems stupid, even to me. But there you go. I was frightened by the thought.

On the one hand, he obviously sees the future with me in it, which is good. On the other hand …. well, I don’t know, really. I’m not sure why I feel a bit frightened by the thought that we could be there by this time next year. I almost feel “not ready”. It’s not a feeling I have, generally. I’m much more of a “take things as they come” kinda guy. So, in theory, it shouldn’t pose a problem for me.

And, yet, the unease remains. When I first met him I would have moved in with him the next day. Now, I’m more “it’s OK as it is”.

“We’ll buy all new furniture,” he says. “But what about my furniture?” I ask. “We’ll sell it,” he replies.

I pull a face. I’m really not so happy about that. I mean to say, I’m not that bothered about “things” but ….. they are my things and, in some way define a little who I am. I don’t want to get rid of them. I would if, say, we were moving to the other side of the world but, still, getting rid of all my furniture would mean giving up nearly everything I own. Then I really would, almost, have nothing, plus some things are irreplaceable. The grandfather clock and the bookcase are what I bought with the money my dear Grandfather left me. To part with these two things would be difficult.

And, yet, they are only things, so in reality less important.

They aren’t the reason for me feeling so unsettled about the possible move. Part of it but not really that much.

No, I don’t know why I feel like this. It’s not normal for me. Well, it’s not the “new normal” that came with the move to Italy anyway.

But after he said it, I was unable to speak at all for a few minutes.

And there’s still an element of shock that remains.

So, I guess we’ll see what happens. After all, F does tend to say things that don’t necessarily happen. So, let’s not panic just yet, eh?

Dino Forever

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Some time ago (about March of this year), I spotted something in one of the UK newspapers. It was about a company that made silver jewellery using a mould of your dog’s (or cat’s) nose. Apparently, a dog’s nose is a little like our fingerprint – unique to every dog.

Of course, given F’s love for Dino, I had this immediate image of, effectively, keeping Dino forever – at least for him.

I ordered this model of Dino’s nose.

Some time later I got the plasticine-like stuff and instructions on how to get the imprint.

There were two coloured plasticine-like balls, one blue and one white. You had to mix them together, split them into two and take two imprints.

You had to be quite quick with this as, once mixed together, the stuff became solid.

I did it and sent them off.

Back came an email saying that the moulds weren’t quite good enough – I hadn’t really got the whole nose. They sent me another impression kit. I tried again but, really, wasn’t so happy with the result.

Having sent these off, they emailed to say what they had was good enough.

However, if I were to do it again, given that my dogs are medium-large, I wouldn’t split the stuff in two. That was the problem. If it had been kept as one piece, I think the result would have been much better.

Eventually, the token arrived. As this was going to be a present for F, I had it made into a keyring – he doesn’t wear any jewellery. But, for me, the necklace would have been nice.

It arrived just after the summer holidays which was perfect timing as it was our anniversary yesterday and, obviously, this was the perfect anniversary present. And it was very well received.

So, here is a picture that F took last night:

Dino's Nose in solid silver

Rather excellent, isn’t it?

F was really delighted so it was worth it in terms of time spent and the money (for it’s not really cheap).

If you would like to get one, go to Snozza’a website.

If you want any advice BEFORE you take the imprint, give me a shout :-)

In the meantime, as it was so successful, I’ve just ordered the cufflinks from the dogs’ paws. This time there will be one of the cufflinks with Dino’s pawprint and one with Piero’s pawprint – reduced sizes, of course! It’s for Christmas. I think he’ll like it :-)

Today, I have been mostly drinking coffee

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I have already had about 9 coffees this morning.

I am tired and tonight I have to travel down to Carrara – just me and the dogs because F will stay near Venice tonight and then join us tomorrow.

So, I’m doing coffee today, mostly.

I’ve had a very busy week. Monday was a pizza and stuff with one of F’s colleagues and her boyfriend. We got home late.

Tuesday was the Earth Wind and Fire concert. And we got home late.

Wednesday was out with A and, because we didn’t go out until late, I got home late.

Last night was round to where FfI is now staying – and I got home late.

In all cases there was MUCH drinking.

Let me just say that, in every case, I didn’t intend to drink much. It’s just that I did.

And, last night, I really needed to come home early but, instead, because I felt that FfI needed me, I didn’t come home early and we drank two bottles of wine between us (more or less).

The “perfect gentleman” ex-boyfriend had not only thrown her out but had also cause a number of bruises and a bite.

So, not really the “perfect gentleman” after all.

Nor is his son, who, the next day, punched her daughter when she came to pick up her Mum.

I was told the story and, given that this is Italy, having had the whole story, I could see why he lost his temper (although hitting someone because you’ve lost your temper is NEVER acceptable).

The problem is the mentality of (certainly older) Italians. The problem is the homophobia that is rife here (as is racism).

In this case, in the heat of the argument, he told her that it was her fault that his son wanted to leave home. He said that she was so horrible that his son couldn’t be in the same house as her and was, therefore, leaving home. His son is about 25 years old.

Apparently, at this point, she advised him that the real reason his son was leaving home was because he was gay.

Given that I am writing this without being involved, I am, probably, not giving the correct feel of this “conversation”. I suspect that there was much shouting at each other and that it was as far from a “conversation” as would be possible.

However, whilst in no way condoning his physical response, I can understand why he lost control.

This is his one and only son. Both his eldest and his only child. This is Italy. Whilst outwardly he does not seem homophobic (I have met him several times and he always seemed quite a “nice” man) as it certainly used to be about 50 years ago in the UK, don’t tell a man that his only son is a raving poofter! In case you don’t know what I’m talking about, the film Billy Elliot shows you (although in the interests of a good film (meaning a feel-good factor) and to show how enlightened we are in the UK now, the father eventually realises that he loves his son for who he is – which was certainly NOT the reality of the situation). And this is Italy, so even though straight men are camper than straight men in the UK and the USA, etc. by a LONG way, being gay is not seen as OK. In fact, they are STILL discussing amending a bill in parliament to make it illegal to discriminate on the basis of sexual preference (so I think marriage is way off yet).

Anyway, back to the story – and so, the ex-boyfriend got angry and, unfortunately for all involved, got physically abusive.

His son, who witnessed some of it (and, apparently egged his father on), felt the need to emulate his father the next day after being provoked by FfI’s daughter. But, then, his role model is not exactly one that I would want my son to have.

Have I ever mentioned that the last time I ever hit anyone was when I was about 12 or 13? I felt so ashamed by my own behaviour that I never hit anyone again. Ever. I was ashamed because, even if I had been provoked and even if I had been the subject of a lot of bullying (both physically and mentally), and even if the boy I beat up was my age and in my class, he was weaker than me. And I have never forgotten that nor how bad I felt about what I had done. I did what my father had told me to do – but instead of to the bullies (who were both bigger and stronger than I), I did it to someone who was supposed to be a friend.

So, my hatred of violence stems from then.

And so, I felt the need to stay with her longer than intended.

And now I am suffering. Ah well, F is only joining us tomorrow so tonight I will go to bed early and try and recover from this week.

In amor, vince chi fugge!

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Apparently.

It’s a saying, here, in Italy although, having spent a little while to get the correct translation, I found that it is from Henri Matisse, the French painter/artist. So, in spite of my original thought that it was one of these strange Italian sayings, it turns out not to be so.

A rough translation would be:

In love, the one who runs away is the winner

I was asked if I agreed with it. Of course, that entirely depends on what you mean by “run away”. If it means “playing a little hard to get”, then yes, within reason, I agree.

If you mean to escape to somewhere else then that depends on a) the type of love and b) what the future would have been.

Still, it’s something I’d never heard before and I thought I would share it with you.

But if it’s meaning is the first I mentioned then, yes, I would have to agree, since that is how I “played” it with F and it seems to have worked out OK so far :-)

And you? What do you think?

Dino, the vet and taking temperatures.

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The exchange went something like this:

“Dino did diarrhoea this morning and there was blood in it. Please take him to the vet”
“OK”
“If you can’t do it then I will do it”

Hmmmm. The thing is that he is VERY busy right now with the showroom sales starting on Monday. And then, because he will be involved in the showroom sales, he will be even busier.

So this was not a “I can help by taking him for you” – instead, this was a “I will take him if you don’t but I will make you suffer for it because I am far too busy to take time off work to take him”.

I’m not stupid.

Even if his understanding of English is not always so clear, the underlying meaning to this is flashing lights and ringing bells.

I ring the vet. Yes, bring him along but before 5 o’clock.

Which means that I have to leave work early.

Apparently, I have done everything right, so far. His temperature is taken. It is 38.6°C. It should not be higher than 39°C – so he is fine.

He has an injection of antibiotics for the stomach. Red blood, apparently, is common (although I knew that) it’s the black blood you’ve got to be worried about. Starving them (for a day) is perfect for diarrhoea and not to worry too much if it’s still not perfect. It is, after all, exceedingly warm (we’re getting highs of about 34°C at the moment with minimums, overnight of the low 20s.)

So, nothing to worry about.

Of course, I had also been a little bit worried – but not as much as him – so to find out that everything is really OK makes me feel better and I’m not too upset that I took him. It’s nice to know that all is OK.

Anyway, the weather is about to “half break” – i.e. it’s about to get a bit cooler and, maybe, we will have some thunderstorms. It’s likely to be under the 30s for most of next week.

I was advised by the vet that, if I get worried again, I should take his temperature myself. So, as well as some pills recommended by the vet, I go to the chemist later and buy a thermometer.

Later that evening, we go for a drink in Polpetta with An, his friend. I tell him that I have bought a thermometer and that I have written “DOG ONLY” on every surface of the box – to ensure we don’t get it mixed up with ours.

He is very excited. He wants to try to take the temperature. He thinks you just put it in the dogs mouth – this makes me laugh. However, good the dogs are, telling them to close their mouths and wait for a few minutes is very unlikely to work. Especially in this heat where they are panting most of the time.

I explain how their temperature is taken. He still wants to do it. He is quite crazy.

Living together – maybe not such a good idea?

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Perhaps living together is not such a good idea?

I mean to say, it would be great in many ways. On a practical level, we would save money (on bills, etc.), we could have a cleaner every day, there would be someone there with the dogs more often, I would live in a much cleaner house (hahahahahaha).

But, there would be downsides.

I would have to be “cleaner” (Don’t get me wrong, I do clean and stuff – I just don’t always put things away immediately, if you see what I mean), I would have to cook more often (which I do enjoy – but sometimes I just don’t want to bother) and ……………

I would become amazingly fat! More like a tub of lard. I am sure.

But let’s go back a bit.

You remember that I made him a courgette and ricotta tart because he was going to be home for days and I didn’t want him to just eat sandwiches or salumi (cold meat slices).

However, as a sign of how much he loves me (as he doesn’t really like cooking), he made me some ragù (Bolognese sauce to those who don’t live here) and bought some raspberries and spray cream.

So, last night, we had pasta with ragù, a very small slice of the tart I had made (he had eaten most of it during the day!) and then raspberries and cream (because he knows that is my absolute favourite sweet).

Bless.

However, I eat lunch at work (because it costs about 7 cents a day and I get a plate of pasta and a meat dish with some vegetable). Therefore, I don’t actually NEED any more food. OK, so, sometimes I will have a biscuit or two or a piece of chocolate in the evening – but, in general, I don’t eat. And, with him coming home from work about 7 and not getting to me until about 9, we don’t tend to eat – or, rather, he might eat but I don’t.

We do go out sometimes and, obviously, I can eat and do – but it’s a maximum of once or twice a week. I was very full last night after the food and I know that, after a few weeks of that, I would be the size of, if not a villa, a small flat.

So, maybe it wouldn’t be such a good idea to live together?