Tag Archives: Experiences

The weekend goes according to plan; the weekend does not go according to plan

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Depending, of course, on the way that you look at it and your frame of mind.

The weather was good, on Sunday. Saturday night was lovely – a meal with friends – maybe a tad too much to drink but, hey, why not?

The rest of the time was looking for flats and recovering. The looking for flats made me both happy and unhappy. Happy because I can get something I can afford that is well big enough; unhappy because it will be just me and the boys.

And, at one point we (and I say ‘we’ as it was me and FfI) went from a beautifully furnished compact but nice place in not-such-a-good area to something that can only be described as a vacated drug den in a place that looked like one of the American Projects – and both for the same price.

The nice flat also had a ‘half lift’. Obviously the building was built without a lift and they managed to fit one in but it was very narrow and you could not get more than 2 people in it- so I did wonder about me and both dogs – it would be a squeeze. However, I could move in there tomorrow and, if nothing else happens this week, I might just do that.

Of course, I would prefer to be hunting with V. However, that is not to be. But, do I get something that is big enough, just in case, like before, after several months apart we just end up back together? I wonder if he thinks of that?

Of course, this time it is different and there is part of me that says that, even if we wanted to be back together, there’s no way we can be. And there’s no way that I should let it happen anyway!

But, another part of me would have it back tomorrow – no, even this moment – even knowing that so many things remain unresolved.

We did manage to communicate over the weekend, which was more than we had for about a month and a half! We spoke about the car; the furniture; flats (our current experiences, what we were looking for, etc.) – but not about the dogs; or us; or our feelings of hurt or anger or passion or, in fact, anything that really matters.

Candle burning at both ends; Rituals

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I am far too old for this. Since Wednesday, out every night and not back until 1 or 2 in the morning, or, even later. What am I thinking of? As I normally get up at 5.45, I find that I cannot really sleep in past about 7 whatever time I arrive back home the night before.

Dinners with friends; dinners at friends; parties at friends; just out with friends. And, come about 11 I get so tired. I mention that I shall go home and I get the response of – “Really?” or “Stay a little longer”.

It has to stop but not for tonight or Tuesday night and, probably not Monday night either since I need to ask someone for help.

The idea of coming home after work and just sitting down with a glass of wine and watching a film is such a pleasurable thought, almost like paradise. Not that I don’t enjoy being out with friends, of course. It is impossible to say “no” even though I should. I don’t want to disappoint friends and I enjoy their company – it is fun. And life is too short to miss out on “life”. And friends are what makes life worth living, in my opinion. The joy of being in the company of like-minded people or people who are fun and talking or laughing is what is so good.

And now the boys are pressing to be taken out. They do not see the snow that is falling (enough of winter!) nor would Dino care. So, whilst they wait, they play or, rather, Dino winds Rufus up by walking round him with the occasional lick or nudge or, worse, trying to mount him. As they are now separated when we are not here and at night (because of the barking problem) it’s the ritual they go through each morning and evening. After Dino has brought out, one by one, his toys for me to throw or, again, to try and wind Rufus up.

Then, for a short while, one of them lies on his back whilst the other attacks at the throat and, if it’s Rufus doing the “attacking”, the way that he kneels down, his paws tucked underneath him, to stop Dino going for the feet – until one of them barks or yelps too loudly and they get shouted at.

The ritual of checking who’s boss, of course. I think it’s still Rufus but Dino gets stronger and bolder and more clever every day.

So now it is a shower and out for the long walk we always have at the weekend even if we are not able to have that during the week (depending upon time).

It may not be weird to you but it is for me.

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So, today, another first. Well, that’s not strictly true but it has been so long since the last time that it felt like a first. I think that last time was about 18 or 19 years ago.

And it was quite stressful. I never really liked doing it all those years ago. There was a short time when it was good but, overall, it seems invasive (even though it isn’t) and too personal. Strange, isn’t it? After all that’s only in my head and not reality.

Well, today I had to bite the bullet, which I did. I should have gone last night, really, but, as my regular readers will know, given the weather and because I was cold, I chose to leave it until this morning.

First I went to a place to check the Italian word I needed as I had seen their window display and knew the word was there. Then I went to one place but it was shut for a 3 hour lunch. So I went to the place at the back of our house. I had to wait as his wife told me he had gone to get something to eat but would be back in 5 to 10 minutes. So I waited.

He was good. And quick. And, I have to say, I am pleased with the result. He certainly seemed to take a pride in what he did.

But it was like stepping back in time. A real old-fashioned place like I remember from when I was a kid. The colours were from the 50s. Red and cream. The “instruments” were a mix of old-fashioned and modern. The mirrors were huge (although, when I took my glasses off the mirrors were a bit pointless). It took less than half an hour and left my pocket lighter by €15. Still, it means I am OK for next week now.

And, in the end, it wasn’t as bad as I thought. Mind you, it never is. I must admit that the haircut seems a little shorter than usual but at least I won’t have to go back for another 6 weeks or so.

Thoughts of Porridge; Polenta – why?; Fairy Cakes

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For some strange reason, this morning, I had this desire to have porridge. To be more precise, ReadyBrek which, I know, is not porridge.

Maybe it’s because it is cold.

I don’t even remember if it was a thought this morning or part of a dream during the night.

Funnily enough, we had polenta for lunch today. This has the consistency of porridge with none of the taste. More exactly – no taste. As I said to one of my colleagues, after they had asked me if I had ever cooked polenta at home and I had replied ‘no’ – it has no taste at all so why? It’s one of those foods that is there to fill you up, I guess. Anyway, she could not answer.

On the plus side, Gina (the cook) had make some small fairy cakes (plain and chocolate sponge) and she slipped on of those onto my tray. It’s always the right thing to do to get on with the people who provide food!!!

I was looking for a quotation on hope and trust

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Barack Obama. I have noticed that the recurring word used for him is ‘hope’. The other one should be ‘trust’. And he must prove himself to be trustworthy. I just hope that those people who have this hope in him do not find their hope misplaced but I have a feeling that their expectations of him and from him are far greater than can be achieved – by him or anyone else. I hope that I am wrong.

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The Rose Sellers of Milan

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From the comments on the previous post, I felt it was time I spoke about the rose sellers on Milan’s streets.

Italy, as you probably know, has very porous borders and illegal immigration is a big problem, here. This, in spite of the fact, that, as a throw-back (or so I believe) from the fascist era, everyone is required to carry identity documents with them at all times and show to any policeman, if requested – and we have a lot of policemen around and about.

Still, it seems that illegal immigrants are everywhere. Of course, having got here, they have to support themselves in some way. It seems that many people from eastern Europe become restaurant waiters or openly beg in the streets; people from the Philippines/Indonesia areas become cleaners/nurses; people from Africa sell bags/belts/CDs on the street; the Chinese work in China town or as cooks in restaurants and, people from the Indian sub-continent sell jewellery on the street or roses.

And it’s the last category that I want to talk about. They come out, generally at night, as that is when most people are out dining for pleasure. They carry a bunch of roses – about 10 to 15, long stemmed in a single colour (red, pink, blue) and they sometimes sport an instamatic camera.

They are, from what I can tell, given an area to work. I don’t know whether they buy the roses or are given them. Either way, they must have to sell a certain number or they have no money/get beaten/something else. They are persistent. As smoking is, generally, not allowed in restaurants and many people here still seem to smoke, it is common practice for small groups of people to leave the restaurant during the meal to get their nicotine fix. These are the people first approached by the rose sellers. The rose sellers proffer their roses by pushing them right under the potential punters nose. Usually the man but sometimes the woman. They don’t move. A ‘No, grazie’ doesn’t seem to put them off. In fact, they are quite happy to stay there, smiling and, if they have the camera round their neck, proffering the camera to explain that they can take a picture of you with the rose. They are likely to proffer the rose more than once and often will not depart until you show signs of obvious irritation or, even, anger.

Some restaurants let them enter and some restaurants don’t. For the ones that don’t, they will, sometimes, risk the wrath of the owner by going in anyway before being chased out.

Obviously, the best places are the more touristy areas. I guess these places are saved for the best ‘agents’.

So the real question is – should you buy a rose or not? If, by buying the rose, you are perpetuating this problem, shouldn’t you NOT buy a rose? I know someone that will always give them the €2 (or whatever the amount is) and not take the rose. Some time ago, I made the decision never to buy and I never do but I do feel a little guilty, knowing that they have to earn some money somehow. And I do feel somewhat sorry for them. It’s hard enough being a legal immigrant somewhere without having the illegality of it all to the problem AND having to work watching the rich people (comparatively speaking) enjoy an evening out – and all you want is to sell them a rose for a couple of Euro.

Incidentally, I often see them holding the bunch upside down under the many drinking fountains to keep them looking fresh. Be assured that these roses will be lucky to last the night let alone any longer. And, for goodness sake, don’t do what a friend once did – buy the whole bunch for his wife. This enraged the restaurant owner who, probably, wasn’t happy with them hanging around in the first place.

Art for Art’s Sake; Dino is funny

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Thank goodness, at least for this morning, the feeling deep in the pit of my stomach has gone; the first time for weeks and weeks. And I suddenly feel more positive, which is great. I know that it’s not all over yet but, at least, there is an end to it which is now in sight.

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