The game of ensuring a profit.

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Let’s have an imaginary scenario – just like a game.

Let’s say I am a business. My business is to give insurance. I give insurance for a healthy profit, thank you very much. And, by making a healthy profit, I can award myself huge bonuses. It’s a win-win situation.

I can, almost, decide on any premium I choose because there are only a few of us companies in this ‘game’. I decide that this insurance is very risky – so I make everyone who wants it pay more than they really need to.

Unfortunately, some of the organisations that take on this insurance are not as good as I am. They have found themselves in some sticky situations. They rely on other companies making a profit. Unfortunately, those other companies don’t always do that.

Now, I want the insurance business. But I don’t really want the risk of the other companies underperforming.

It’s a difficult situation. I mean, I want the organisations to keep insuring with me and they’ll only do that whilst the other companies continue to exist. If all the other companies went bust there’d be no need for my insurance. So, I need to keep the other companies in business – even if they have to sack many of their workforce; even if they have to reduce the pay to the workers that are left; make cuts in everything – just to ensure the company can stay in business. I don’t really care at all. It’s just important that the other companies continue to survive.

So, recently, I’ve had a few of the other companies that have been having a few difficulties. Obviously, my premiums to cover the organisations rises and I make more profit. Which is great. But it’s no good if the other companies go to the wall.

So I have come up with a very cunning plan.

Some of my employees, who have all become very rich working for me, have agreed to go and ‘help’ those companies survive as I want. Of course, we need to keep this below the radar as much as we can. So keep it quiet, please. It’s just our little secret.

You may know one of those employees (or should I say EX-employee). He goes by the name of Mario Monti. He’s going to make sure that that particular other company continues so that I can collect huge amounts of money. He’s going to do exactly what I say he should do.

Let’s face it. The banks, in the pursuit of huge profits, permitted loans to everyone. And investment banks set up the CDS scheme – which, from what I can see is completely unregulated. Eventually it all caught up with them. Now, some high-powered (ex-)employees of those very banks are running Greece and Italy. Obviously, what must not happen is for everyone to stop paying the debts, which generate huge profits for the people running the CDS industry. If they stop paying the debts then the CDS industry goes down and the whole system collapses taking with it, erm, well, the people who’ve been earning bigger and bigger profits and bonuses whilst making everyone else suffer a lot.

I mean, that would be a bad thing, right? Right?

Stepping back in time………….

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You’ve seen the films. Usually American, depicting the High School Prom. The dancing, the essential glitter ball, the live band. Particularly from the 50s or 60s.

The strings of lights from the roof. Maybe, if it’s a dedicated ballroom, it has mirrors round every wall. If it does a dinner dance, the tables are arranged, length outwards from the longest two walls, leaving the central part as the dance floor.

You sit at the tables. Maybe you drink some wine. You have the first course and the band starts playing. Between courses, rather than going out for a cigarette, people start dancing. The cha-cha-cha, waltz, tango, etc., etc.

In those days, this WAS the Saturday night out. Couples went to enjoy time with their friends, eat and dance. All for a very reasonable price.

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We have the address. An’s birthday was that day. She had been persuaded by her colleague (whose birthday it was last week), known to us as the Lesbico since she is lesbian, to join her birthday party.

An had an address. It was a street I have walked down so many times and yet, I could not remember any restaurant being there. We met up at An’s flat for a glass of prosecco and walked, together, to the place.

‘It’s a bit trashy but it should be super fun’, she told us. ‘The food is super good’, she added.

It was next door to the police station. ‘It can’t be here’, she said when we got to 2A. ‘But this is 2A’, I said remembering that there was a place offering dancing lessons. Yes, it was here alright. We walk down the steps, following the signs for the entrance.

We walk down some underground corridors. Quite wide, lined with that pale, fake-wood boarding. It was very well lit but strange. We turned left and then right and then left again, going through several sets of doors that had been opened.

We arrived at a bar. It had a few people sitting around. There were no windows but still very bright. But the ‘entrance’ was through the bar. I wondered what type of restaurant this could be.

We walked up a few steps.

We were on a fairly narrow balcony. The balcony had a railing over which was a …. ballroom. You could check your coats in for 50 cents. We walked along the balcony and down some stairs. It felt like we were a long way below ground – but that was probably not the case.

The room was a big rectangle. Round three sides were mirrors so the place did not have a claustrophobic atmosphere. What looked like trestle tables (but with table cloths so I couldn’t say they were) to seat 10 people (or 12 if there were people sitting at the heads of the tables) were arranged along the long-side walls, lengthways out from the wall. This still left a huge area in the centre. They had a small table in the centre on which there was a selection of salumi and some parmesan and a couple of buckets holding ice and wine. And plastic cups!

It struck me that this was similar to the Feste delle Unita things I’ve been to in those country places. This was not something I ever expected to find in the centre of Milan. It was like it was a volunteer thing and yet it most certainly wasn’t.

We all sat down at our tables. M (The Lesbico) had done the seating arangements for the five tables we had. All An’s friends were on one table with a couple of M’s friends to fill the table up – but, very kindly, M had arranged that these people spoke English. However, some of them had cancelled. It looked like there were the 5 of us plus another couple meaning there were four empty places. But these were filled later when people turned up to M’s party who weren’t on the list!

The other thing was that M had told all her friends that the women should wear dresses and the men, DJs. An had only found out that morning. M, we learnt, had also sent out special invitations.

There were probably towards 250 people all told. In the end we learnt that there were at least 3 birthday parties being hosted plus, along the one wall, people who really knew the ropes and seemed to come there often (I’ll explain later).

Just after we sat down, the band were introduced and started playing. They were a good band. Not a group to go and see in concert but tight and well-rehearsed.

There were bottles of wine and water on the tables. They started to deliver the antipasto which was a kind of vegetable lasagne. Not bad. Whilst we were eating that, they cleared the table from the centre. Then people started to get up and dance.

The staff were efficient. After the antipasto was risotto. It was OK (me, not being a big fan of risotto) but a lot of people didn’t really like it. Finally the main course, which was a veal casserole with polenta.

As it was An’s birthday, she had bought a strawberry gateau and that was our sweet.

And, for entertainment there was, of course, the dancing. We were struck by how good some of the dancing was. As we discussed, soon this type of thing will die out since most people of my age and younger don’t know how to do this type of dancing. I have tried (and I’m sure I’ve blogged about it) but failed miserably. My feet just don’t seem to be able to function for this type of thing.

F did get up and dance with this rather strange looking woman – short, no neck, a smile as wide as her head, short, black dress and white pearls (or beads, anyway). She knew all the ‘formation’ dancing that went on and was on a table on the opposite side of the wall to us – which I think was ‘the wall for the regulars’. Fabulous! In fact, she only smiled when she danced with F.

We met a couple on our table who were going to get married next year, although they seemed to have a definite disagreement going on about the honeymoon.

Oh, yes, and there was a tombola (that’s the English tombola not the Italian one). In fact, the woman due to get married (who was Irish but has lived here since the late 90s) won the second price – and overnight bag!

The whole thing (without the tombola tickets) cost us €20 each and it was a great night – so much fun.

I think it wasn’t so much ‘trashy’ as ‘old fashioned’ but so weird to find in the heart of Milan. However, if you have a party to organise, it’s a fabulous idea. I would definitely consider it as it is really a hidden gem.

If you wanted to know, it’s called the Sala Venezia and is at Porta Venezia. The link I’ve put is to a blog that gives more details (in Italian).

Missing

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“…….I miss you and miei pipinelli”

Of course, he was a bit drunk when he sent this.

His words of affection are few. I miss him every time he goes away and regularly tell him. He doesn’t. However, after being away for week in Germany and being out with his friend on the Friday night, he was already quite drunk (so much so that he hardly touched wine all weekend).

I know that he does but, sometimes, it’s just nice to be told, even if it is by sms. Or, perhaps, as it’s in writing, better still by sms?

And, although it doesn’t really fit, I do love this song ……

John Waite – Missing You

Mist over Milan

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Damn! I missed it.

By the time I remembered it was already 11.44.

Not that anything happened at 11.11. Still, it would have been nice to have noticed. Kind of.

This morning was much colder. There was a mist hanging over Milan as I took the dogs out this morning. It was almost as if Milan was asleep. We ‘owned’ the city – or, at least, the parts where we walked. We don’t see many people – if any at all – at that time in the morning.

And, although I hate the cold, when it’s misty or foggy or, even, snowing, it has a beauty about it that I can’t explain. Of course, the beauty is there only because I know that I’ll soon be in the house again; in the warmth. It wouldn’t be beautiful at all if I didn’t have that to look forward to.

It’s not freezing yet – that is to come. But it’s quite close.

Berlusconi is supposed to be resigning today. To make way for a technical government. Maybe, perhaps. Will that make everyone happy? I doubt it. Italy have had technical governments before now. The EU think they have what they want. They think that they can make Italy more ‘European’ but they’ll never be able to get Italy to lose its uniqueness – its underworld, its ‘in nero’, its patronage. It’s a daily thing here. It invades every day, every aspect of ordinary life. There are things I accept here that I would never accept in the UK. You can try to fight it all you like but it is (in my opinion) unlikely to change or be changed. If it were a minority of people who accept it like this then there would be a chance to change – but with the majority accepting it all – you can’t change that.

You could say it was education. But you can educate all you like – if the wheels work better with a little oil, taking the oil away won’t make it stop – you just find some more oil.

And, anyway, from a few days ago when everyone thought they knew what they wanted we are in now where the things that people want are different than before and different for different people. And, anyway again, the problem is really so deep-seated that we have to crush everything and start from scratch. And no one will want to do that because it’s too scary; because we don’t know what will come in it’s place.

A bit like removing Berlusconi, really.

You replace one lot of shysters for another lot. It’s all the same. Nothing really changes. The mist still hangs over Milan; the dogs still need walking; the sun still shines …. or doesn’t – over which we have no real control.

At the end of it all, everyone wants something to change as long as it doesn’t mean they end up with nothing. But, not everyone can have more. For some to have more, others must have less.

From what I read, Obama has been giving a good talking to to the European leaders, telling them to get it sorted. This is from the leader of the nation that has actually caused this in the first place by allowing its people to run up huge debts that they cannot repay whilst they are chasing the ‘American dream’. More of an ‘American nightmare’ really.

But now I’m joining in with the finger pointing, which is what is happening right now. Articles about how it’s this country’s fault. Or that country. When, in reality it’s none of them individually but, rather, all of them. And the banks. And the greed. And the consumer society that says ‘MUST HAVE’ to every new thing whereas it should be ‘would like to have’. ‘Must have’ is for food. And shelter.

But all this crap that is happening now was perfectly predicted in The Sword of Achilles. Not the crisis, as such, but the changes. The changes necessary.

Just how long will it be and what will it take for people to say ‘basta’ (enough)?

Like the mist over Milan, it seems that most people have their heads in the fog and some are completely lost.

Racing to Italy

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Before I was 14, we lived in rural Herefordshire. I went to a ‘posh’ school and, so, had ‘posh’ friends. Among those friends were farmers’ sons and the like. One of the things that was a favourite pastime was going to the point-to-points. These are like horse racing but over fields rather than at a race track. There are no stands and no real facilities (obviously, basic toilets and stuff – but in tents rather than fixed toilet blocks).

I used to love it. Even it it was illegal (which I’m sure it must have been), as kids we would go to the bookies and make bets on each race.

It was fun. It made the race fun – obviously, you wanted your horse to win. It taught us about money, weighing up odds, the form, etc., etc.

It was a game and, like all betting games, although you wanted to win, it was the thrill of the race that was the thing.

Most of life is like this. Certainly, recently, it seems as if the whole world is like this. Will they win? Will they lose? How much money can they make from a single bet?

So, the ‘markets’ (which are, in reality no different from us kids betting on horses) want to win. So far, they have forced Greece towards an implosion. And, now, after weeks of pressure on Italy (from the markets in the main) they appear to have got what they wanted. Mr B has said he will step down.

I, for one, don’t believe it is the end of him. He’s a bit of a shyster and I’m sure he’s biding his time before he says something like ‘See where that got you all? Now you need me back’.

And the markets have reacted in quite a predictable way. Since there is (I would think) a LOT of money which has been bet on Italy being the next country that needs a bail out (since you can bet on anything now), unsurprisingly, the markets have reacted negatively to the news that Mr B will resign. One could ask ‘What do you want?’ – but, of course, what they want is to make more money. Didn’t someone say that money was the root of all evil. Of course, if I won a few million, I would be different ;-)

To be honest, with or without him, this was almost invariably going to happen but they have given him a bit of a boost given that before he announced his resignation, the bond yields were below 7% and now they are above 7%. See where it got us?

Everyone may think of him as a bit of a buffoon but there is no one who can easily take his place (either left or right) and, in truth, the markets like strong government, not weak. The politicians here have successfully ensured Italy’s slide to a bail out, in my opinion.

But, overall, it may not be a bad thing. Maybe this time, things will change? Maybe this betting on failure will be stopped, for one? Maybe Europe, as a whole, will default? Maybe we’ll get something better than the current system?

Oh, well, one can always hope.

It’s just effin’ mental!

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I do and don’t love teaching English.

One of the ‘dos’ is that I get to meet people who might be interesting and learn a lot about them through the lessons. So, I have a designer of accessories that is learning English so that he can move out of Italy; a woman with a difficult family background looking for her Prince Charming; someone who needs to pass an English exam or else he will lose his degree and, a new student from last night.

He used to be a singer in a rock band (maybe heavy metal) so, through the words of songs both his pronunciation and his spelling is not that bad. He is really elementary in some ways and not anywhere near that in others.

He doesn’t sing any more.

Now he is a mentalist. What? Did he mean he was crazy or what? Has he used the wrong word? But, no. He explains that whereas an illusionist does trickery with the hands, a mentalist does the same with the mind.

He also has a girlfriend in Finland. Say again?

Yes, this summer he spent 10 days in Finland. According to him, this is where he learnt his English and, it seems, where he picked up this girlfriend.

Why does he want to learn English? Because, as a mentalist, he wants to attend international conferences and the like and, of course, the language for such conferences is English.

Now, he is also a colleague at work. But I had absolutely no idea about these other things and wouldn’t still if it weren’t that he wants to learn English. How crazy is that?

It’s raining very hard and so, it’s raining …. … ….?

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There are two things that foreigners who are learning English seem to know first.

One is (are) swear words (although Italians do have a few problems pronouncing ‘sheet’ and ‘can’t’ – which invariably come out of their mouths as swear words) and the other is ‘It’s raining cats and dogs’.

And I hate it for it sounds so twee; so perfectly 1950s.

However, it has, indeed, been raining. A lot. You may have heard about the couple of disasters in Italy over the last week or so. First there were some towns in Cinque Terra – a rather spectacular area on the west coast of Italy – just up from F’s summer house and to which he has promised, repeatedly, to take me. And then, over the weekend, much of the centre of Genova got badly flooded and some people died.

Yesterday it was forecast that the river Po, that runs through the centre of Turin, was going to burst its banks.

At the moment, if you say anything about the rain (although we have some respite today), the reply is, invariably, Well, at least we’re not in Genova’.

But in case you imagine it can’t have been that bad, here is a little video. I am a bit surprised by the people who, at the beginning, are walking around and, towards the end a guy who seems to be standing in the middle of the street! However, right at the end it looks like the person in yellow is trying to push the cars back – but eventually they realise they have to run.

On the slightly bright side (so to speak) the sun is shining here. Let’s also hope it’s doing the same in Genova and Cinque Terra!

Crisis? Oh, yes, that old thing.

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Apparently, we’re fucked.

Well, on the plus side, at least the Italians (around me) seem to be talking about things. It has always seemed as if ‘the crisis’ was happening elsewhere – some other country in the world.

But, rather than the crisis, per se, the talk is about Buzz Lightyear (Mr B) and how long he can hang on for and who will take over from him.

And there’s the rub. Because, as I’ve said before, there is no one. Neither the Left nor the Right have anyone who has any real hope of pulling parties together to form a government. Buzz, at least, has enough charisma to do so.

I read this on the BBC site.

However, it’s a little strange. After all, even if it is written by an ex-pat Italian, she writes that ‘the school’s walls are covered with graffiti”. Hmmm. Yes, of course they are. And they were before the crisis. It is ‘normal’ here. In the UK, people would be up in arms and the police would go and find the culprits. Here, in Italy, graffiti is on most buildings. It’s a cultural thing.

And, in the time I have been here, I have noticed that the Italians, in exactly the same way as the Brits, complain about the money being spent (or not spent) on schools and hospitals and how the service from both is much worse than a) it used to be and b) other countries (especially in Europe). For that matter, the same is said about public transport.

Anyway, my view is that Aunt Cristina has it spot on. When explaining why Buzz keeps getting voted in, she says:

“It’s not just the pensioners, you know,” she says, jabbing at the air with her fork. “It’s a macho thing. So many Italians think he’s all man.”

That and the fact that there is no one else who could be a possible leader.

My colleague at work suggests that the President (who has all the power of our Queen in the UK) will call for a Technical Government, here. A government that will be full of economists and the like and who won’t actually ‘govern’ as such but just concentrate on the fiscal side.

But they will have a tough job ahead of them. After all (and I might have figures wrong here – but it’s something like this), there are 72,000 cars for officials in Italy compared to 195 in the UK. I think that says it all, really.

Anyway, by the time you read this, Buzz could be out of office, or Greece could have left the Euro or the world could have collapsed – or, more likely, everything will be, more or less, the same.

Rufus update

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Well, I did my best.

F didn’t like my solution to stop Dino licking the lump on Rufus’ back. It was a plaster taped all round with tape. OK, it didn’t look so pretty but it was effective. But he tried to use an elastic, self-sticking bandage – wrapped all round his trunk.

As this was on his back, just behind his shoulders, it meant that it moved when he moved and so the lump was exposed and so Dino licked it. Until it bled, of course.

I tried again last night. Wrapping the bandage so that it went between his front legs. Apart from the fact that it was a tad uncomfortable for him, within an hour, it had slipped off the lump, making it a waste of time.

So, I have decided, tonight it will be a trip to the vet.

Well, maybe. First I make an excuse to go to the vets without him – just to check when they’re open. Really, of course, it’s to check if the good vet or the bad vet is there. If the good vet, I go back home and get Rufus. If the bad vet, I go tomorrow morning when, hopefully, the good vet will be on.

I am hoping that some penicillin or something will cure them – or at least help them heal. If not, I’m not sure what to do. I definitely don’t want him to try and take them away. After all, as with the one on his neck, within a few months they will be back.

On the plus side, we now seem to have the diarrhoea sorted out. Although now I do have to hold him to stop him falling back into the shit he’s just shatted. Poor thing. Still, he seems quite OK apart from the lumps constantly bleeding and not healing – if you see what I mean.