Tag Archives: Italians

Disastro!

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OK, so maybe that’s a slight exaggeration.

Last night I saw that my phone was very low on charge. However, this was after we had been to Polpetta (F, An and I) and so I could not stay up long for it to charge. I charged it a bit and it ‘said’ there were two bars of charge. It’s enough.

Except, obviously, it lied. It was not on two bars. During the night it ran out of battery and switched itself off.

This morning, after a rather good night’s sleep, I opened my eyes to see the time was eight minutes past seven.

“Shit!”, I jumped out of bed. The dogs had a short walk. I still had a coffee (as without that I cannot survive), a shower but no shave and rushed out almost an hour late starting to work.

The traffic was terrible.

That’s because there had been a bad accident. Today! The day I am late! I suddenly start driving like an Italian, crossing a dual carriageway exactly as they do! Sometimes I scare myself. I mutter to myself (really I did this), “When in Italy …….”.

Then there were stupid drivers. Then there was a truck blocking the road. It took me an hour to get to work and so I arrived at 9. Grrrr.

Also, I have to admit to you, dear reader that I have, again, fallen off the wagon just a little bit. The night before last I ate two Mars bars. Last night I had two beers.

On the bright side, I have not had a bread roll since I went on the non-diet :-)

Other bright sides: I had almost an hour and a half’s extra sleep; it is Friday; the weather is warmer (or, rather not so cold); tonight I go out with A to Polpetta (he may not talk to me because of the last time) and then we join F and An to go to the Taverna della Lamparo; on Sunday, we shall go for breakfast with An and then, later, for lunch at the Alle Colline Senesi with her. (All links are on the side)

And, Saturday night is the final of the Festival of San Remo, which is televised and which we MUST watch. Well, F MUST watch it and so, we will.

And you? What fun things will you be doing over the weekend?

It’s very cold ……. with no windows; The Smart Box night away.

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Excuse me for this but it is fucking freezing!

The men are here replacing the external doors, windows and shutters. When they said they were going to start in January I did think they were a bit mad. Of course, it wouldn’t be so cold if I were working like them but I am here only to make sure that Rufus doesn’t run off somewhere and Dino doesn’t spend all his time in their way and trying to lick them.

And they have completed the kitchen so we are here and I am typing on the computer and my hands feel numb and it is difficult to type. One of the many disadvantages to smoking, I guess – your circulation is not shit-hot.

I’ve lost the beautiful handles, of course. But the windows look good and, one hopes, the whole flat will be much warmer – after today. They are (and I’ve just got up to check) double glazed and I am very happy about that. During the time they have been here (three and a half hours so far), there have been three people from other flats in the building, coming to them to tell them that one or more of their windows/doors don’t work correctly. I only hope they do mine properly as this would be much more difficult for me to do – what with my bad Italian and the fact that I work all day – leaving before they arrive and coming home after they have gone :-(

Still, they are tidy and the finish they have done is good. There will be no need to re-paint everything afterwards. But the bonus is (I hope) that it will be warmer in the flat.

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Well, what can I say? The weekend (really 24 hours) away was lovely. But let’s get the bad things over and done with. The ‘hotel’ was a bit basic and the room was almost unbearably hot (although, as I write this I wish I was there and not here). The restaurant was at ‘their other place’ which was a fifteen minute drive away. The food was OK but not really amazing. The weather on Sunday was miserable so that we came straight home and did not go somewhere for a few hours – like Pavia – which I had thought we might do. In spite of there being no dogs to take out, we both had a fairly restless night (the heat of the room, the noise of the church bell which rang out at seven to call the faithful to mass on Sunday morning). The town (Pinarolo Po) we stayed in was a bit of a one-horse town. The place with the restaurant (Borgo Priolo) was a collection of houses – and the agriturismo. The place we went to because we were too early for the restaurant (Casteggio) was, to be honest, quite boring and not a ‘pretty Italian town’ like we had hoped.

So, the things that were good? Well, first of all we were away from home. It means we spend more time together and, you know, I do so enjoy that? It was very relaxing. We got to the hotel and were met by a fat version of Riff Raff (from the Rocky Horror Picture Show) at the desk. He was one of those people who don’t go grey, as such. His hair, shoulder length, was that dirty yellow colour, as if he had been in smoke-filled rooms all his life. We got our key, went to our room and had a little relax. Even a little snooze. Then got up and got ready and went to find the restaurant. My navigator is really fantastic. Except for one thing. It makes it easy to find somewhere but, I think, you miss out on finding those ‘unexpected’ places. The route is always one which is ‘main’ roads and I wonder if we don’t miss out on some hidden gem. Also, it meant that I didn’t research the area. So I have no idea if there was somewhere else to go. Maybe Voghera would have been nice to go to for a couple of hours? In future, I must look before we travel so that I have a better idea of what’s around the area.

Anyway, we found the restaurant and there was nothing around. Anyway, it was already dark. We had an hour or so to kill and so we went to a nearby town we had noticed on the way there. This was Casteggio. Casteggio has a huge square in the centre, given up to a car park, as one often sees. We walked around. We both wondered how the shops could possibly survive. There were so few people around. There were shops without customers. F, being a visual merchandiser, commented on how the clothes shops had everything in the window. Too much stuff. But, then, this was not Milan and these were, in general, not designer shops.

We wandered around. There was nothing. We went past a tobacconist and F decided to get a lottery ticket.

“I won a thousand Euro”, he said, all excitedly. I suppose I almost ignored him as the statement was incredible. He showed me the ticket. Indeed, he had won. But not a thousand as he said.

He repeated, “I won a hundred Euro”. Of course, now it made more sense. Sometimes, when you buy a ticket, you win some money. For my regular readers, you may remember I won €5 one time. He had indeed won €100! This was going to pay for our whole evening.

We went to a coffee/bakery shop to ‘celebrate’. We had a drink (non-alcoholic) and some snacky, savoury things. We walked around a bit more but it was, frankly, quite boring. We went back to the restaurant and went in.

This was an agriturismo. The menu was set. There was a bottle of red wine on the table (which was lovely), we had water and they came and poured us a glass of their own spumante (like champagne); to start with a plate of what looked like home-made bread (but was something called tartine – bread with bits in it). Then a plate of meats. The salame was very nice. Then a small selection of pickled onions, mushrooms and a sauce thing made with red peppers, carrots and vegetables. Along with real home-made bread. Very nice.

Next up was pasta, made by them, from wholemeal flour – so, brown. The first was some pasta like ravioli but heart-shaped – it being the Saturday of Valentine. then some short pasta with a mushroom sauce. They came back with seconds of the Valentine pasta – so I had a couple more.

Then we had some Roast Beef (as they call it) Very thin slices of cold roasted beef – done very rare, as they do here. If you don’t compare it to English roast beef then it is lovely. No vegetables or accompaniments, of course, we are in Italy. After that came some pork – except that, really, it was a slice of roasted gammon. F wouldn’t eat his so I had his too. Then they came back with seconds of the roast beef – and it seemed rude to refuse. I had decided anyway that my non-dieting would cease this weekend. Then a sweet which was a fruit tart with a little custard on the side (crema, here). With the sweet was a glass of moscato and then coffee. We were both stuffed. The food was nice but not spectacular. But for €75 (you see how the €100 win paid for the night?) for two, it was very good value and the food was good and a lot.

The night, as I said, was restless. The room was far too hot. And then there was the clanging (for it was not a pleasant, sweet sound) of the church bell at seven.

So much for the dogs not waking us in the morning. We dozed on and off and then at about 9, I got up anyway.

Outside, the glorious and surprisingly warm days of the previous week had been replaced with a drizzly mist. We are in the Po valley, of course. And it was now cold, I suppose as it should be in the middle of February.

We breakfasted. They seemed surprised by my request for a glass of cold milk. So much so that we had to ask twice. Riff Raff was there helping serving the breakfasts.

We packed and were out of the hotel by 10.30 and on our way back to Milan driving through the fog and, kind of, grateful to be going home. But we had a nice time and it’s times like these I feel closer to F and I do like that.

As for the package, the Smart Box? It’s a great idea and, if only we had booked it sooner, we could have chosen the hotel we wanted and it may have been nicer. I would consider buying one for someone else – maybe the gastronomic package?

Non-dieting – Day 3

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I’m afraid I had a bit of a setback this morning.

I would like to point out that this had absolutely nothing to do with my new, fictitious and completely made-up wine diet!

It was putting on a shirt. I found that, whereas, only last week no less, this shirt could be worn with the top button done up, now the button barely made it to the hole, let alone, through it! At first I thought that, perhaps, the shirt was riding too high up on my neck. So I made sure it was pulled down properly. Still no good. Trying to stretch the button to go through the hole and not just kiss it didn’t work either. I had a vision of the cotton threads doing their best to become elastic. Anyway, if I had managed to get the button through the hole it would, at some point during the day, have popped off in spectacular style, maybe even hitting someone in the eye, thereby alerting them to the fact that it seems I am getting fatter by the minute!

This was all somewhat of a shock.

So I am wearing a shirt with the top button undone and a tie that is, therefore loose. I feel untidy.

However, this lunchtime, again, I didn’t take any bread (although my hand did reach in for one); I had half the normal amount of pasta; 2 polpette and some spinach. Again, I do not feel as bloated as usual.

Tonight I have a student. He texted me at a quarter to midnight last night to ask if it was OK to come tonight at 7.30. He doesn’t come every week. I didn’t reply; I was almost asleep. I replied this morning. I then get this slightly strange message:

“I’m thinking to a new program of study! Than (sic) I let u know! See u later!”

He certainly likes his exclamation marks!!!! I guess I should talk to him about them :-)

Does that mean that he is coming tonight or not? A new program of study – is that a new thing with me or with someone else? Is it English or some other subject? And he’s going to let me know later today or tonight or sometime in the future? I have no idea what it means. He has only been with me for about 5 lessons so I have no idea how he thinks ….. yet.

Also, tonight, I’m supposed to go round to a friend’s new flat but no time has been set and, to be honest, it might not happen.

I have been promised Mirto. It’s an incentive that works for me. Maybe I should change my diet from a wine-diet to a mirto-diet? Of course, if she does food too or wants to go out for a pizza or something, I can’t really say ‘no’ – that would just be rude but it certainly won’t help me doing up the top button on my shirt, will it?

Mars Bars are Gay! Who knew?????? Please comment, I beg you.

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Apparently, according to A, the only people who eat Mars Bars are women or gay people.

To be honest, when he said it I nearly fell off my chair!

We had texted earlier. I said that it would be fine to go out but I wasn’t going to have any beer and no food. I would just drink wine. I was on a ‘wine diet’. It was a joke but, as with many things, it was lost in translation.

A was in fine form yesterday being more outrageous than normal.

“Dogs are like women”, he says.

“Don’t say that to Fr!”, I cautioned.

But, apparently, he meant that dogs to me were like women to him. I laughed. His view of the world is a strange one.

But the ‘this is what a gay person is like’ thing was a recurring theme during the evening. I forget them all now but they’re not really important in themselves. He likes to have everything pigeonholed. Gays are different to him and, therefore, must be similar to women.

He needs to get out more.

I think he actually said it, more than once, ‘You are like a woman’. Yes, it does irk me a little but he’s A and, for all his faults, I know he has a heart of gold. It’s only his ignorance speaking.

And the fact that he is a stubborn bastard.

I did have a drink in Polpetta with him. Red wine. Pinot Nero. A had some fruit juice (orange, I think) with campari. I had to refrain from pointing out that if someone was looking at us, he would have been gayer than me with that drink.

And he ate. I wasn’t eating but he ate and ate and ate. I did wonder why he wasn’t the size of a house!

I had forgotten my wallet and so we came back to my flat (although I then forgot to give him any money anyway) and I opened a bottle of red wine. And this was when the thing about Mars bars came out. I told him I would blog it as it was, at the same time, outrageous and extremely funny.

And I forget why but we started talking about politics. This is not a good thing and I avoid it like the plague, here. After all, here, they are so right or left and so dogmatic that it is impossible to have any reasoned conversation.

“I’m not ashamed of Berlusconi”, he states. I find it impossible to keep the smile off my lips. He doesn’t like that but it’s either that or starting an argument which will have no end since his views are set and nothing will change it. I do say some things but not nearly enough. Anyway, it’s not my place to criticise his thinking, even if it is closed.

“He came from nothing and is a great entrepreneur”, he says, adding “the right have the right mind”. But, what was noticeable (at least when I thought about it this morning) was that the arguments (as usual when people talk politics) was not really a defence of Berlusconi nor his way of thinking (nor his Bunga Bunga parties) but instead an attack on the left and the magistrates.

“They are rich and live in nice houses (the left)”. I’m sorry but that’s not an argument to say that Buzz is great. Nor does it say that (the left) are not qualified to be speaking for the left.

“The magistrates are out to get him”. That doesn’t mean he has done nothing wrong. Nor does it mean that if he has done something wrong that he, just because he is Prime Minister, should not be held accountable in court. He’s not God however much he and his supporters think he may be.

In the end, I countered, weakly, with the fact that they (politicians) are only interested in what they can get for themselves, their friends and family and don’t care about the likes of us and that they were all corrupt.

“What we should do is exile them all and start again”, I concluded.

I was dissatisfied with my argument but I knew that I should not ‘get involved’ since, as I said before, this was not an argument where reason and logic would play any part. A lot like religion, really. After all, it’s a belief and beliefs have no sway with logic nor reason.

Still, we finished the bottle of wine. Which made me late. However, I think the ‘wine diet’ part is going rather well, don’t you?

However, given that Mars bars (and, in fact, sweet things in general) are, apparently only eaten by gay men and women, I need your help.

This is why I said I would blog about it.

Please let me know if you (being a straight man) or straight men you know (if you are a woman or gay) eat sweet things like Mars bars, chocolate or other such things. A seems to think the answer is no but, being a gay man, he refuses to believe me when I disagree as if, by being gay, it precludes me from knowledge about the world that is not gay or female.

I need to know. He will, in all probability, read this and your comments. Comment immediately ……….. please?

Weather, washing, whinging

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“It was too hot”.

This was in reply to my “It was lovely weather but still too cold”.

Don’t ever think that as British, we hold the monopoly on complaining about the weather. We just have ‘more’ of it. Here, the weather is never right. It’s always too cold or too hot or too rainy or too much snow (well, this time last year, anyway). The only thing it rarely is (and so rarely complained about), is too windy.

I have a sneaking suspicion that every country is, more or less, the same.

When I replied that we still had to wear coats, the original quote was qualified with “Yes but it’s too hot for February”. There’s just no pleasing people.

And it was a rather splendid weekend (apart from the coats thing). The sun shone and it was almost too warm (outside my flat anyway) for a hat. Almost but not quite. If I was a truly British person I would, given the weather, have been out in shorts and a T-shirt!

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It seems that my washing machine has all but had it. It doesn’t always spin. And, anyway, when it does spin it sounds like I also put a load of boulders in with the wash. It’s so loud that I am unable to hear anyone on the phone unless I move to the bedroom.

So I went to have a look for some over the weekend.

I was expecting to pay between €200 and €300 so I was a bit shocked when there really wasn’t anything below €400. Damn! But I AM NOT going back to hand washing and so, this week, I must just bite the bullet and get one. I don’t really want a crap one so you have to pay more than €400 but I could do without it right now. Damn again! And then, this year or next year I suppose, will be a fridge.

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I feel better than I felt on Saturday.

Just thought you should know.

Perhaps I should apologise to A for being a miserable bastard when we went out on Friday night? We went to K2. I think I should revise my feelings about K2 as it really was quite good.

No changes here, then?

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Although the Buzz Lightyear-owned press and media tried to bury all the latest about Mr Berlusconi and his shenanigans, most people do have something to say about it. But I read, today, that he and his party are gaining in approval rating.

This is not a surprise, really.

I have an American friend (As), born, I learnt yesterday, of Italian parents and, actually born in Milan (although she was really brought up in New Jersey) who was exasperated and annoyed with the whole thing and was saying that this country (Italy) was terrible and that she didn’t want to live here any more. She just couldn’t understand how people could accept what was happening.

So, I put my point of view (at that point I knew nothing about the Italian lineage she had).

My point was that these things are so deep inside [all – with some few exceptions, it would seem] Italians that it is almost at the very root of their life.

I have said before but it’s worth repeating. There is an acceptance, nay proudness, of mens’ ability to have sex with a beautiful woman (of whatever age) that when an old codger, past real retirement age, can be so successful with the women, he is not seen as a bad person but rather there is an almost heroic quality that Italians seem to see. I’ve had quite a few men here allude to the fact that they have a mistress – or, even, speak proudly of the fact. It’s the ‘done’ thing. And it is becoming more acceptable for women too. This is not seen to make any difference to the perceived qualities of the person – this is just normal life – at least, in many Italians’ view.

Then there is the Mafia connection. As I said to As – how many people does she know here who would not, given the chance, pay a little less for their meal – as long as they accepted they wouldn’t have to have a receipt? She agreed that it wasn’t many. And that general culture means that the Mafia (as a loose term) thrives here. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.

Both these things seem so ingrained in the ‘people’. As asked how it was supposed to change. I replied that I didn’t know that it could be changed. And, so, Buzz epitomises your average Italian who has ‘done well’. He is rich and successful (and who doesn’t do the best they can to pay less and do favours for people) – and so his supposed Mafia connections are, in fact, only an extension to the normality of things here – and who would throw the first stone when you had €10 knocked off the bill from your restaurant meal last night? It’s the same thing, more or less.

And he is so virile that he can have sex with a number of women in the same night (apparently) – what Italian isn’t envious of him – or, if not envious, then a hearty ‘Good Luck to you mate’ would seem in order.

And so he remains. He is a ‘good’ man, apparently. He’s a little bit ‘squidgy’ round the edges but who isn’t here?

In most other European countries he would, of course, have had to resign. But these bad things he has done are to some degree a way of life, even THE way of life and for all the huffing and puffing, there’s no real will to relieve him of his duties.

And, Lola, before you comment, I know that not all Italians are like that. It just seems that there are too many of them all around (probably a majority?) to be able to fight the good fight and make real changes when really, most of the population don’t want things to change – at least, not these things.

Stop looking for your soulmate

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For those of you who have been reading this blog over the last 2 years or so, you will know that, having thought I had found my soulmate, I found that I hadn’t, apparently. At the end of it I thought that, given my age and, having already done it all twice before, I wouldn’t even be able to find someone else to live with but then I changed my mind. I decided that I DID need to be with someone and that there had to be someone out there, somewhere, who was looking for me. I did the internet dating thing to save myself having to go to bars and clubs, seeing it, as I do, as an alternative to those social places.

I was determined. I don’t know that I ever thought I would find my soulmate or, even, if that was important. What was important was to find the ‘person for me’. I had some preconceived ideas about who that would be. The criteria narrowed after a short while. They couldn’t be too young nor too old. In the end I found someone and, to be honest, that someone was a surprise and (partially) unexpected. But I remain intrigued about how people find their soulmates and, even, if that really exists or if it is your soulmate but only for a period of time (that period being undetermined and indeterminable).

I remember my sister. She, as I told her more than once, always tried too hard. Her criteria, it seemed, was always non-existent. If they moved and were male it was enough. Now I look back on that as probably her trying to hard to be straight and conform, since she has a girlfriend now.

I was at a friend’s house on Sunday. She is setting up this internet dating lark. She is very clear. She doesn’t expect to find the perfect man on the internet – only to determine exactly what she DOES want. To be able to refine her criteria. But, I wonder, is she just saying that?

Anyway, I was interested to read this:

Relationship gurus expend enormous amounts of energy debating whether “opposites attract” or, conversely, whether “birds of a feather flock together” – largely, it seems, without stopping to reflect on whether relying on cheesy proverbs might be, more generally, a bad way to think about the complexities of human attraction. Should you look for a partner whose characteristics match yours, or complement yours? The conclusion of the Pair Project, a long-term study of married couples by the University of Texas, is, well, neither, really. “Compatibility”, whether you think of it as similarity or complementarity, just doesn’t seem to have much to do with a relationship’s failure or success, according to the project’s founder, Ted Huston: the happiness of a marriage just isn’t much correlated with how many likes, dislikes or related characteristics a couple does or doesn’t share. Compatibility does play one specific role in love, he argues: when couples start worrying about whether they’re compatible, it’s often the sign of a relationship in trouble. “We’re just not compatible” really means, “We’re not getting along.” “Compatibility” just means things are working out. It simply renames the mystery of love, rather than explaining it.

According to the US psychologist Robert Epstein, that’s because a successful relationship is almost entirely built from within. (He cites evidence from freely entered arranged marriages, arguing that they work out more frequently than the unarranged kind.) All that’s really required is two people committed to giving things a shot. Spending years looking for someone with compatible qualities may be – to evoke another cheesy proverb – a classic case of putting the cart before the horse.

For F, of course, his most ‘successful’ previous relationship was with a blue-eyed, English, Taurean. He cites this often as if to explain why he is with me. He is saying that it is ‘inevitable’ that we would be together. Conversely, of course, it could also be inevitable that we will split up!

I look for things that we like ‘together’ and find few. I worry that we don’t have enough in common, the most obvious being my love of all food whereas he is so picky. As I said to my friend (mentioned above), if F and I had met in some bar or club, I’m not sure that either of us would have given the other a second look. We met only because we had chatted for some time first.

Yes, the pictures I saw of him – he was sexy. But, mainly, he was funny – he had the ability to make me laugh and feel better. He still does and may it long continue.

As his friend R said, he was ‘ready’ when we met. So was I. We both wanted the same thing and so, together, we can get the same thing from each other.

And, I suppose, that’s why V and I split up. We no longer wanted the same things. F is not V in any way. V wasn’t M in any way. F and M are not similar either. Being compatible or not seems, as it says, to be unimportant as to whether it works or not. You (both) just have to WANT it more than anything and be prepared to step off the deep end and see how it goes.

And that, together with making those small sacrifices to make your partner happy seem to be the only requisites to have a happy and loving relationship – for however long that lasts.

For the above ‘piece of advice’ plus other tips (that can replace your New Year’s resolutions) go here and enjoy :-)

New Year with people you don’t even know!

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Well, none of it was quite as expected. We didn’t exactly plan anything but we both had a rough idea as to what would happen, how things would go down. But none of that really happened.

And, yet, it was really most enjoyable. I mean both Christmas and the New Year. But let’s get on to New Year’s Eve.

So, P, my neighbour and her friend came round about 9. We suggested P bring her dogs so that they wouldn’t get frightened by the fireworks. I said we could give it a try. Her rescue dog is a mongrel but quite vicious. Always barking when she sees Rufus or Dino and actually attacking them. However, together, in the house they were fine and so busy concentrating on each other that they didn’t even notice the fireworks – which was a very good thing.

Dinner was good – plenty of wine and food and conversation (although mostly in Italian). F, at one point, mistakenly called me by the name of his ex, S. I found this really funny and it wasn’t a bad thing (although I know that most people won’t agree). I look at it this way – now he is relaxed with me and we are so much a ‘couple’ that we can, almost, be compared to his other long-term relationship, so that he is comfortable with it. And this is only after just over a year! Anyway, that’s how I see it.

Then we played burraco until about 1.30 in the morning. It was the first time they had played it so, apart from the last hand, we played open hands. However, it was nice and P’s friend especially enjoyed it. F decided that he wanted to clean up afterwards. I’m afraid this is not my thing really. Before they came round he spent about 2 hours cleaning my flat. He has even bought some cleaning stuff that he likes and uses. Bless him. Anyway, I took the dogs out and he started cleaning. When I cam back he told me that the sink was blocked. This is from the fat that we poured down the sink from the zampone. Damn! I had forgotten what it was like. It was the same last year except that, last year, we had only just got together and so I did all this on my own (the next day, obviously).

And so, about 2 a.m. I am dismantling the pipes under the sink. Of course, I was not at my best at that moment and completely forgot how much water the two sinks hold. Although I had a bucket to catch the water, one was not enough and so there was water all over the kitchen! And then we had to clean that first before F could continue with the washing-up! He was really angry about it all whereas I was just laid back about it – like I am. I mean to say, there was nothing we could do about it except clean it up, so why get angry about it – it doesn’t make things better. Such is life. And so, in the end, we got to bed about 3.30 a.m. But F was right, it was much nicer to get up to in the morning.

And this morning, I asked him if he could remember the name of P’s friend. He said ‘no’ and that he was sure they were never introduced or introduced themselves to each other. I know I was and I know it was a strange name (or, at least, I think I know it was a strange name).

And, so, we spent New Year’s Eve with a woman I barely know from next door (although F knows her from years ago) and her friend that I don’t even know the name of! It’s a strange life I lead here. For certain, that would never have happened in the UK. I like my life here. It continues to be strange and challenging and improvised and with many surprises (most of which are good). Long may it continue this way.

Weak Snow ………….. but not if you’re in the UK, apparently.

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I catch myself saying things in the way that Italians say them.

“I hate”, says F, quite a lot.  I have corrected him a few times.  I just repeat and add ‘it’ at the end. But I find myself saying it to him, now.  It’s easier.

‘We are in three’ – a direct translation from Italian but really should be translated as ‘There are three of us’ – when asking for a table in the restaurant, for example.

At first, it made me smile when I heard English people saying it.  Now I say it too!

And, now it is snowing.  These are big flakes.  Pietro said, the other day, it was ‘weak snow’.  I laughed.  I love the fact that Italians use words that make sense but are not what we would say.  I explained we would say ‘light snow’ but I like the idea of weak snow.  Of course, it implies that the opposite is ‘strong snow’, which is even funnier since snow is not really strong!

And, whilst we’re on the subject of the weather, we are not having it anywhere near as bad as the UK.  Although it is interesting that most airports in the UK seem to be open – with the exception of Heathrow.  Heathrow, being, apparently, the busiest airport in the UK is closed or partially closed.  Other airports can stay open except the biggest!  Hah!

But, I am quite annoyed by the complaining people. The complaints can be divided into basic groups:

    The government should do something about it!

Why?  If you are told not to travel except if it is necessary, then don’t blame the government if you get stuck in traffic.  And I question if your journey is really essential?  I read in some comments, yesterday, someone saying how they had travelled to see family to give Christmas presents.  I’m sorry but this is NOT a necessary journey.  By making this journey you are helping the congestion on the road and you are selfish.

    The local councils should use more grit.

Apart from the fact that below about -5° the grit has no real effect, if the councils overspend and therefore raise the council tax to pay for it, are you going to say it’s OK?  No, I thought not.

    This should have be planned for.

Why?  The UK is not Finland.  It does not have a continuous blanket of snow for 5 or 6 months of the year.  And planning for it means spending money.  The money must come from somewhere.  This means that everyone has to pay more OR that other things must be cut.  So, you can have your necessary grit and snowploughs if you are prepared to have less teachers in the school or stop paying for cosmetic surgery on the NHS.  Will that be remembered when someone doesn’t get taught to the right level or where someone who has been disfigured in an accident can’t have surgery to make it right?  No, I didn’t think so.

I don’t like the Daily Mail at all but I’ve started reading it online because it gives me an insight into the mind of moronic, bigoted people.  And this article shows exactly what is wrong with people.  Some stupid woman leaves a very warm, southern-hemisphere country to fly back to Britain just before Christmas.  Lucky her for being in a warm place.  She comes wearing flip-flops.  She has obviously forgotten that Britain tends to be a little chilly.  Or, more probably, she is stupid and has no idea of forward planning.

I then rugby tackled a woman from the airline. ‘Where do I go to ask about my flight to Heathrow?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘But you work for the airline. You’re wearing a badge.
‘I’m just directing people to the self-service check-in.’

Hmm. As she works for the newspaper, perhaps she can tell me where I can go buy a few tonnes of printing paper? No, I thought not. But she works for the paper!

‘How do I do that?’ I was given a piece of paper by another mute employee; this had a phone number on it. (Anyone without a mobile – old ladies, nuns, the weak, the injured – were culled.)

Hmmm. Old ladies, nuns, the weak and the injured probably HAVE mobile phones. If they don’t then there are things called ‘pay phones’. You go, you pay money and you dial. This reminds me of the time at the Paris Airshow when someone came up and asked where the entrance was (there were a LOT of entrances) because she was meeting a friend. A friend who didn’t have a mobile phone! In this day and age? And I question why you would travel in these days WITHOUT a mobile phone.

Eventually, at 9.35pm on Sunday, I was put on a flight to Birmingham. I did not want to go to Birmingham.

If it had been me who was serving you you would not have been going to Birmingham. You would have been staying in the airport at Schiphol. Excuse me, but if you didn’t want to go to Birmingham, why did you go? No one was forcing you onto the plane, were they? Oh yes, that’s right, it was better than staying in the airport and there was a chance you could get to where you wanted. Now, if you had been on a plane already in the air that changed it’s flight plan then you would have a better reason to write those words.

I don’t really care about the case, but I do mind that I was stripped of my humanity, and tipped into a world where nothing matters but petty rules, and spectacular indifference.

Ummm. Excuse me. You were NOT stripped of your humanity. And if you don’t want to be in that world then don’t travel by air. You were stupid enough to travel from Bolivia to the UK at the end of December wearing only flip-flops. You are stupid and ignorant and deserve everything you get!

Oh, yes, and you write for the Daily Mail. Still, I suppose stupidity and ignorance are a job requirement for that paper so you must feel right at home!

Hmm. I’m really not sure.

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The first time I try to grab the ………  it twists and turns so much that it jumps out through my fingers. The second time I pinch a bit harder and quickly dip the translucent ……….  in the accompanying emulsion of brown butter. When it lands on my tongue it does a little hop, skip and a jump before I decapitate it with my teeth and swallow the wonderful blend of crunchy shells, soft tail meat and creamy sweet butter.

I pride myself on the fact that I have never actually refused to eat anything put in front of me.  I think, I could, almost eat anything, including grubs and insects (given the right circumstances – I am not, right at this moment hunting for a nice, big, juicy spider, for example.  I’ve just had lunch!).  There are things I might ‘struggle’ with like slugs (if they are even edible) or, in particular, dog (it’s OK, Korea is not high on the list of places I simply must visit).

However, after reading this piece, I’m almost certain I can now add ‘live things’ to the list of the unlikely things!

And you? Would you? (Italians are excluded form this as they’re almost certain to dislike the idea ;-).  Sorry Lola, Pietro, etc.)