Tag Archives: Retrospective

The Party

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I had a sudden thought, in the car, on the way to the airport.

What if V were on the plane? For some reason this possibility hadn’t even crossed my mind until that moment and for some other reason, it made me feel uncomfortable.

There were three things about this party:

1. Ay

It was her 21st. From a beautiful baby to a beautiful woman. How time flies. My meories of her are precious.

2. The Family.

They were my family for over 20 years. They still are my family. I still feel at home with them which, I thought, was strange, since I had believed it was because of V. It seems not.

3. V.

Of course, this was my biggest ‘concern’ And, so, on to the party ……..

I got to the hotel and watched some TV (see earlier post) and then decided to go down for a cigarette. There had been dire warnings about how cold it was in the UK, so I dressed up – hat, coat, scarf, gloves, etc.

In reality, it wasn’t that bad and I felt almost foolish being so well guarded against the non-existent cold.

So, I’m there, outside the hotel, having a cigarette and wishing I was home. I phone C to ask what time it will finish as I need to phone a taxi.

“Probably about 4″, she states. OK, I know it’s a family whose roots are Jamaican and, therefore, should have known – but, really, FOUR!?!

She tells me there is someone who wants to talk to me. She passes me to V. He seems quite pleasant. I tell him I will be there later.

I’ve brought a suit. I nearly changed my mind but, in the end, thought it would be better. I go up to take a bath but, whilst it is running, I see the water is yellow and full of black bits. I decide to have a shower.

It’s after the shower that I realise I didn’t bring my brush. Nor even a comb. Bugger!

I use the only thing I have which is a nail brush. It’s not good but it’s all I’ve got. Luckily the room has a hairdryer so that’s something. The result I’m not happy with but there’s nothing I can do about it.

I get ready and go. I could be a bit early but better early than late. I go to the taxi rank at the airport. I get in a taxi and we’re there about 10 minutes early.

I go to the door. Outside are some people I recognise in some way. I guess they’re V’s brother’s oldest children who are in their 20’s. They recognise me more than I them. I certainly couldn’t put names to them – well, I couldn’t at that moment.

One of them goes in to say I am here. C comes out and goes a bit wild. There’s lots of hugging and kissing and stuff. V stands in the doorway. We say ‘Hi’.

We go inside into the entrance porch. There is of course the ‘How are you?’s; the ‘You’re looking well’s, etc. V’s Mum and Dad are there. I was pleased that his Dad looked really fit and well – it meant that I could honestly be delighted to see him and shock was not obvious on my face, even if I had expected to see him thinner and ‘shrunken’, because the only shock was how well he looked.

It was wonderful to see them. Ay wasn’t there but ‘getting ready at home’. Obviously, she wanted to ‘make an entrance’.

V was going to pick her up in the car. He suggested that I come too.

V looked good. Almost like his old self and certainly much, much better than last time I saw him. He didn’t look so old either. We talked a lot. It was almost as if nothing had ever happened. He was (as he was before) fun to be with. I enjoyed our time together.

Of course, the difference was that I didn’t worry about what he said. I mean, it didn’t matter if it was bullshit or not. It isn’t like it matters to me – I mean to say, it doesn’t have any effect on my life, my day-to-day living, not like before. So he could be whomever he wanted and I didn’t know, nor need to know, anything beyond the shallow front. And that was good.

Even P, his other sister, was nice to me!

He told me that everyone had been talking about me coming. That it was really important to them. It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not, it was nice to think they might have been.

But I didn’t scratch too deep. I’m not good with the sight of blood and what purpose would it serve anyway?

Ay looked fabulous. And, of course, to me, not 21. She looked like a little, sweet girl. But I love her still, even if she’s only my ‘niece’ by virtue of the relationship I had with V.

And I do miss the food – rice and peas, chicken, etc. It was really lovely to have some again.

And I do miss them all, even V. They make me feel warm and comfortable and, well, like being in a family.

So, the party was fine and V was very nice and everyone was very nice and Ay looked so beautiful and I cannot express how I feel now she’s turned 21.

And I got a little drunk and got a taxi back about 2 or 2.30 but that was OK.

I am disappointed

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I mean, it’s so much better, isn’t it?

The Brits, who as F rightly says, are quite arrogant, think they have the best TV in the world. They scoff at American ‘crap’ (even though we all watch it); we used to have Eurotrash, taking the piss out of those horrendous foreign TV shows – our shows are just so ‘classy’.

I don’t go for Italian TV much. Not least because I don’t understand it all and so it is not really relaxing.

So, if I’m in the UK, I can’t wait to watch a bit of decent TV.

Except ………..

I get to the hotel about 5. I remember the news is on at 6 but it’s too late to go into Birmingham (which was my original intention) and so I lie down on the bed and switch the TV on.

I flick through some channels. There’s some kid’s stuff but most of the main channels have game shows. I’ve heard of some of them. The Usual Suspects. I’ve read about that, so I linger on that. What a pile of trash it is. Then there’s Deal/No Deal with the great Noel Edmundson (that was a joke – the ‘great’ bit). I’m watching this with some disbelief since it is, in fact, an English version of some show over here. Which is also mind-numbingly dreadful – I mean I have watched it because I can understand it – and if I can understand it, it has to be of fairly low quality.

Then there’s the news. I was addicted to the news when I lived in the UK. Now, it seems too shallow, too much in the way of soundbites, too sensational ……. or quite dumb.

In the past when I’ve been back to the UK, I’ve watched it but this time I realised that every time, without fail, it just disappoints me.

Great TV? No, it’s not great TV. It’s the same as TV the world over. Shallow and pointless and, to be frank, boring. We used to sit in front of the television for hours. It was one of the reasons I never got satellite TV over here. I didn’t want to spend my whole life in front of the box. And now, after time without TV (if you see what I mean), it’s just so very disappointing.

I’m lucky.

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I have a piece of advice.

Don’t go and open the box unless you’re sure you want to know. Sometimes (often), once open, the box can never be closed.

And I’m not talking about the box on the table in my lounge, here.

This piece of advice has come to mind a few times over the last few days. It first (in my memory) applied to a friend who was thinking about embarking on an affair. I suggested that it wasn’t a wise thing to do. I said that, once he had done it, there was no going back and that he would stand a chance of dying a lonely, unhappy old man.

He opened the box anyway. He’s still with his wife but, so he has said, unhappy. I predict that he will, whilst not ‘lonely’ in terms of having no people round him, die a lonely, unhappy old man with the regret that he did, in fact, open the box.

V did the same, imagining that the thing inside the box was fabulous. Of course, there is always a chance that the thing inside IS fabulous! I hope it is for him.

And there is another person who desperately wants to open the box. She’s been married for many, many years. She recently went with her husband and some friends to a big bar/club where older people, of between 30 – 60, go when they are single, to find that perfect someone to love. She said it was sad but wants to go again – and go to another. The friends she was with had met at this place and the woman confided in her that she misses the place and comes back when she can. I said that it was dangerous for her to go, given other circumstances surrounding her age and her marriage (although I didn’t add that bit).

This is just like I told her it was dangerous to go sniffing around on Facebook. Instead, she got an account and went sniffing anyway. Unfortunately, having not been able to find what she wanted, it has not taken any of the distress away, since she thinks (and possibly rightly so) that it is there but she is not been able to check because of security settings on people’s accounts.

This morning, she had a row with her husband. After staying awake all night (thinking about it all). I don’t know the details but I know (from a conversation she had with someone else) that it has to do with Facebook and something that has been happening for a year (they were both 50 last year and that was a cause for a mid-life crisis for both of them).

But, sometimes, in life, it’s better to turn a blind eye and not open the box. Knowledge is not, necessarily, a good thing. Sometimes less knowledge is better.

I tried to ignore my knowledge but during the last four years with V it became more and more difficult and, eventually, impossible.

This is, of course, not a new thing. Pandora’s Box was all about this, in effect. The apple and the serpent were another version of the box. So this dilemma is as ‘old as the hills’. I’ve done it myself and am fortunate that everything turned out OK in the end. Well, at least for me.

But, I’m watching this woman do the same and know that a probable result will not make her happier. She becomes more intrigued and more determined to find things out, the more her knowledge grows. Or is it that she has the knowledge but not the confirmation? Maybe it’s the confirmation? Either way, I think she should leave well alone.

Our curiosity and/or inability to have faith in someone else leads us to open the box. And, opening the box does not always make us happy.

So, if I had my time over again, would I have opened the box (actually several boxes)? For me, yes, because it led me here. In general, I wouldn’t advise others to do it – unless they are really prepared for the consequences. For certain, if I had not opened those boxes I would not be here now. And, maybe I would have been happier but I can’t see how I could be happier than now.

But, then, as I’ve said many times. I am a very lucky person.

I give you my favourite singer/songwriter who, quite possibly feels the same as me :-)


Joan Armatrading – I’m Lucky

Thinking is the problem.

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Of course, I do know that it can be considered a ‘failing’.

V used to say that I was too nice. Some people may think that I’m a bit of a walkover.

The reality is that, until otherwise proved, I tend to take things at face value. Other people can do the convoluted, twisted thinking for me.

It’s not that I don’t think things through. No, not at all. It’s just that I prefer to live my life assuming that everyone means exactly what they say. Sure, I am met with some disappointments from time to time – but nothing really to shake my conviction that most people are inherently honest. Misguided, maybe, but honest.

So, I have mentioned to some people about the phone calls at Christmas and New Year from V’s parents (because I was so delighted to get them) and the invitation (which I may not have mentioned before) to Ay’s birthday party.

You see, she’s 21 this year. This is the girl that, almost 21 years ago, slept in my arms whilst V was up worrying about her; the baby that quite happily accepted curried goat from me at some party when she was only a few months old; the girl that used to run to me so that she could sit on my knee and read her latest school book to me; the girl that still calls me Uncle Andy.

So, quite obviously, without any thought, when C asked me if I could come because “Ay really wants you to be there”, I immediately said ‘yes’.

And, since then, I have thought about the fact that V will be there. Well, he must be there. But it’s not important for I am there for Ay and, anyway, I don’t harbour any bad feelings. A little hurt, maybe, by his decision to cut me off, but I don’t hold any grudge or anything.

Although, of course, it will be a bit strange to see him after all this time.

Of course, I didn’t put any store by the actions that, to me, were separate and isolated. The phone calls from his parents were not connected to the invitation from C, Ay’s mother and one of my favourite members of V’s family.

Why should I add any ulterior motive to all this? It is Ay’s 21st. I am honoured to be invited and, of course, I should be there. And F agrees. His only thing was ‘Please don’t ask me to come’ – but I didn’t intend to do that – that would make the thing charged with some tension, which would not be right, it being Ay’s day/night.

But people (or some people) can’t believe that this is all good. First there is the disbelief that F is OK with this. But, why not? He told me that I should go. But there’s got to be some jealousy, I get told. But why? Surely, at my time of life, I can do without jealousy? I try to explain. At my age I won’t be finding someone who has no ‘past’. It’s just not possible. More than that, the person will have had at least one, long-term, serious relationship before me. Actually, if they haven’t then I would question why? There has to be something wrong with them (or they are extremely unlucky) if they haven’t.

But, the upshot of all this is: They have a past. It makes them who they are. I cannot change it and, so, I should embrace it. If they still loved the ‘old’ lover, then they would still be with them, wouldn’t they? It’s true for me and so, in my thinking, it is true for everyone – unless or until I am proved wrong.

Not loving the ‘old’ lover doesn’t mean they don’t like them. After all, if they’ve been with them for a long time, there must have been a reason and that reason should still be there. It’s other factors that make us turn our backs on the past.

I am not jealous of F’s ongoing relationship (as friends) with his exes. It’s OK by me. I have met them and I like them. They are nice. Nor, do I think he has any problem if I want to speak to V. He understands (I think) that we broke up because we were not suited any more. That hasn’t changed. We’re still not suited. The relationship was finished and, to be honest, I have no desire to go back to the place I was three years ago. Now, I am happier and more content than ever before.

But, it seems, others are thinking that the phone calls and the invitation might be connected. As a way of pulling us back together. This is because, it seems, V is still not back with this ‘husband’. So someone has suggested that this might be an attempt to ‘get us back together’.

Of course, now that someone has mentioned it, it does cross my mind that it could be a reason – even if I think not. But you know how these niggling doubts happen. How they can get out of hand.

The thing is that it just won’t happen. V was (and is, probably) a wonderful person, in many ways. But not to live with. Not to be with, in a relationship. Now, whatever he tells me will be fine. Even if it is bullshit. For how will I know? More importantly, why should I care?

I was asked that, if they have got back together, how I would feel about seeing him with someone else? Well, to be honest, I really don’t mind. All I hope is that he is happy – whatever he’s doing and whomever he’s with. For I am happy and I want him to be too. I’m certain that all my life has led to this and this is a great point in my life. And he has played a part in this and, so, I want the same for him.

But I come back to my original thought – why shouldn’t I take all this at face value?

People are, I am sure, inherently good and honest. It’s all this thinking that does for them.

Dust is dust and ashes are, well, just that.

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I read that one British woman, who lives abroad, is suing the owners of Costa Concordia for the loss of her husband’s ashes.

I’ve always wondered what the fascination is about getting back the ashes. I’ve thought it strange. I mean, the person, as a living human being can make you laugh or cry can love you or hate you – but the ashes? What are they other than a pile of, well, burnt remains.

It’s a bit like ‘things’ really. I mean, I like to have nice things but, you know, they’re just ‘things’ – a piece of wood or metal or plastic or ash. I can’t get upset over a ‘thing’.

But tonight, as a first, I may be going to collect Rufus’ ashes.

Of course, this is for F really, as you might realise. For me, I shall remember the funny way he used to jump up, later to raise his front legs as in a rearing horse and latterly barely making it off the ground, before we went for a walk. Rather than Dino’s complete turn round.

I will remember his pretty face and the way his ‘trot’ was so ‘refined’ unlike Dino’s rather big-arse, swinging gait – Rufus walked like a model.

I shall remember his gentleness when taking food, much like Dino now, before he became blind and would snatch it out of your hand (almost, sometimes, taking your hand too!)

I shall remember the time he caught a live rabbit (although it wasn’t live for long) and then, on returning to the house how he wouldn’t come in until he had eaten every single bit of it. And my worry that it might have myxomatosis, even though, quite obviously, the rabbit didn’t have that.

I shall remember, when I was preparing to drive here with our belongings, how he got in the car about 8 in the morning and wouldn’t leave the car – not for any reason, as if he was frightened he would be left behind. And the drive down with him curled up in a tiny space and stopping often for him to have a stretch.

I shall remember getting Dino and Dino and him playing in the park with a huge tree branch that had come down in a storm, each trying to pull it off the other, lots of growling but no malice in that – it was part of the game – before Rufus became too weak to be able to match Dino.

I shall remember that he was a great dog.

But, of the ashes, I’m not really sure. I have mixed feelings about wanting them in my house. It seems kind of morbid. I must have become old. I think it will just be another thing that will want cleaning. And, anyway, I don’t believe it will be the ashes of Rufus. Just some ash. Not the same thing at all really. But I won’t tell F that. I’ll let him believe what he wants. I would even confirm that it was, if he should ever ask.

Will it be in some nice jar or something terribly gaudy and trashy? After all, in my head, keeping the ashes of something is trashy – or that’s how I thought. It wasn’t done in our family. And I’m a little nervous about how F will take this – whereas, for me, the essence of Rufus remains in my memories, just like the essence of my grandfather is not in some little plot in some churchyard in rural Herefordshire. I can’t get attached to some thing. It has to have a beating heart. Without that it doesn’t bring out the same feeling.

And yet …….

I feel some trepidation at going to the vet. As if there is some real finality about it all. As if, by not getting this, I can imagine him not dead but alive somewhere. As if he might come home. Or, perhaps this waiting for the urn and the ashes is, in some strange way, keeping him more ‘alive’ in my head. Stretching out the death process by over a week.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s not a sadness in these thoughts (although maybe a slightly damp eye). It’s an unknown and strange feeling I have.

But like all the other ‘firsts’ since I’ve come to Italy, I must steel myself and go do this thing, even if I would prefer not to.

One, two, Tree?

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Christmas is a strange old time for me.

Many years ago, first with M and then V, I tried to recreate the ideal Christmas. There would be the tree, decorations, cards, holly, mistletoe, the Christmas lunch (which was goose), Christmas pudding, stockings for the morning and main presents after lunch and so on and so on.

About 5 years ago or so it all changed.

Three years ago this Christmas I really couldn’t have cared less. The white, designer tree V had got some years ago came out but I bought no presents and I really wouldn’t have bothered at all were it not for the fact that friends were round.

The last two Christmases have been different. For a start, I didn’t even know if we would still be together. Secondly, given that F doesn’t seem ‘to do’ Christmas either, I really didn’t feel inclined to do something which he wouldn’t be interested in.

However, I guess things are getting a bit different now.

And this year, for the first time for years, I’m thinking that, perhaps, we should have a tree. I do have a multitude of decorations, after all.

I think I will ask him.

The only problem is ‘where to put it’ as the flat is not that big. In any event, it won’t be a big one. But it might be nice this year.

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.

Is this really what we have in store for us? God, I hope not (well, at least for me).

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Everyone is different; has a different character and, most definitely, different needs.

I really don’t care if you are married, co-habiting, single (by choice) or anything else (I’m not sure if there IS anything else) – as long as you are happy and as long as (if you have a partner), I don’t want to kill your partner or partners :-)

To be honest, what you do with your life is absolutely none of my business – unless it directly affects my life – in which case it is my business. Of course, if you ask me, I may or may not (depending on whether you’re asking for a confirmation of what you think or really asking me) tell you what I think.

Luckily, for my lovely readers, this blog is about what I think (at this moment that I’m writing, of course – in two hours I could think the opposite although, in this case that’s unlikely).

From Lola’s blog, I read this article entitled “All the Single Ladies”.

The strange thing is that I was quite disturbed by it. I mean, unsettled. Basically it was saying that, given the way that society has changed and the general ratio of men to women, being a single person was now more likely.

Perhaps I was unsettled by the truth of it, for it is not a truth I want for myself.

I understand that some people say they are happier alone. Bar a very few people, I cannot believe it, I’m sorry. True, not every society works in the same way and, for sure, partly why I am happier being ‘with someone’ is that I was brought up to believe in a household where two adults live together (with or without children).

And friends are important. Good friends are irreplaceable, of course. I have many friends. Not thousands but enough for me. Being in a friendship takes work on both sides. And yet, there are friends (like Best Mate and I) who don’t need to be in contact for quite a while and just pick up the friendship where we left off. And I would do almost anything for Best Mate. She is there, even if I am having problems with my partner or even if I don’t have a partner. I love her to bits.

BUT

She is not the same as a partner – and I don’t mean for sex. After all, for sex, if I wanted to, there is a tall, leggy prostitute that hangs on the corner of the street and is there when I take the dogs out for a walk. We even say ‘hello’ now. Well, why not? Anyway, as an aside, business seems to be quite good for her. Maybe it’s one of those businesses that thrives in crisis periods?

But I digress. And, anyway, she is a woman so not really interesting to me.

So, if not for sex then what is a partner for? Why is it that I consider it essential for my life and others (including the woman who wrote the article) don’t?

But, then again, the article doesn’t say that a partner is not essential but that, given the fact that she dumped her (probable) partner some time ago, assuming that she would be getting one later and could settle down when she felt like it, and now, finding that a partner is unlikely to be found, she has, in fact, come to a realisation that ‘this is it’ and that she had better get on and enjoy what she has.

And I think that is my point.

My greatest fear is to be old and alone. Since I don’t have (and won’t have) any children, unless I have a partner, I shall be alone when I am old.

But it’s not even that, really.

After V, I thought that, given my age, I would remain alone. For those of you that have been readers for over three years, you will know this.

But I found, after a few months of being alone, that ‘being alone’ was not an acceptable life for me. I NEEDED a partner to share things with, to cuddle up with at night and, mostly, to not feel ALONE. ALONE I cannot handle. And, as you may know, I thought that I cannot be the only person in Milan who thinks this way and so I went out to find the other person who felt the same (or, more or less, the same).

And I think that’s the problem with this woman. She hasn’t come to terms with what her single life is and doesn’t want to commit. And, by not committing was thinking that when the right man happened along, they would both know and everything would be fine.

However, as I said before I started the online dating search, it’s no good waiting for Mr Right to come knocking at my door if I am stuck there night after night. No, I needed to go out and FIND him.

And I think that, in spite of her positiveness, she is, in fact, ALONE and, possibly too busy to feel LONELY – but she may well feel lonely later and that she is fully well aware of that.

Friends, of course, will be important to her but there are those times when (even when you’re with friends) you feel alone. With a partner, I don’t get this feeling. With F, I don’t feel alone anymore.

Anyway, sorry for the ramble. They are, after all, just my opinions and thoughts.

Do the work and wait ……… wait ……… for the money

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I read this, from the Independant (which I got from Twitter or Facebook or something – I’m sorry, I forget now).

Interns, from what I can understand can expect no payment for any work they do. It is supposed to be treated as ‘work experience’. The problem here is that it rarely leads to a full-time job. Instead, Interns go from one ‘unpaid job’ to another.

It will surely become a problem given the current crisis. With no hope of securing a full-time job – why bother?

Which then leads to unhappiness. Which, in turn leads to restlessness. And then, when there are enough unhappy, restless young people, something is bound to happen, isn’t it?

However, the really damning bit (for me) comes towards the end of the piece, namely:

But it seems that even people hired by the magazine cannot count on being paid. The Independent spoke to one person who was recruited this summer by Flash Art magazine without pay on a two-month trial basis. After a successful trial he continued working but was told there was no money to pay him a month later.

“Of course it’s immoral,” he said. “If they haven’t got the money to pay the staff they need, then they shouldn’t be in operation. But it’s hardly the only company doing this sort of thing.”

The Flash Art controversy followed the magazine’s recent call for new interns for eight to 10-month periods – even though using someone as an intern for more than six months is illegal in Italy.

I have known of other people who haven’t been paid – either for a very long time or at all. Worse still, if you’re on some sort of term contract. I cross my fingers that I didn’t have too much problem getting my money when I was teaching (although there was one, how should I say, ‘near miss’).

Part of the reason it’s like this is the Italian way of thinking. Mummy and Daddy can always take care of you, it seems. And, because Italians have the highest savings rate in Europe (maybe the world?), it is (I guess) assumed you have plenty of savings to tide you over.

I’m sure I would have a much stronger opinion about it if it had ever happened to me but it is wrong, isn’t it? I mean, in a civilised country within the European Union, how can this possibly be right?

It’s a sign of a wider problem. That of not really giving a shit about anyone else [that’s not either family or important to you].

And things that I do, as a Brit, sometimes get misconstrued by Italians. I remember somebody who got a ‘job’ through someone else. They thought it would be a really nice idea to take their new boss to lunch – if the guy were in the area. But the friend who had done the recommendation became something akin to a Tasmanian Devil and the vitriol and hatred that spat from a (normally) very nice, pleasant, Italian woman was more than a little shocking. For her it was this person ‘going behind her back’.

She now lives in the UK. I wonder how she gets on over there – where, to be honest, this kind of situation is not something to be bothered about.

We don’t all have some ulterior motive other than ‘to be nice and respectful’. Here that does not always seem to be the case. Not giving a shit about people seems to be the norm – and it does annoy me a bit.