That was the Christmas that was!

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And so, that was Christmas.

In the end, it wasn’t just the four of us. Christmas Eve, I was chatting to one of my students on Facebook chat and she asked me what I was doing so I told her. Obviously, I asked what she was doing and she said that she was on her own. So, more obviously, I invited her to join us for Christmas lunch. Well, it is the season of giving and goodwill to all men (and women) and all that sort of stuff, isn’t it? The thought of someone I know (even if only a student) on their own on Christmas day would have been unbearable.

There was plenty of food. In fact we didn’t do everything that we had planned. But we did have antipasto and cold meats, followed by the lasagne (which was fantastic) and then my roast veal (which was OK – but not as nice as it should be) and the Yorkshire puddings failed – I have to find out why – it doesn’t make sense – but everything else was good – including my mince pies.

And we had presents. F was really happy with my main present to him. After the camera thing (that he decided to buy himself), FfI suggested I buy him a printer to print pictures – and knowing he likes doing compilation CDs for everyone, I bought him a printer that does photos and CDs as well. He was really happy. And I bought him a jumper from Zara that he said he had looked at in Madrid and nearly bought. So, a great success. Luckily I had also bought the scarf made by Lola – so instead of F getting it, I gave it to S (the waif and stray student). She was overjoyed with it. So, thank you Lola – without that I would have had nothing to give her.

So, although it didn’t all go as expected, I think it was a success. After we took the dogs for a walk and S had left, we went to watch ‘Prancer’ (La rene – in Italian) – that I gave F last year because it is his favourite film for Christmas. But he fell asleep within a second – and so we stopped watching it. Then there was Ratatouille (in Italian) on the TV.  We watched it for a little.  F fell asleep again.  So I tidied up the kitchen and took the dogs out and went to bed.  I was asleep before 11.  F was still asleep lying on the bed, fully clothed.  He woke up and felt cold so got into bed with me and we both went to sleep.

During the day he had phoned S (his ex) and we chatted for a few moments.  S asked what we were doing for New Year.  I said we were just staying home. He laughed and said that F never wanted to do anything except stay at home.  And it is true.  But now I realise he has always been like this.  But, for me, it is fine.  In fact, it is good and exactly what I like to do.  I suspect that this thing was one of the reasons that they broke up in the end.  After all, that was more like V &; I – V wanting to go out more than me.

And, we have had more of cleaning.

“I’ll just clean a little bit the flat”, he says.  I have never corrected his English on this.  It’s kinda cute and I like it a lot.  There has been much ‘cleaning a little bit the flat’ – although the bedroom remains a major thing to be ‘tidied up’.  In fact, this morning he says ‘That has to go’ – to a bag full of envelopes.  It’s OK.  It means he is much more comfortable here.

Rufus has been bad again since yesterday.  And he ‘staggers’ sometimes – falling forwards or sideways – unable to stand upright so well.  Poor thing.  However, it’s a good job we didn’t go to Vienna with him like this.  I would have felt so guilty.  And it’s much more comfortable for him to be in his own environment – the place that he knows.  Bless him.

And now F has gone to work.  He has to re-do the shop window.  I need to do some shopping and I have a lesson tonight, unfortunately.

In the meantime, I give you the photo of the mince pies :

Homemade Mince Pies

It seems I collect plastic carrier bags. Who knew?

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I can’t find the post where I first mentioned it but I’m sure I did.

I certainly told a lot of people.

And then, yesterday, finally, it happened.  It starts off like a normal day except that it isn’t a normal day at all.  Firstly, I am on holiday.  Secondly, I have found a recipe for mince pies – which includes making your own mincemeat.  I’ve never done it before and finding all the ingredients was, shall we say, a bit of a challenge.  In the end I didn’t find everything but I did, eventually, find stem ginger which for me was the most important part.  Mixed spice doesn’t have to be mixed spice (but can be a mixture of spices I can find) – suet can be replaced by butter, special sugar can be replaced by other sugar, etc.  But stem ginger couldn’t really be replaced.  I found some and so it was a green light.

So, I start the mincemeat.

I had promised to go visit FfC, picking up FfI (who is now living, not in Isola but in V’s flat) so I could pick up my cushions for the sofa.  I was late.  When I got there, as usual, she huffed and puffed about the fact that it was too late and she didn’t think she would go now.  I’m like ‘whatever’.  It’s the cutting off the nose to spite the face thing and it annoys me a lot.  I don’t bite.  I don’t say ‘Oh. please come’.  I really don’t care.  If she comes she comes and it will be nice and if she doesn’t then it will be nice too.

She decides to come.  I think ‘Don’t try these games on me lady – I lived with V for over 20 years!’

She tells me that FfC has done lunch!  I wasn’t expecting that.  We go.  FfC’s mother is there, over from Canada.  FfC now has a baby.  It is lovely (the time, not the baby).  I have a nice time and I really love FfC.  Her baby is a baby.  Her Mum keeps trying to give it to me.  I decline.  Several times.  She asks me who I think it looks like.  I explain that I don’t do that.  Babies look like babies and I can never see any parent in them.  They all look, more or less, the same – like a baby.  I’m not really a baby person.

I agree to take FfC to the butchers so she can get her turkey.  F calls and suggests that I call by at his office to collect boxes, as I have the car.  I then drop FfI off at a bank and make my way to his office.

He has shoe boxes.  A lot of them.  We fill up the space in the car that remains after the cushions had been put in (they are BIG).  We drive home to my place. He helps me with carrying stuff up and decides to stay rather than go home.  In itself, this is unusual.  But I like it.

He starts suggesting that, perhaps he should do a bit of sorting out of the lounge.  Or the kitchen.  This thing that he has been threatening to do for a while now (and for which I can’t find the post).  I am nervous.  We would have done it last Sunday but An couldn’t get back to the UK. But I’m not really prepared for it now. However, if he wants to do it ………..

It seems he does.  He starts.  I am supposed to ‘throw things away’.  Hmmmm.  He is shocked by my collection of carrier bags.  I collect them to line the rubbish bin.  We find so many I will never need to have another bag for a year, probably!

Things get put into shoe boxes with the contents written on the outside.  Boxes get stacked in cupboards.  He is going to be here next time my cleaner is here, he says, to explain to him how to clean properly.  He is like a mad man.  Every surface has to be cleaned.  It is quite scary..

The kitchen is slowly re-ordered.  Everywhere is cleaned.  It seems he is in his element.  All the items on the top of the kitchen cupboards get put somewhere else (inside a cupboard).  All the bottles and things on top of the fridge get put inside cupboards.  It is hard work and, mostly, I am watching!

I would have stopped after about 1 hour.  He is going to finish it because ‘I won’t sleep if anything is left to do’, he says.

At half past ten, I take the dogs out.  At midnight I go to bed.  At 2 a.m., or thereabouts, he comes to bed.  The kitchen is the same and yet changed.

‘I will check it once a week’, he says.  I laugh.  ‘I am serious’, he says.  ‘I know you are’, I reply, laughing still – laughing because I know he will.

This morning, it being Christmas Eve, I must go to the supermarket and get the veg.  He tells me I must also get some things for the bathroom.  He is going to ‘do’ the bathroom.  Maybe later today.

Tomorrow, he will do the lounge as I am doing the cooking and as he is preparing the dining table.  He will too.  He says he enjoys it.  He is, in fact, quite crazy.

But, I wonder?  What if this is the start of us living together?  Maybe he has this idea, now that we spend most of our time here, that he might as well make the house more as he would like it.  And if I can keep it more or less the same (i.e. perfectly neat and tidy), he will be happier to stay here.  And then, his house becomes more like ‘a room’ that is his?

And, so, gradually, he moves in without there being a definite move, if you see what I mean?  No point at which we are ‘living together, officially’ just a point at which he doesn’t really go to his home much any more?

Maybe?  We shall see.  In the meantime, the kitchen is better and I do, quite like it.

But now I must get on and make the Lemon Meringue Pie (for a birthday party tonight) and finish off my mincemeat and make the mince pies.  The mincemeat, after being left overnight does actually smell like mincemeat now, too!  I am very happy about that.

Have a good Christmas everyone.

And lots of love from me, F, Rufus and Dino.

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!

Given a second chance the restaurant serves up a good meal

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I’ve tried to find it but I can’t – unless I didn’t give the real name, of course.

I can make mistakes.  Well, sort of mistakes.  I remember going, one time, with A.  Not long after it opened.  I suggested it.  It was an alternative to K2 since I never rated K2 that highly.  I came away from this one disappointed too!  For me, it seems that Tuscan restaurants outside Tuscany were, in some way, lacking.

An has been over.  She is Milanese but has been living in London for the last 6 years or so.  She came over for an interview for a job here, in Milan.  She got the job.  So, Friday night we went to the Imperiale for L’s birthday.  An came too.  We had a fabulous evening.  L and her partner, D, were fabulous hosts and, anyway, it was the Imperiale – what could possibly go wrong?

In a word – nothing.  It was fabulous.  By far the best Chinese in Milan ……………. AND, I live round the corner!

Saturday lunchtime An was leaving to return to the UK.  Unfortunately (for those of you in the UK), in case you hadn’t noticed, they’ve had a bit of what we could call ‘weather’.  The UK was almost closed.  No problem, the flight was delayed.  It would be leaving at 8 p.m.  To be honest, reading about what was going on, I didn’t think so – and I told F that.  He decided not to tell An.

So, about 7 p.m., she returned to the airport.  She was back about 9.  The flight had been cancelled because the crew had to go off shift (which is what I thought may happen).

Sunday she re-booked whilst we went out with the dogs.  Then F suggested we go for a plate of pasta at lunchtime.  He asked me where would be open.  I love that I can advise Italians who live a stone’s throw from me what is likely to be open and, mostly, give an idea of what might be good.  I remembered that the restaurant would be open and that it was Tuscan.  I told him that I thought it was a bit expensive but that it was OK.  To be honest, I didn’t remember it that well.

We walked up the street (since it is in my street) and looked at the menu displayed by the door.  F said that it wasn’t too expensive (and he was right, really).  We decided to go for it.  And, so, we entered Alle Colline Senesi.

It was full.  It is only a small restaurant.  Probably about 30 places.  There is a couple before us.  We, on the other hand, ‘are in three’.  A table for 4 becomes available and so we get to have it.  We offer to share with the couple but they really don’t seem to do that here, very much.

The menu was tempting – as was the food we saw being delivered.  We decided on some mixed antipasto.  Followed by some pasta for me, some soup for F and some melanzane parmigiana for An.  F asked about having some mix of meats but he also wanted crostini (small slices of bread with, usually for Tuscany, some rough liver pate or meat or tomatoes).

The meat arrived.  It was good.  the prosciutto was hand cut so was thicker than usual and much more like it would be in the UK.  I love it.  F was a little bit worried as the crostini (which, we were told, would come anyway, without the need to order) didn’t appear.  Then I remembered what was the worst thing about this restaurant – the service.  So slow.

We had finished the meat and were about to ask about the crostini – when it appeared.  F was happy.  The crostini consisted of one each of the rough liver pate, lardo and tomatoes with garlic.  Wonderful.

Then the main course came.  F’s soup (brodo) was thin and clear with huge pieces of ravioli; An’s parmigiana looked like something the cat had thrown up (but tasted wonderful) and I had pappardelle with cinghiale – a kind of roughly cut up lasagne or larger tagliatelle with a wild boar sauce.

The food was fantastic.  After, rather than have a main course (the portions having been more than a little generous), we had sweet.  F had zuppa inglese (like a tiramisù without coffee and with chocolate instead), An had the chestnut (or as she says, chesternut) tart and I had the poached pears.  The tart was nothing special (to me) and the poached pears could have done with cream or mascapone, in my opinion – but still, they were nice.

The whole lot, including a bottle and a half of house wine (quite good) and a bottle of water came to about €90.  Not bad really.  The service was so slow but, as F pointed out, it’s not the waiting staff that are causing the problem but that the kitchen was making everything (more or less) at the moment of serving and the waiting staff had to wait until it was ready.  And the tastes were great.  I think I could have eaten the roast pork chops with potatoes as well but I was full enough.

The thing is not to expect your meal to be done and dusted within half an hour.  We were there a couple of hours – but for a Sunday lunch that is perfect.  And, if you are prepared, for an evening meal it is fine too.  Worth the effort and I only give it 4 stars because it was a bit too slow for me.

Christmas Lunch – not goose, maybe, but at least it will be meat!

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We’re still talking about it but it seems the fish is off.

The decision was made by F going and ordering lasagne – a meat ragù lasagne.  Also with a little more information that I learnt the other day.  He can eat (even likes?) veal.  So, following the information about the ordering of the lasagne and the revelation that all meat is NOT a no-go area, as I was shopping last night, I checked, and they do rolled veal – for roasting.

So, I suggested that, if he would like, I could do a sort of English Sunday Roast – but, instead of beef, use veal (since it is the same meat, after all).  And, so, unless there is a change of heart, that is going to be our Christmas dinner.  I am very happy about that.  I am, after all, a meat eating (and loving) person.  We will also have Yorkshire Pudding with it.  It will be the first time I’ve ever done Yorkshire Pudding for Christmas Day :-)

The discovery of veal being OK also opens up so many more possibilities.

Perhaps, he has just said it for my benefit.  I don’t really know.  It is a possibility.  We shall see if he eats it.

p.s. Yes, I don’t understand why you would pull a face at the mention of goose – and, yet, be more than happy to eat chicken or, worse, veal!  Makes absolutely no sense to me and I really do think it’s just stuck in his head.  Bless him.

I don’t know that the war can be won here.

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One of my colleagues at work, M, talks to me, daily, about the latest ‘revalations’ regarding the ‘Mafia’ here, in Italy (and here I am using Mafia in the general sense, covering all the different groups).  Just the other day, he informed me, Paderno Dugnano was a ‘hotbed’ of Italian Mafia (in this case the Ndrangheta, from Calabria) – who had made it their Lombardy headquarters.  It would be similar to them making Romford, in Essex, their British base.

And we have talked of the ‘whys’ – when, so it is said, the police secret service know all the leaders and where they live.

I tried to explain that it is a problem that, in my opinion, is too deeply ingrained into all (well, I mean the majority, of course) Italians.  I explained to him about S, my other colleague.  She always asks people for someone they know when she is buying anything or having work done.  And, she always expects a discount.  The discount comes with a price, of course.  The price is no receipt.  The no receipt not only means no tax to the government but also means the money can go into the ‘black’ – i.e. into the black economy.

Of course, she knows that.  We all know that.  We know that our few Euro going into the black economy is nothing.  But the few Euro for thousands of transactions every day (or, even, every hour) adds up to a considerable sum which can then be used to safely hide dirty money or to pay bribes.

But, she doesn’t think about it like that.  She thinks of it as her getting a bargain.  And a bargain is important, moreso here than in the UK.  Everybody does it.  Go to a restaurant and pay without asking for a receipt, in cash, and you will get a discount.  And they say that restaurants are one of the main ways that money can filter into the black economy.  It is said, apparently, so M tells me, that many restaurants in Milan are owned by the Mafia.  I can believe it.  You may get a 5 or 10 Euro discount by paying cash – that cash (and the subsequent saving in tax by the restaurant) can add up to a lot in one evening.

The problem is that it cannot be solved easily, if at all.  With a very few exceptions that I know of, everyone wants that discount here.  Buzz Lightyear (Mr B) continues to ‘infinity and beyond’ as he survives another vote of confidence.  Despite the recent Wikileaks cables suggesting a link between him and Mr Putin (another place where, I suspect, the Mafia rules) and money changing hands.  Well, why not?  After all, he is only doing what S does, albeit on a slightly larger scale?  S approves of him.  She is a supporter.  He is, after all a great businessman here.  And we would honestly believe that he hasn’t greased a few palms here along the way?  That he hasn’t accepted any kickbacks in a ‘you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’ kind of way?  It is, after all, the way that even the ‘little’ people operate here.

Perhaps it also operates like that in the UK and I was just too blind or stupid to see it?  Or too naive to know better. I’m not trying to say that Italy is worse than the UK in this respect since I really don’t know. But here it is more obvious ……… and more accepted.

And, therefore, this, with Italians being brought up with this thinking, is too difficult to fight. Too difficult to control. Too difficult to destroy. And this, of course, is one of the reasons that Buzz remains in power since ‘everyone’ is at it, to a greater or lesser degree (I say everyone but I absolutely know of at least one person who insists on receipts for everything and has a good ‘community’ awareness).

And, no, I do not include myself in this list of upstanding people. On Saturday afternoon, a guy is coming to take down my Art Deco lamp in the lounge and take it away to be fixed. I asked my boss for someone that may be able to do this and she suggested him. Any money I pay (and it will be considerably cheaper than getting a proper electrician to come) will not be ‘declared’, of course. And the same in some restaurants. And my dentist. And a load of other people. And me. And I know that I am contributing to this – this malaise that affects Italy. But as I said to M – this is not my fight. I do my thing for the UK – where I really (feel that I) know the ins and outs of the situation. I do it with my posts about the students protests and other things. That I can do. To buck the trend, the way of life, in Italy – given all my other problems with just living here – is too much to ask.

There! Poor excuse it may be but it’s the way it is.

And, here, we’re missing the bigger picture…….

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Apparently –

Jacqui Karn, an urban safety and policing expert, thought there had to be a re-examination of police tactics.

She says, on this page that:

“The big question is how you can use police on horseback charging across when there are 14- and 15-year-olds in there,”

That, actually, isn’t the big question.

The big question is: How can you use police on horseback charging into a crowd of people (of any age) when you have corralled them into a space and where they have nowhere they can go because you (the police) are not permitting them to leave that space?  Even worse where the majority of those people are demonstrating peacefully?

Is it right or is it the sign of a police state?