Disaster strikes!

Maybe I should put it in perspective.

If we were comparing it to, say, an earthquake followed quickly by a tsunami (the pictures and the videos are harrowing to watch, aren’t they? And, is it just me, or do there seem to be an awful lot of major natural disasters going on – besides the man-made ones?) or, even, a traffic accident which would leave one paralysed or in a coma, when I say disaster I mean, of course, minor inconvenience.

Still, given that I am not suffering from the after-effects of a quake and a tsunami (thank God), nor from possible radiation sickness, nor from an accident that has left me in a coma, this is quite high on my list.

I go to the cupboard. There are none. I forgot to get them yesterday evening, after lunch. Damn! How can I have forgotten? I go to my bag, knowing, as I do that I took the last packet out yesterday. I look in it anyway in the vain hope that I put the packet back or one has been ‘born’ overnight. I didn’t. It hasn’t. I rack my brains for a place I might have left packet. I already know I haven’t done that.

I kick myself for being stupid.

The problem is that it’s a holiday here and so many places are closed. Like the place round the corner that I walked past this morning after we had been out for breakfast.

So where can I go? I think of a place up the road. At this point I don’t actually care if it’s my usual brand or not. Damn, damn, damn! The place up the road is my only hope.

Then I think about Porta Venezia. There’s bound to be somewhere open there, surely?

I walk out. I go along Viale Regina Giovanna. I recall, now, the places I have had to find in the past. Maybe the bar will be open.

It is. It is a bar and tobacconist. Thank goodness. I buy three packs. Enough to keep me going until tomorrow (or even Saturday, to be honest).

As I walk back I am struck by the strangeness of this country. In the UK, every supermarket, pub, newspaper sellers – would have them. Here, you have to be a tobacconist.

But I am relieved all the same. It could, after all have been much worse.

Of course, it is not like I have lost my home, members of my family, can’t find food or shelter and have a nuclear reactor about to blow up and poison me. At that stage, worrying about whether a tobacconist will be open on a public holiday may not be foremost in my mind. I guess.

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

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?

Some restaurants I should have mentioned

Of course, since the ‘tidy up’ of the kitchen, I am no longer ‘allowed’ to have random bits of paper on the kitchen table, near the computer. I had moved it all, temporarily, to my chair in the bedroom and today, whilst sorting out (and putting away) the Christmas presents, I also sorted the bits of paper.

Amongst the things I ‘found’ were some cards from various restaurants I have visited in the last few months. Unfortunately, for one of them, my mind is a bit hazy as to exactly what I had – but that’s OK. I still have the impression from them all.

So, the first one (and oldest re: visit) that I have is Kapuziner Platz in der Stadt. This is the one in Viale Monte Nero. This is a German ‘pub’. The beer is, erm, German. The food is, erm, German (with an Italian touch, of course). Unfortunately I have forgotten what I had. I know F had a cottoletta milanese (wiener schnitzel). I suppose I had lamb – or beef. Anyway, the place is nice, the food was good (not fantastic but good) and I seem to remember it was reasonably priced.

The second one was Momà  Restaurant. The only link I could find was one through Facebook. We went there with Al and R and a friend of theirs. The meal was wonderful. OK, so it’s not so cheap but the antipasto (including burrato) was very, very good and the meat (Al and I shared a plate of meat) was fantastic. The wine we had with it was exceptional. One word of warning – don’t have antipasto and primo and secondo. The portions were very generous and to have all three would mean you would be unable to leave the table! I would go back there in a second.

The final one is outside Milan, in the ‘Hinterland’. And, unfortunately, this was dreadful. This was lunchtime and is in the town where I work. We had gone in on a public holiday to do some stuff and, for lunch, went here (as there’s not so much choice). It’s supposed to be good and, I have to admit, I have been there before when it seemed OK. This time, however, it was awful. The restaurant is Papillon. They’re supposed to have their own website (it says on the card) but it doesn’t work. A little like the restaurant. We all had pizza. Mine was (to be on the safe side) Diavola – with spicy salami. It wasn’t the very worst I’ve tasted – but it was close. The service was so slow and people who came in after us got served before us and, for what we had it’s expensive. Avoid it like the plague!

There – now I can put these cards away too :-D

Puppies, Eyes, Flats

It was kind of nice, even if I know it means nothing in itself. It doesn’t really help with the confusing signals.

We met up in the shop. He’d forgotten his mobile so I didn’t bring the shoes back because I wasn’t sure I should. He waited in the shop hoping that I would come (but unable to let me know, obviously). We did the shoe thing.

On our way out, he took some photos of his window. He asked if I understood it. His messages are subtle when he does the window and it had taken me a moment – but I got it before he asked and told him so.

We decided to walk through the park. It was very overcast but much, much warmer – and humid. Still, the park seemed almost deserted and it was nice to walk through with him. He chatted with several people on the phone having missed many calls and messages during the day.

He spoke to M (one of his favourite colleagues). He talked about going for an aperitivo with her. He told her that, maybe, his diet would start tomorrow. I laughed.

We got to my street (which is very long) and he suggested we stop off at Polpetta for a beer.

He had got, through the post, the book he had ordered which had not come in time for my birthday.

“It can be our seven-meseversary present”, smiling as he says it.

It’s a book about Bearded Collies. He has already looked through it.

“Turn the page”, he says, repeating this until I get to the page with the ‘right’ pictures.

“There!”, he shouts, stabbing his finger on the picture. “Che carino”, his voice dropping and softening as one does when talking to a baby.

The picture is of a Beardie puppy.

“We can get one”, he says, excitedly.

“Three are too many”, I reply, knowing it to be true.

“Si but when Rufus goes”, he says. I laugh.

We have two beers each and move seats half way through, into the corner and not next to the loud group. He can see the estate agents window. He starts talking about the prices of flats for sale. We talk about the size of my flat; the size of his; that, if I bought mine he would change it this way and that – enlarge the bathroom (his favourite room) by taking some of the kitchen; enlarge the kitchen by getting rid of the corridor; enlarge the lounge by taking some of the bedroom.

He’s back to looking at the window of the estate agents.

He starts to calculate the repayments on a mortgage.

“We would have to have one more room”, he says. He’s talking about us buying a place together. And he continues to talk about it – how big it would have to be, etc.

It’s sweet but not real. Unless what he has said before is not real. And, here, we go back to a previous post. What exactly is the bullshit part – talking to me or talking to friends. R&Al nearly always ask when we are moving in together (well, actually, R, really). F always responds that we won’t. I go along with this and, actually, right now it would be very difficult. Or, rather, less comfortable for both of us. In fact, I do understand his reaction to R. After all it’s every time we see them. And F is a very private person (God knows what he would think about this blog) and so, I can see that he says it so that, sooner or later, R will stop.

But this all just makes me confused. I wonder if he means it but dismiss that. With this relationship I try hard not to build up any hopes, for fear they are dashed and I am left wondering what happened.

But the whole time we are at the bar – the talk about ‘after Rufus’, the ideal flat for us, etc. – it does give me some hope for the future. But it’s hard enough doing the holiday thing right now. Anything else is just too much for my head to get round.

We shall see.

Oh, yes. Whilst we were talking about the dogs earlier and the possibility of getting another puppy, he said he wanted on with the same colour eyes – sort of pale blue/grey/green. I said that this was not so usual. He said that the eyes were what made him fall in love with Dino.

Then I thought, yes and it was my eyes that made you fall for me. After all, as I’ve always said, my eyes are my best feature and he is a sucker for blue eyes.

Swimming in Glue

I don’t know if you’ve ever made Treacle Tart – mixing the Golden Syrup with the breadcrumbs and lemon zest – the ‘treacle’ being so thick it’s difficult to mix and you have to force the spoon through?  Or maybe you’ve been wading through water with a strong current against you?

The phone saga continues.  It seems as if there are about 6 different people dealing with it – and none of them talk to each other.  Then there’s the bank.  Well a branch of the bank that are unable to be part of the same group as another branch of the same group.

And then there’s this computer.  Running so slow as to almost grind to a halt.

And it’s snowing.

And it’s very cold.

On the plus side I’ve watched three episodes of The Tudors (series 3).  It is good but one would think that everything they did at that time revolved around sex – there being naked bodies in every other screenshot.

Last night I went out with A for a couple of beers at the Birrificio – Lambrate where, apparently, they brew their own beer.  I had a couple of nice beers (Porpora) – what they call red beer (a darker bitter rather than the light lager-type that the continent is famous for).  Quite strong but very drinkable.  It’s one of those places where it is better to book a table in advance.  We were lucky and found a table but it was the only table left that had not been booked.  But it is a strange thing – to have to book a table at a pub, don’t you think?

F also texted me to say he had bought me a present.  I’m not sure why or what it is.  He said that he hoped I didn’t already have it.

And today is our mesaversary – well the mesaversary of the day we met (which, to be honest is almost the same as the day we became a couple :-D).

And, someone who is reading this blog thinks that my writing reflects the fact that I am, ahem, gay!  Really, AnaP?  Well, I suppose, to some extent it would but I’m not sure that it makes that much difference.  Although I do note that the people who spend a lot of their time on FB (and, in particular FV) are women or gay.  I wonder if anyone has ever done a survey on that? Not that that particular point has much to do with my style of writing here but I thought it was interesting to note is all.

Anyway, it feels like I’m swimming in glue right now.