Well, it took me about 3 days (and a bit) but The Goldfinch was, possibly the book of the summer for me.
Stunningly great book. So descriptive, so intriguing, so well written. Loved it. The “official” next book is at the beach. We’re not there because a) it’s raining and b) we’ve both got a little sunburned (and F has some spots he doesn’t like). So, we’re having a “day off”.
Now I have to pick something else. Maybe the ereader would be a good choice? Yes, I think that’s right.
It’s always the hands, isn’t it? They’re the give-away. You can always do something with other parts but there’s little you can do with your hands except, maybe, wear gloves. Except that I don’t do anything. My idea has always been to grow old gracefully or, rather, just grow old.
So, the lines on my face multiply and grow deeper and longer; my belly hides more of what’s beneath it; my bones click and creak, stiffen and have pain for no reason (and although many Italians and older Brits would blame the weather or the change of weather, I don’t for I know it’s not that, it’s just a time thing – and, by that, I mean the passage of time); my throat has developed what I can only liken to the wattle of a chicken and, finally, I have small areas on the backs of each hand that are slightly darker, like freckles but are, of course, liver spots.
They, like when the skin on the backs of your hands becomes thin and almost translucent, are signs of extreme old age. Or, at least, that’s what I’ve always thought.
And, I’ve noticed here, on the beach, that they seem to be multiplying at an extraordinary rate – even in the last few days.
I guess it could be the sun. Or the smoking. Or both. Or, just old age although I had always thought that liver spots were something reserved for those who had passed retirement time – some time before their appearance.
It seems not. Or, at least, not for me!
It’s not that they look so bad – just that they exist at all! And, instead of fading against the tan I am getting, they seem to look worse!
Anyway, I’ve finished The Bat. It was OK. I suspect that Lola quite fancies the author, whose picture was on the cover. Today, I’ve started The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt. This is a thick book. Let’s see how long this keeps me going!
Oh, I should say that I thought I wouldn’t be able to post but, obviously, I can.
So, here we are, day 2. Last night, again at F’s parents, there was a rabbit stew thing. It was lovely. And dangerous. Dangerous because, if I were to continue to eat like that every day, I would become very fat. Luckily, F arrives this evening.
They are making foods they think I will like. And they are not wrong. It will change from tonight when F is there. It will be all vegetable stuff with occasional fish dishes. But it’s OK. F’s their son, after all.
It seems the weather has changed for the better. At least, here. Today is hotter than yesterday and, after this morning, not a cloud to be seen. I am under the umbrella having got a little sunburnt yesterday in three places – my top, right thigh (not enough suncream) and the top of both my feet (no suncream – I didn’t think I’d need it there)!
Anyway, I’ve finished Maddaddam. Very good, as all Atwood’s books.
Now, following Lola’s suggestion, I’ve started The Bat by Jo Nesbo. Good job I’ve brought plenty of books though – the first finished in less than 2 days!
I eat my lettuce, cheese and mayonnaise sandwich, sprinkled liberally with the black pepper I keep here just for this occasion. It’s the taste of summer for me. I lie in the sun for a while but it’s really too damned hot. Not that I’m complaining. Tomorrow will be different, with F here. The same but different.
Nicoletta (we share the umbrella with her and her husband) hardly stopped talking to me this morning and, although I understand her mostly, it takes so much energy to listen and speak only in Italian. Again, with F here, that will be better and I can switch off a bit.
The beach fills up and is noisier. Anyway, it’s nearly time to go. The dogs need their afternoon walk, I need a bath and then I pick F up from the station and then, once again, to his parents for dinner.
Day -1
I’m not sure if she’s shouting at me because she’s going deaf or, like the English abroad, because she thinks I’ll understand better.
But, she doesn’t stop. In fact, she seems to get faster, as if she has so much to say and only minutes to tell me. And louder, as if I’ll understand better.
And it’s so fast that I struggle to translate. I forget, now, many things. I only remember 2. There is no television because the licence inspectors wanted to come and check if there was a TV. So there is no TV and, to be certain, no TV arial wire since it ran on the outside of the house.
And the second thing is that the roof leaks into the flat above. The flat that belongs to F’s brother. She will, apparently, give F a key so that, should it rain, he can go up to put things under the leaks. I’m not sure why they don’t ask me but it’s too difficult to ask. So I don’t.
I think her shouting gets louder. And she seems to get more frantic to get it all out.
She had arrived whilst I was at the supermarket. I was getting dog food, milk and water. She brought milk (for me), water and biscuits. And was also there to make the bed and clean up outside.
A couple of hours later, I was at their house having saltimbocca (pan-fried veal with cheese and parma ham) which was probably the best I’ve ever tasted.
We held a “conversation” of sorts. F’s dad doesn’t seem so well, to me. And he and his mum say as much although what it may be remains unspecified.
I go home and start on my first book – Maddaddam – Margaret Atwood.
Today is the first day at the beach and it strikes me that I really can hold conversations in Italian now. They may not be brilliant, but they are real conversations. It’s another step forward.
And, after this dreadful summer, the weather is good and it is hot. Thank goodness.
And earlier today F messaged me to say that he will come down tomorrow night instead of Friday, which is fantastic news and makes me very happy.
Monday, 28th April.
It is very dark o’clock. The alarm goes off and I know that I must get up. I have only left myself 20 minutes before the taxi expects me to be downstairs. I’m hoping it will be enough.
The dogs stay with me, hopefully, for about 5 minutes until they lose hope and realise that I won’t be taking them out after all.
I leave the house at about a minute to 4. It is tipping it down. Miserable, bloody weather. Still, I will be out of it for a few days. Not that I want to be, you understand. I’m off the that far-off country. One that everyone agrees is “lovely” and I hate, almost without measure.
I get to the station for the train to the airport. It is still dark and still raining. I realise that this thing we have, with airlines leaving before about 10 or 11 in the morning – not before 9, anyway.
The sooner I am out of this effing rat-race, the better.
I have a cigarette – only my second so far – but I know this train – there is no warning it will leave so, even if there is 5 minutes to go, I get on.
Lots of people are on the train but it is silent. Some people seem to be sleeping and I wish I could. A woman gets on at the second or third stop. There’s lots of goodbyes to one or more people at the station and then she spends the rest of the journey on the telephone. I wonder who the hell she can be speaking to before 5 in the morning?
We arrive at the airport and, as expected for the far-off country, the check-in is “special” and requires the longest walks.
I go out for several cigarettes and then in through the security control with its massive queues and, again, I wonder at this need (real need) to fly everywhere so early.
I get through there and up to the gate area and head for the café for my shot of caffeine. And then a final cigarette.
On the plane, I stupidly offer the window seat to one of my colleagues, one of whom takes it up and then proceeds to sleep through most of the flight. Still, it’s not so important as I have a book. A new book; one of those supposedly for summer at the beach.
I read over half on the four-hour journey. This is not good. Obviously, I still have the problem of reading too fast. More books will need to be bought!
As we’re on the plane, I realise that I just don’t like people. In fact, I loathe them, especially in a crowded place. I’m talking people in general, making no discrimination between races, young or old, male or female. People are just bloody horrible.
We arrive. We go through passport control which is more special here. Don’t they realise that I really don’t want to be here?
“Why are you here?”
“Because I have to come and subject myself to this bloody horrible country with you bloody horrible people”
“Who are you coming to see?”
“Some of the most vile people I have ever had to deal with”
“Was it at their invitation?”
“Invitation?! If only it were so simple as something I could refuse? Believe me, I would have gratefully declined.”
Of course, the questions were real, my responses less so. A lot less so. In fact, nothing like what I have written.
I collect my case, I go straight out to have a cigarette. I go back in to get cash. I am told, by my colleague that the little fucker who is our agent here, has come to pick us up. Surprisingly, as he had indicated he wouldn’t.
Apparently, we weren’t grateful enough for this “sacrifice” but since he is a shit-stirrer, I couldn’t care less. I remember the last trip here. The trip just before Christmas when it was ‘too much trouble’ to take us anywhere!
Whilst driving to the customer, I made the mistake of asking how he was. We get the “holocaust story”. I really wish I hadn’t asked.
I spend the afternoon, sitting, bored to fuck while the engineers talk about dimensions and stuff.
I’ve already had enough!
It’s sort of forward planning.
You may remember, dear reader, my horror last summer at running out of books and my subsequent purchase of a Sony eReader to make sure it would never happen again?
Well, of course, being the old codger that I am, the eReader is fine – for emergencies. I really prefer a “real” book – the feel of the pages, the smell of the book, the never running out of battery, etc., etc.
Last year, if I remember rightly, I had somewhere around 9 books for 3 weeks and reckoned that, even at a rate of 2 books per week, I’d be fine. In fact, I ran out of books by the end of the second week.
And, although I now have my emergency backup eReader, I don’t want to be running out like last year.
And, the other day, I was reading something on Twitter from one of the people I follow and they were plugging their book as it has just been released in paperback. Which made me look at my “bookshop” (I use Bookstore, in the UK. Amongst the very nice things about this company is the fact that I have my “list” of books saved and I pick out the ones that I want to buy.
Now, I use this company as it is a truly independent book shop. It’s not part of the Amazon mega-corporation. OK, so I pay a little more than I would at Amazon but the service I get is superb. If I want any type of book I can ask. If I want to change my order before it is shipped, I ask. They are always very nice and responsive and you feel you are dealing with a human being rather than some computer (see, I told you I was an old codger).
Anyway, so really, as a response to this Twitter post about the paperback being out, I thought I might as well get it. I went onto the site and found it and, whilst I was there, checked the books I had put in “waiting” and decided to order some.
So, when the order arrives, I will have another load of books to add to ones I had already bought at the end of last year.
I’ve still got some way to go but I shall probably buy some of those books on the shortlist of the Bailey’s Prize this year.
In any event, I am excited about receiving my parcel of books in the next week or so 
For those of you who have been reading my blog for a long time, you will know I have a bit of a thing about books.
I read.
Obviously, even if you’ve been reading for a short time, you will know this from the fact that I read so many books last year on holiday. But, if you’ve been reading for some time (and by that I mean years), you will also know that I also have a thing about other people and their reading habits.
So, when my niece (really V’s niece but she still calls me Uncle Andy) was young, I used to let her read to me. She loved it and every time we would go up to his parents’ house, she would rush to show me her latest book from school and sit on my knee and read away. They were not a “reading family” and I think it was the only time, outside school, that she read to anyone. We used to go up there every Saturday, so it was a weekly thing between Ay and me. It was important for me too. I felt that I had to try to instil into her a love of reading, even if I was going against the tide.
Then, there was the time, after V, when I went on my “hunt” for a new man and ended up going to see this guy in Venice (he with the wrinkly elbows) and the most noticeable thing about his place was that there were no books! And that was certainly one of the deal-breakers.
It’s a strange thing really because none of my long-term partners have ever been big readers. V had only read a couple of books in his whole life! F doesn’t really read a lot (he’s more “visual”).
And, yet, I put a lot of store in reading.
When I was a kid, although it’s a long time ago and I don’t remember exactly, my parents would read to us (my sister and I) regularly. If I remember correctly, it was every night, when they put us to bed. As we got older and had separate rooms, the reading stopped but by then I had the “habit” and collected books which my parents bought for me. I had hundreds and read each one more than once. I recall one book that I had given to me when I was about 12. It was called Lone Wolf. It was too difficult for me and I couldn’t read it. I was quite upset that I found it too difficult. But, a couple of years later, I was old enough and read it. Since then I have been one of those people that simply has to finish a book, even if I find that I don’t like it as I read it.
So, it was not a particular surprise to read this piece about reading habits and how they are “passed down”, in general.
If I had ever had kids, I would certainly read to them every night until they were sufficiently adept enough to be reading on their own.
There’s nothing better than a good book to read, even if new technology seems to make books redundant. And that’s quite sad – not for me but for those youngsters who don’t learn (for it is a learnt thing) how to read and enjoy a book.
I’ve mentioned before that I have funded (or attempted to fund) some things by way of Kickstarter.
Unfortunately, the first time was not successful – but I was doing it to help a friend out here, in Milan. It was rather a lot of money to raise but it’s still a shame that he didn’t make it.
Then I discovered “film”. And with that came my first “success”, Nina Forever, in that it was fully funded and so, in theory, sometime about this time next year, I will receive a DVD copy of the film, my name listed with heartfelt thanks on the Nina Forever website, Facebook and Twitter, 24 unique jpeg frames from the film, a personalised letter-pressed thank you card and a Nina Forever temporary tattoo.
I am, of course, terribly excited about the tattoo!
I recently funded How To be Dead which is an expanded version of How to be Dead – The Death Guide to Life which I enjoyed very much. The target was £400 and it’s easily beaten that.
For backing this book, I will be getting a digital and paperback copy of How To Be Dead, a mention in the Thank You section, a business card and badge, a letter of thanks from Death himself, a mug for tea drinking while reading, and a Death logo t-shirt.
Probably the mug is the deciding “prize” here
Although it is already fully funded you can, in fact, for the next couple of days and for a few pounds, get in on the act. It closes on Friday. As I’ve said, it’s already fully funded (almost 10 times overfunded) but the things you get for your investment are, as an American would say, AWESOME!
Today, I have pledged something for Renata Road, another film that looks quite interesting.
If they get funding, then I will get my name in the film’s credits, a digital download of the final film, a DVD of the final film plus 4 original shorts from Beyond The Bar that led to the creation of The Renata Road, my DVD will be signed by the cast and director AND I will receive signed photos of the cast and director PLUS a signed copy of the script (writers, cast & director). Which will all get to me about this time next year – IF it gets funded. It needs slightly more than £1000 per day being pledged to get to the target and, like How to be Dead, it finishes on Friday.
So if you want to try it out, be my guest.
I find it kind of addictive and a little like gambling except that, if it doesn’t reach its target, you don’t lose any money.
If I’m honest, I try to fund those that are British and I like the idea of physical stuff (DVD or book) so I have NOT funded those which, for instance, offer only a digital download.
Anyway, it’s fun.
Let’s hope Renata Road gets the money it needs!
I arrived home on Friday evening, having picked F up from the airport, to find a stack of goodies that had come in the post.
First there was an eBook reader that I had bought at a discount. This is to stop what happened during the summer where I was left for almost a week without a book. In future, I shall have books wherever I am (in theory). It’s taken me most of the weekend to set it up but now I have one book already on and I shall look for more in the coming weeks.
There were also a number of (real) books that I had ordered. Having finished Bring Up The Bodies by Hilary Mantel, I am now ready for the next one which is a choice between:
The Tenth Chamber – Glenn Cooper, the third in the series;
The Weekend – Peter Cameron, who I saw this year at the Mantova Festivaletteratura;
The Haunting Of Hill House – Shirley Jackson;
Maddaddam – Margaret Atwood, the third in the series.
I also received a calendar for next year. This, you might think, is not so special except that the first photograph (for January) was taken by Best Mate’s eldest daughter, so rather special.
The weather is quite crap now. It’s much cooler and we had a lot of rain overnight although, in spite of the forecast, it hasn’t been raining all day.
All made up for by the fact that Friday night almost seemed like Christmas
Well, it looks like last weekend was the last time in Carrara until next spring/summer 
This weekend, if the weather forecast had been good, we were going to go down but the forecast strongly suggests that it will rain all day on Sunday so we’ve decided not to go. Instead it will be our first weekend in Milan for ages.
To be honest, I am quite looking forward to it. There are things that I haven’t done at home that, in theory, I can do this weekend. Bits of sorting out, etc.
I say “in theory” because, normally this would be true except that this weekend, F has someone staying at his flat and so he will be with me, in my flat, ALL weekend. It may not stop me doing everything but it will be a hindrance. Also, I won’t be able to start watching things I have been “saving up”. Things that I wouldn’t watch with him (i.e. films in English; films of a genre that I know he doesn’t like, etc.)
Among these things is Game of Thrones. Someone told me that, having watched the first episode, they were hooked and told me to watch the first one and I would understand. So I did. And I don’t. However, that hasn’t stopped me watching the second and third episodes. And I shall be watching the rest of the first series but after that, I’m not sure.
You see, I’m not convinced that it is really good. So, why am I watching it still, you may ask? Well, because I have hardly watched anything “English” since the spring – discounting short clips or YouTube videos and, after such a long time (a little like the books this summer, I guess) I’m kinda thirsty for hearing the English spoken word and so, almost anything goes.
So, I’m not sure if it’s my thirst for English driving my desire or if it’s really good. I know that, were I still in England, I would have watched the (first) series but here, as it’s more difficult for me to watch English stuff, I tend to be more discerning since it takes time to get hold of stuff and it costs.
Of course, when I say “discerning” this is not strictly true. I did, over the last few weeks watch the series called Episodes. Again this was a recommendation. It was OK. It’s a sitcom. Sitcoms are OK. They are not WOW!
I suppose that what I’m saying is that, in the UK, I would plonk myself in front of the TV and watch something. Anything. Every evening. Flicking through the channels until settling on something even if it was only the least-worst thing on at that moment. Some things were, of course, genuinely good. A couple of things that spring to mind are Fawlty Towers and The Sopranos. I did get Broadchurch (TV series) and, have to say that I really did enjoy that.
I realise that I’m a long way behind with Game of Thrones but, for me, that’s OK. Since I don’t have to wait for a whole week until the next episode, I can catch up not having “other programs” in the way.
Anyway, my suggesting that Game of Thrones may not be the most-wonderful-thing-to-have-hit-the-small-screen-since-the-last-most-wonderful-thing may cause some people to be upset. And can I say that I’m genuinely sorry about that. But it is, I would like to say, only MY OPINION.
In the same way that, in my opinion, authors who are gay and write about gay things don’t write good books. Of course, I haven’t read every gay author so I may be wrong. it is from my experience. The gay books by gay authors that I HAVE read aren’t really all they’re cracked up to be. I’m not saying they’re not good writers. It’s just that the books don’t say anything to me – they don’t bear any relationship to the reality of my life and, so, are unreal. I know, I know. When I can read books that are obviously fiction (SF, for example) – but those books aren’t pretending to be about real life. Books about gay people, for me, should have some elements that I can relate to. So far, they don’t. And so, in my limited experience, gay books written by gay authors are “no good”.
Which leads me onto the current story about some almost unknown author who has, apparently, made an inference that books by women, homosexuals and Chinese people are not good.
Except, he didn’t really say that. What he said was (and I paraphrase) that he hasn’t read many books by these authors that he feels passionate enough about to teach them and that, the only books he can be passionate enough about to teach are, in the main, by white, middle-class, middle-aged men.
Now there’s a whole storm brewed up here and on Twitter about him.
Which is a shame as he was asked for his opinion and he gave it. Whereas I may or may not like the man in person, his choice of reading material for his courses are entirely his concern. He may, in the opinion of many it seems, be a self-righteous prick and worse but I’m guessing he’s good at his job and, out of the hundreds of thousands or, maybe, hundreds of millions, of books to choose, he has chosen particular ones. to be pilloried for stating his opinion is a bit much. But this is the world we have created for ourselves, I guess.
Anyway, a good weekend to all and see you on the other side 