Tag Archives: Firsts

Are we thinking about Christmas?

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I’m pretty sure that in all the years I was with V, I never did this so early.

And I’m a bit worried (of course I am :-|) that I’m being a bit presumptive but surely, as I think I’ve said before, one has to assume it’s going to go on forever otherwise, what’s the point?

And so, just an hour or so ago, I ordered the first Christmas present for F.

I know, I know. It’s not just early it’s disgusting and wrong on so many levels but I saw this thing and thought it would be a nice present and a) it may not be there or b) I will have forgotten about it by Christmas, so I thought – why not?

But I’m almost certain I have never before bought a Christmas present in February.

It makes me feel quite faint ;-)

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.

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.

3 days in Piedmont/Lombardia – the things we did

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We went on Saturday. We were late in the end, of course. We arrived at the Viavai Bed and Breakfast. We were shown to our rooms. The lady, Francesca was so sweet and the place was an absolute delight. I would definitely go there again. It’s about half an hour from Turin in the old part (read hill-top town) of Casalborgone.

For the afternoon, we went for a drive around the area, finishing at the Abbazia di Santa Maria di Vezzolano, which was rather a pleasant surprise.

I particularly like the frescoes and the frieze at the entrance (which, I hope, is pictured below – but not my picture). It’s worth a visit and will probably take you about an hour to walk round, at the most. But it is lovely.

We had a coffee at the coffee shop in the car park. It was just like one of those places in the UK at a castle or something – run by volunteers with home-made cakes and things. Except, here, was local wine. The guy serving looked like he was two steps away from his grave but he was very nice. One of the things I like about F is that he drinks cappuccino at any time of the day.

We sat outside on the wooden terrace. We had jackets but it was quite warm in the sun. We went back to the B&B and got ready to go out. Before we went, we had a little walk around lower CasalBorgone and upper Casalborgone. The upper part being the original medieval town and the lower part a later addition, as is normal here. But what a nice place. The lower part had the shops and the restaurants. Quite pretty. Not somewhere I’d stop if passing through but worth a look if you’re staying there. The upper town was medieval and, apart from houses, had nothing in the way of shops or restaurants – but pretty nonetheless. Then we got in the car to drive to the restaurant. The food part comes in another post.

The next day, F had thought it would be nice to go to the Chocolate Festival at a place called None, pronounced nonay and not nun.

F had looked at the site and said it had stalls along the streets.

We arrived and found it was true – there were stalls along the streets – selling all manner of items, as any normal market! The chocolate event was in one (not so big) marquee. And mostly it was full of shops from Turin and nearby towns selling, unsurprisingly, chocolate! We got to taste some and bought some things including, in my case, a couple of bottles of chocolate liqueur.

But we were a bit disappointed. I expected some exhibitions and some history of chocolate or something, rather than just stalls selling the stuff – however nice to eat they were.

Ah well, onwards and upwards. I had already said that I really wanted to go to Turin as I had only been there once (when I went to look at a flat for V when he went there for the Olympics) and, although it filled me with bitter-sweet memories (for his stay in Turin is what really started the end of V and I), I wanted to erase those and also see something of the city which, apart from a big square in the middle, I couldn’t really remember.

Driving in along the wide boulevards, it seemed more like Paris than northern Italy. It really looked quite an elegant place – and I wasn’t to be disappointed.

F had been there before (as part of work) so we parked right in the centre. We went, first, to a shop that he knows because the guys that run it are customers of his company. In fact, he was, until this year, responsible for the sales to them (they used to ask for him). We had a bit of a chat. They were very nice.

Then F wanted to go to the Museum of Cinema which is in the Mole Antonelliana – some tall tower thing that, apparently, is one of the main symbols of Turin. Sometimes I feel that I have learnt nothing whilst here, in Italy.

The queue for the trip to the tower and the museum was over 1-hour-wait long. But I noticed that there was another entrance which said Museum and there was nobody. I suggested that we ask the guy controlling how many people went through at a time. F didn’t seem to want to do it but I knew how much he wanted to go into the museum and so I went and asked.

Yes, we could go to the museum only and yes, we could use the other entrance and yes, there was no queue. Result!

I cannot adequately describe how wonderful this museum is. I would, in fact, recommend it to anyone coming to the northern part of Italy as a really good place to go – particularly if it is raining (which it wasn’t). Stunning, magical, interesting, exciting, informative and very, very interactive are some of the words that might help to describe the experience.

It lacks only one thing – a clear way of going round it so as not to miss anything. Lots of buttons to press to see how things work, lots of film clips (mostly dubbed into Italian) but truly wonderful. We spent a few hours there but I could go back and spend all day there. For an Italian Museum, it was truly the best I’ve seen.

I could spend longer in Turin and, I’ve no doubt, we shall go again. Quite a beautiful city. The feel is different from Milan. Surprisingly (well, surprisingly for me as I always think of it as the Detroit of Italy) it was elegant, chic and beautiful. More so than Milan although another city that does not fit your stereotypical thought of an Italy city. Florence this ain’t. But, in it’s own terms, possibly more interesting. Maybe even more than Milan (and that’s saying something as I love Milan).

We went back to Vaivia and went for our meal (see, probably, next post).

Sunday dawned bright and clear (as Saturday had been). We left the B&B and decided to drive back slowly, avoiding the motorway. Our first destination was Casale Monferrato. We had no idea what it would be like but it meant that the navigator would avoid the motorway.

We stopped in Casale Monferrato. It was OK but nothing much. I’m sure there were things we might have missed but the day was nice and we sat outside for a coffee.

Our next destination was Vigevano in Lombardia. A colleague at work had told me it was nice – but that’s not why we went. We only went because it was on the way home.

We parked and walked towards the main square. We saw the facade of the church at the end of the sqaure. It looked nice but when we turned the corner it was like ….WOW!

It reminded me of St Marks’s Square in Venice …….. but more beautiful. On three sides were the most beautifully painted (I suppose) buildings, with arches underneath. The roof of the buildings dotted with chimeny pots, made of brick, of all shapes and sizes that made it seem as if it had come directly from some fantasy book town. We walked around the town a bit and through the castle grounds and through the arch under the tower, down the steps and back to the square. Stunning. Designed by Da Vinci, it is amazing. We went for lunch in the square – eating outside as it was still warm enough. It was all lovely. Considering this is only half an hour or so from Milan, it was as if we were in a different world.

And then home.

It was, all in all, a truly lovely weekend and lovely anniversary day yesterday.

From hot and sunny Carrara to the Chicago rain.

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“I hate being in love”

“I always fall in love. I can’t stop it and I hate it”

“I fall in love and then I fall out of love. I’ve had enough of it”, the American girl behind me whined. I wanted to say something. I thought of turning round and saying “That’s life”, but I didn’t.

The morning was on the beach. The temperature was, probably, in the 30s (°C, of course). We had lunch, courtesy of F’s sister at which, because his sister and niece are both taking English lessons, there was an impromptu lesson.

Then we left. I could have stayed there all day but we had Chicago later.

It wasn’t supposed to rain. The forecast said no rain. Everyone’s forecast said no rain. The clouds in the distance were laden with rain. And the lightening, as always, was great to see – as a backdrop, of course. I don’t want it coming any closer. But it did. The spots of rain were large. Wearing sandals, a shirt and some linen trousers didn’t keep me dry.

On the plus side, it stopped the mosquitoes which, until then, had been on a feasting orgy and the smell of Autan was all around. I hate the smell of Autan and try my best never to use it. My thinking is that, if it’s potent enough to ward off mosquitoes, it can’t possibly be good for your skin. A couple of nibbles by the zanzare can’t be as bad. And, anyway, even the people who liberally spray themselves, seem to get bitten just the same.

There was another plus side. With the onset of the rain, many people started to get up and leave or, at least, try to find some shelter. Leaving a number (quite a sizeable number) who headed to the front. The front, for sometime, protected us from the rain but in the end it got us too.

I never did festivals. When you’re young, you can do this ‘staying in the rain’ for hours whilst you watch your favourite band. Firstly, this is NOT my favourite band and secondly, I only know a few of their songs and only one that I can sing along to. However, what was I to do? Everyone in my group was at the front and so, I followed.

To be honest, even without knowing all the songs (I knew about 5), the band were brilliant. Not only were they good but they obviously enjoyed themselves which makes a whole lot of difference. The trombone player was incredible – not only for his playing but also for his energy and enjoyment.

Once again, it was Milano Jazzin Festival and Chicago were great. It was worth the money and the rain to see them.

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

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Excuse me for this but it is fucking freezing!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Non-dieting – Day 3

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

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

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

This was all somewhat of a shock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am alive!

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“Do you like it?”, he asked.

“It’s OK. It enables me to stay here”, I replied.

Thinking about it, it’s not really OK at all. But what can I do? He is determined ‘to be a writer’. But I remember, vaguely, some quote from an actor or writer that said, more or less, that they kept on saying that one day they would be a writer or actor until the time came to renew a passport and, since they didn’t have a ‘real’ job, they had to put writer or actor and then realised that there was no ‘big moment’ where they moved from being an aspiring whatever to the real thing.

So, he is, in fact, a writer. A writer of books. Well, one book with another, he hopes, soon. I hope so. I wish it could be the same for me but I am not that skilled in writing that I could ever be a real writer. I’m just a blogger which is not the same thing at all. Anyway, I couldn’t do what he has done/does and my goal is not that defined. I have no goal. ‘Just living’ is the goal. Oh, yes, and eating and drinking and spending time with friends and the dogs and stuff.

Hardly the stuff of dreams.

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F is funny. When he meets any one of my friends (or, even in this case, someone I really don’t know), he talks. It’s like he can’t have a silence.

Of course, once he had found something to talk about, he didn’t stop. In this case, once Karl (this is NOT anything to do with the ‘Karl spark’ – it’s his real name and I’ll link to his blogs in due course – since the ‘Karl’ in the ‘Karl spark was, in fact, a guy with a real name beginning with J) had explained his ‘great plan’ (which is not a great plan as such – just an idea that will change as the year progresses), which is to visit as many festivals as possible over the world, F started to come up with all the festivals that Karl absolutely MUST go to. They were all music festivals and included, of course, San Remo.

I’m not actually sure that, even if Karl intends to go to San Remo, it will be quite the same as the festival experience he’s looking for. After all, it’s a little commercial now. I recall the Upton Jazz Festival. The first year that it was staged, the jazz bands played in the many pub gardens that are a feature of Upton upon Severn. Everything was free. The feeling that one got was fantastic, wandering from pub to pub, having a beer, listening to some live band – really ‘chilled out’. The next year, the bands were behind screens and you had to pay and, immediately, it moved from being ‘a night out with friends (even if you didn’t know the people nor the musicians) to being a commercial event. Not the same at all. A little like the Hay Festival or (I imagine) the Edinburgh Festival. Far removed from the original thing.

I think San Remo would be more like going to a book festival. Of course, to F, it is a wonderful thing. We shall watch it again, certainly.

Still, Karl took notes, which was kind of him even if some of them were almost certainly going to be dropped from the list even as he wrote them down.

As I predicted, F didn’t come and stay with me. He is quite strange sometimes.

This morning, I got up just after the alarm. The sambuca, the night before, didn’t seem to have the usual effect, which was good. The lack of enough sleep makes me tired – but it’s not really different from normal.

He said he slept well. I forgot to ask if he had managed to connect to the internet OK after I went to bed. I forgot to tell him to take tram 23 to the middle of town. Mornings are not really my best time.

But, in case you were worried, I am, in fact, alive.

So he wasn’t a crazed axe murderer after all. Nice guy doing this round the world thing. I couldn’t do it – I like my comforts too much, I guess. Still it was interesting and I wished him good luck with it all.

Everyone should do something crazy once in a while, don’t you think?

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You don’t really ‘live’ without experiences. I mean to say, that’s what life is all about. For those of you who have read my blog for long enough, you will know that it was one of the reasons for coming here. To put myself in a strange situation and to ‘see how it went’.

As I’ve mentioned before, all those people who, when we told them we were giving everything up and going to Milan because we quite liked it said things like ‘You are brave’ whilst privately thinking ‘You are crazy’. Some time after we had been here, I came to that conclusion too, in that it really was quite a crazy thing to do but I don’t regret it and I wouldn’t change anything (well, almost).

So, yesterday, when I read that some guy that I don’t know was going to be in Milan for a night and was probably going to have to sleep rough, I suggested that he could sleep on the sofa. It was a simple comment made without any real thought. After all, I’d probably never hear from him.

Until, of course, I did. I read the email. Last night he slept outside. He said that he was still trying to get the chill out of his bones. I can only imagine.

I read the email again. Of course, I could pretend that I hadn’t read the email. I could say that, after all, it wasn’t ‘convenient’ (he had given that option in his email). He offered me a pizza and a beer.

I hesitated. This won’t be ‘convenient’ – I mean, An maybe celebrating as she hopes to sign up for a flat, round the corner from me (she is returning to Milan to work – leaving her husband in London); A has already suggested that we might meet for a beer; and then there is F who, if there is someone else in the flat, probably won’t want to sleep there (because he can be quite strange, sometimes) – and then there would be how to explain this person. It’s not easy. It’s easy for me, of course, but for others, there is the fact that they probably wouldn’t do it and so I would be ‘crazy’.

I mean I don’t actually know him. I’ve read his stuff. He’s quite famous (been on TV and stuff) but only with a bag on his head. I’ve read about his latest ‘escapade’ and, to be honest, like me coming to Milan, he’s quite brave (or crazy). I think he’s dropped using the bag now :-)

But I’ve never met him, haven’t spoken to him and, but for his blog, wouldn’t even know anything about him – and, anyway, his first blog was, in reality, one great big lie to be precise – so who’s to say this latest one isn’t?

But I only hesitate for a few moments. After all, if you don’t actually do things then you can only regret not doing them in the future and you would never know if doing it would have been good or not. Whereas, if you do things then, at least, you have a 50/50 chance it will be good ……. or interesting ……….or exciting …… or amazing, perhaps?

And so I said ‘yes’. Why not? Perhaps he will kill me in my sleep? Perhaps he will be as boring as they come? Or stink? Or, perhaps, he will just be an interesting, nice guy with whom I hit it off?

Who knows but it seems it is set. I await his call.

Now, how do I explain this to F ………….?

F’s Birthday and stuff

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Well, further to my post below, Rufus seems much better. Ain’t it always the way? But I know better than to assume that he will remain this way for long.

Last night we went to Giacomo – it was F’s birthday. I had raw scampi to start (and some of F’s raw tuna) and branzino (sea bass) with artichokes as a main. F had the mixed raw fish to start and then a cooked tuna steak (he loves tuna and has it whenever he can). A nice bottle of wine, some mirto and then home.

This being a restaurant that is, as F would say, very fashion, there are the great and the good of Milan and many of the rich tourists or others who are here for business. In this case, there was a model who, apparently, used to work for Helmut Lang. However, I didn’t even recognise the name. Apparently, Giacomo has opened a new restaurant near Piazza Duomo, with views over the city. We are to go there for my birthday, I am advised :-).

Yesterday, I went to see FfC and go out for lunch. She is getting ready to return to work next week after months off whilst she had a baby. The baby is about 7 months old now. He is big. She suggested he looks like his father and asked me what I thought. As I’ve said before, babies, to me, just look like babies and not like either of the parents or anyone else for that matter. So that’s what I said.

Then, later, after we had been out for lunch, she was sitting on one of the sofas opposite me and the baby waved at me. Apparently they’ve been trying to get him to wave for a while so she was delighted that he had, finally, done it. She was going to phone R, the father, as soon as I had gone, to tell him.

She told me, during lunch, that she had, really, given up on the idea that she would become a mother and that was when she found herself pregnant. Maybe there’s a thing about trying too hard. We also spoke about FfI. FfI went back to her home country for Christmas and New Year. She planned to spend Christmas with her family and then New Year with her daughter who is in another part of the country. Her common line is ‘I hate Milan’, quickly followed by ‘I want to go back to my country’. I always thought – well, go then!

I email her to wish her a happy New Year. She emails me back to tell me that she cried every day (and that everyone except her one brother, she had fights with), she spent New Year’s Eve in a motel room all alone and that she was cold and miserable and couldn’t wait to get back to Milan. She also promised that she would never say that she hated Milan again. We shall see. To be honest, I feel sorry for her. What a dreadful way to spend Christmas and New Year! But FfC and I were talking (and we have much the same views on most things) and agreed that it’s really important to be ‘happy’ with what you have and where you are.

Milan may not be the most beautiful city in the world, nor with the best climate but it has charm and a character of it’s own. Without coming to Milan there are so many experiences that I simply would not have experienced, both good and bad, things that I would not have enjoyed and have made my life richer and more fulfilled as a result. Of course, the main thing is that I would not have met F and, for that, I would never want to change the past because it is the past that has led me here and to this point.

We also spoke (FfC and I) about V. She was quite disappointed when he didn’t turn up one evening because he was shopping for a new outfit for Christmas, after she had prepared food and everything – and he didn’t even text or phone but relied on FfI to tell her. It made me so grateful that I am no longer responsible, in any way, for him. I explained to her that my thinking on the reasons why he had, effectively, cut me off from his life was that (and I learned this from FfI) he had been telling the new boyfriend that ‘the breakup had left him with so much debt’. She was as incredulous as I had been. But it is his way and if I were too close, there would be questions from other people which would lead me to tell the truth and the truth would not be what he wanted others to hear. Ah well. At least, now, I can understand the reason even if it’s a poor one. I remember telling him, when there was the previous boyfriend – ‘don’t lie about stuff’. For lying always, at some point, bites you in the ass further down the line. But, with him, he always seems to get away with it. He is, as FfC says – always being ‘fabulous’. Fabulousness is all about show and does not necessarily have any substance. And it’s so true of him. I just hope that the fabulousness doesn’t wear off any time.