Tag Archives: Firsts

New Year with people you don’t even know!

Posted on by
2

Well, none of it was quite as expected. We didn’t exactly plan anything but we both had a rough idea as to what would happen, how things would go down. But none of that really happened.

And, yet, it was really most enjoyable. I mean both Christmas and the New Year. But let’s get on to New Year’s Eve.

So, P, my neighbour and her friend came round about 9. We suggested P bring her dogs so that they wouldn’t get frightened by the fireworks. I said we could give it a try. Her rescue dog is a mongrel but quite vicious. Always barking when she sees Rufus or Dino and actually attacking them. However, together, in the house they were fine and so busy concentrating on each other that they didn’t even notice the fireworks – which was a very good thing.

Dinner was good – plenty of wine and food and conversation (although mostly in Italian). F, at one point, mistakenly called me by the name of his ex, S. I found this really funny and it wasn’t a bad thing (although I know that most people won’t agree). I look at it this way – now he is relaxed with me and we are so much a ‘couple’ that we can, almost, be compared to his other long-term relationship, so that he is comfortable with it. And this is only after just over a year! Anyway, that’s how I see it.

Then we played burraco until about 1.30 in the morning. It was the first time they had played it so, apart from the last hand, we played open hands. However, it was nice and P’s friend especially enjoyed it. F decided that he wanted to clean up afterwards. I’m afraid this is not my thing really. Before they came round he spent about 2 hours cleaning my flat. He has even bought some cleaning stuff that he likes and uses. Bless him. Anyway, I took the dogs out and he started cleaning. When I cam back he told me that the sink was blocked. This is from the fat that we poured down the sink from the zampone. Damn! I had forgotten what it was like. It was the same last year except that, last year, we had only just got together and so I did all this on my own (the next day, obviously).

And so, about 2 a.m. I am dismantling the pipes under the sink. Of course, I was not at my best at that moment and completely forgot how much water the two sinks hold. Although I had a bucket to catch the water, one was not enough and so there was water all over the kitchen! And then we had to clean that first before F could continue with the washing-up! He was really angry about it all whereas I was just laid back about it – like I am. I mean to say, there was nothing we could do about it except clean it up, so why get angry about it – it doesn’t make things better. Such is life. And so, in the end, we got to bed about 3.30 a.m. But F was right, it was much nicer to get up to in the morning.

And this morning, I asked him if he could remember the name of P’s friend. He said ‘no’ and that he was sure they were never introduced or introduced themselves to each other. I know I was and I know it was a strange name (or, at least, I think I know it was a strange name).

And, so, we spent New Year’s Eve with a woman I barely know from next door (although F knows her from years ago) and her friend that I don’t even know the name of! It’s a strange life I lead here. For certain, that would never have happened in the UK. I like my life here. It continues to be strange and challenging and improvised and with many surprises (most of which are good). Long may it continue this way.

Just bloody well DO IT!

Posted on by
2

I know it. I’m quite lazy. I avoid things if they seem too difficult.

People think that it was quite something to come here with nothing – no job, no command of the language, no friends here, etc. But it’s simply not true. It was easy. We had money. Money means you can be quite stupid and don’t really have to work at it.

And, even if, now, I don’t have ‘money’, I still, sometimes, act as if I have. This is not only laziness but stupidity. However, some things are still just far too difficult and throwing money at them solves the problem.

Take, for example, the legal requirement (probably soon) to have either snow chains or snow tyres on your car. It was supposed to be the law from about 15th November. Pietro, who is always so helpful, guided me to a place to get snow chains. These are the cheapest option of course.

I waited and waited. Not for any particular reason other than I just didn’t want to go through the hassle of getting them. Pietro texted me in the last week possible to say that the law had been ‘postponed’. I was grateful. I didn’t have to go. I didn’t have to look and not find. I didn’t have to try to ask someone who, undoubtedly, wouldn’t speak English. I didn’t have to get the wrong thing. I wouldn’t be there at 6 a.m. one morning trying to put the things on the car when it had snowed in Milan. I procrastinated.

We had snow. I learnt that my car is not fantastic in snow. Sure, I can manage. I’ve done it for 20-odd years. But it’s not pleasant.

Then the snow went. Through my mind, every time I got in the car was ‘I must do something’.  Every night, on the way back from work, at the start of my street, is the tyre place I used one time. It was always busy. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow night’, I thought. ‘I’ll go and ask and see how much they are'; ‘It will be better to have tyres’. Each time, fixing, in my head, the maximum I would be prepared to pay, knowing that the snow chains would cost only €50.

But tomorrow came and it was too cold or too much hassle or I just wasn’t in the mood. And those of you who have followed my blog long enough will know that I don’t like garages. And tyre places are the same as garages, for me.

I had a cheque from the UK yesterday. I had to pay it in. Banks here are just so weird. There’s a new branch of my bank in Porta Venezia. My branch is near where I work. I know, from past experience, that although they are the same ‘bank’, because they are two different branches, they might as well be completely different banks. But I also know that I CAN pay the cheque in at this branch. They, of course, will not ‘pay the cheque in’ but, rather, send it to my branch who will pay it in. This means an additional couple of days for the post. However, since I am not back at work until the 10th, it makes sense to use this service. There’s no point in driving all the way to work to pay in a cheque.

So, I go. I pass by the tyre place. I note that it is closed until 2.30. It is lunchtime. They close for two hours. Siamo in Italia, after all.

I pay in the cheque. She explains that she has to send it too the branch. She phones the branch. She will fax over the details – but, still, she will have to send it – and then my branch can pay it in. Here it seems we are stuck somewhere in the twentieth century. Still she is nice and it is done now. It will still be quicker than waiting until the 10th.

I decide to take a walk up Corso Buenos Aires. I am going to look in Zara. I might get a jumper similar to the one I bought F for Christmas – when the sales start, of course. And a hat. And some gloves. On the way I spot some nice watches. They are Moschino. Plain and simple, just as I like. One white and one black. They are about €140. I CAN afford it but why would I want to. Still ……..

I get to Zara and see some nice coats that are not so expensive. And a hat that is cheap. But I will wait for the sales when, undoubtedly, nothing I want will be reduced and, again, I won’t buy anything. We shall see. The sales, according to F, start on 6th January.

I walk down and decide to go to the Carrefour in Via Modena – near F’s place. On the way I pass Esselunga. I should go there but I have a fidelity card for Carrefour (actually it is F’s) and it’s a nice day, the sun is shining, it is cold but bearable. I walk on. I finish shopping in Carrefour getting everything I need except lentils – because they had none. It’s the tradition here for New Year. Cotecchino or zampone with lentils – the lentils signifying money. The cotecchino I buy anyway. It’s better not to know what’s inside. It would never catch on in the UK. Cotecchino is a kind of very large sausage which is boiled and zampone is a stuffed pigs trotter which is done in the same way. For both, I expect, the filling is more or less the same. Some herbs and spices and meat from the pig that they can’t sell you as slices of meat. But the taste is good and I do really like it to eat. F will have only one slice as he doesn’t really like it – he just does it for tradition.

It’s now gone 2 p.m. I will walk back to the tyre place after all – even if it is out of my way. I approach the place (which is round the corner) and note that I will still have 10 minutes to wait before they re-open. Hmm. I toy with the idea of doing it another day but decide I will wait. After all, I can just ask. Maybe.

As I turn the corner, I see they are open. I go in. The guy and I ‘communicate’. I want to know how much they will cost. He doesn’t have the tyres here and wants to make a phone call. I explain that, first, I need to know how much they are. He tells me the price for one set. It’s too much. But another make is €80 cheaper. And it’s almost within my ‘set price’. Yes, OK. Thinking about putting snow chains on, I agree. He makes the phone call. They only have the expensive ones. I thank him and say goodbye. As I am leaving he calls me back. They have the cheaper ones after all. They will store my current ones for €25. I say OK. We agree I will go back tomorrow afternoon.

So, tomorrow, at 4 p.m., I will have snow tyres. I hope we have some bloody snow now, this winter. But, if we do then, at least, I won’t be struggling to put chains on at some stupid hour in the morning. We’ll see if they really make a difference.

At least, finally, I’ve done something about it, even if I took the lazy way out.

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

Posted on by
4

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.

Thanks; Chiara Civello; Perfect Yorkshire Puds and some really good port

Posted on by
Reply

Well, I’ve now been and it was lovely but, as I’m not from the USA (I guess), it was, more or less, like going to dinner at someone’s house.

I’m talking of Thanksgiving.

I’m talking turkey, mashed potatoes, and a rather glorious stuffing.

To be honest, I thought it was going to be an all-American affair (except for me) but it took on quite an International flavour. 3 Americans, 1 Canadian, 1 Australian, 1 Italian and me. The turkey (which I’ve never been mad keen on) was rather good and well cooked. The stuffing was fantastic. The wine and conversation flowed and we even had a rather difficult conversation with N & S all the way from San Francisco – the ‘difficult’ part being the connection which, unfortunately kept dying.

I got home at about 3.30 a.m. I then spoke to Ag on the telephone. She was in need of someone to talk to. It meant I got to bed about 5.30. I was, unsurprisingly, tired on Saturday. My headache was still here (but that could have been just ‘cos I’m tired).

F phoned me during the day on Saturday. He said that things were going rather well and he was going to be coming home that night so that we can go to a concert. He had booked it before he knew that he would be away and there had always been some doubt about whether he would be there.

He got home in the late afternoon and then we met up and went for a pizza at Liù (see link at side) – except Liù was full so we went to Time Out 2 instead. Then strolled down to Il’s flat and took a taxi with her to see Chiara Civello at Blue Note.

She was fabulous although I was so tired and we went to the second concert of that evening – it started at 11.30! He knows her because his ex, M, from Rome, knows her. After the concert we went backstage and I was introduced to her as ‘my new boyfriend’. I had been similarly introduced to someone who sat with us and was a friend from some time ago. She works for Moschino or somewhere like that.  It was then added that I was a ‘real man compared to S’ – which always makes me smile – although I never, ever make any comment, of course.

Anyway, there are a couple of Chiara’s tracks at the bottom. I hope you enjoy them. She was lovely, always smiling and the music is really good.

Yesterday, as F is away, I had promised A that I would do Sunday lunch for him and Fr – you know, the Roast Beef type of Sunday lunch, which F would not enjoy so much.

A had baked some bread which we had with something that was like a light pâté that F had brought back from Germany. There was goose-liver and reindeer – they were delicious and not at all heavy as pâté can be sometimes.

Then we had the roast beef and, with my new cooker, the perfect Yorkshire puddings – YAY! I will do a post with the recipe since it has never, except once, let me down. The only reason it didn’t work before was my old oven, I was sure – and this proved correct when, this time, they were well risen and light – just as they should be. Also, when I had been in France last year, I had bought some red horseradish sauce – and it was quite hot, which I liked.

After that we had Apple and Blackberry Crumble with whipped cream. This was all followed by cheese (including Stilton) and some rather fine port, bought for me by a colleague when he went to Portugal. The problem was that then I just couldn’t stop drinking it. I had to ‘force’ myself to stop, even after A & Fr left.

Anyway, they enjoyed it – as did I.

I spent the rest of the evening washing up :-).

F is back on Wednesday as that is the day that the new shop will open. I will be very happy when he is back, as will Dino. And Rufus who is a LOT better. Thanks for all your kind wishes.

Anyway, enjoy Chiara – these are some of my favourite songs of hers.

La Brace

Posted on by
Reply

And, whilst we’re talking about restaurants and food, I forgot to mention that, whilst we were on holiday, we went to F’s favourite restaurant.

Following a twisty road up the mountainside outside Carrara, one enters Liguria and up and up, to Montemarcello, clinging precariously to the mountainside and a small but perfectly formed restaurant.

Unfortunately, I have forgotten exactly what I had (I had lamb). I remember it was wonderful. F, who doesn’t eat meat, as you know, loves it all the same and has whatever vegetable options they have. The meat is cooked on an open, barbecue-style, wood-heated grill. The meat is first class. the whole meal was wonderful and we had a lovely time.

La Brace is well worth a trip if you’re anywhere near the south of Liguria. And, if it’s warm enough, sit outside under the pergola – a great atmosphere.

No words

Posted on by
6

“I really hope we go on and on”, he writes. He has had a wonderful year.

I am annoyed with myself that I didn’t get him a card now.

However, the cardigan was well accepted, so that’s good. And he added that he likes almost everything in Zara, so that’ll be the shop I use. He got me a camera which was lovely.

Saturday night we went to Taverna dell Lampara. Now, first off, I could not find any website in English where there was any review and so the link is only to Google Maps. We’ve been there a few times now and this was our choice since a) it is close to our houses, b) the food is superb and c) the atmosphere was perfect.

Unlike most restaurants in Italy, the lighting is subdued, meaning it is a little more romantic than most. They do fish – almost all fish, so don’t go there thinking there will be any meat. And, book – since they are almost always full. It is only a small restaurant (about 30 covers) and, unusually (compared to Giacomo, for example), the tables are larger and more spaced – meaning you’re not bumping elbows with your next door neighbour as you eat.

The service is quite good but everything is freshly cooked and so, sometimes, you have to wait a little. To start with, their bread is fantastic. Dark crusty bread – almost like a good crusty English loaf. Then they serve you some fish polpetta (meat ball) and some frittata (like a kind of omelete) – only small, just as a kind of sampler, if you like.

I had prawns and leeks as an antipasto, which was truly divine. The leeks just the right amount of flavour, not taking anything from the prawns. F had the usual raw tuna with uncooked fennel, very thinly sliced. We skipped the pasta (prima), as normal. I then had branzino (sea bass) cooked in a greaseproof paper parcel. This is different every time. This time was with slices of potato, olives and capers. It was lovely and cooked to perfection. F had, as usual, the Tuna with a sesame seed crunchy topping. For sweet, F had some chocolate mouse thing and I had some creamy thing with strawberries (I always seem to forget the sweets :-( ).

We had two bottles of Lighea – a white wine that F loves and it is very nice.

At the end of that we paid about €60 a head – however, it should have been more and we’re certain that they didn’t include one of the bottles of wine – even though I heard the young lad tell her that we had two.

So, not cheap but it is beautiful food and, as I mentioned, the atmosphere, with it’s low level lighting makes for a very romantic meal. It is one of the hidden gems of Milan. But you have to book.

Sunday, the actual day, was a nice day. We took the dogs for a shortish walk in the afternoon. F is still not feeling so good and, although it was sunny, it is not so warm now. And then, for most of the day I was cooking.

He brought some anchovies. These we buy from Carrefour and they are delicious. They are not done in some strong vinegar (as seems to be the norm) and, once open, are difficult not to finish. With some fresh crusty bread, they are wonderful.

I had arranged my new table, candles and everything. I had got a really nice couple of bottle of wine from ‘my’ wine shop. I put the remains of the mirto in the freezer.

He arrives whilst I am in the shower. “Oh, you’ve done Lemon Meringue Pie”, he says. Ah, so he’s brought something. No matter.

So, we had the anchovies first. Then I had done Roasted Tomato Soup with croutons and a basil paste. He wasn’t sure about the basil paste. He put a little in the soup but, after trying it, he kept adding more. He liked it! When we had finished the soup, he even got a piece of bread and spread some of the basil paste on it. I tried it and it was nice.

Next there was the sea bass, baked on a bed of pan-fried potatoes with a slightly hot (as it had chilli in it) sauce/filling. He’s not keen on bones but he said it was nice. I also did buttered leeks as a veg. He particularly loved the potatoes and the leeks.

For sweet we had a slice of the pie and a couple of little ramekins filled with different ice creams.

It was all lovely and I think he really enjoyed it all. He knew it had taken some effort and I think he was grateful for that.

I’m considering adding my favourite recipes to this site – just like I add my favourite restaurants. Particularly as some recipes I do are those handed down or that I have found over the years. Hmm, maybe.

Next time, I think I will do the sea bass recipe with fillets rather than whole fish. Less bones would be better, I think. Also, I think I would marinate the sea bass in the sauce – it would give a little more flavour to the sea bass.

Still, all in all, a great success and a lovely weekend.

And really, even if he doesn’t use words so much, I too, hope that we go on and on.

The day before you came. Only 365 days ago.

Posted on by
2

I sit here, at the new, old table. It is cold. Not freezing, just not so comfortable.

I have many things to do today. I have a plan. It is, after all, a year (tomorrow night) since we first met. I cannot believe it is a year already and, yet …….. is it only 365 days? It seems like less and more at the same time.

I like having a blog. It reminds me of things that I may have forgotten. For example, this is what I wrote about our meeting, before we met, as I was getting ready – “This one actually seems important but will, in all probability, end up like the rest.”

Well, it didn’t.

And, about the night we met, I wrote “I want this. I want him.”. And, I still do.

And this song came up recently and, although it is a little strange in that it is sung as if it’s not a good thing, for me it explains that there was a time before F and then the time after. So, enjoy, since I think it is one of their greatest songs anyway :-)

This isn’t right, I know, but what can I do?

Posted on by
Reply

He cut the eyebrows by using a comb to pull them out and then slicing them off. Oh, so that’s how it’s done, I thought. I was so close to my grandfather and his face was in profile to me. There was something about carrying bags – to the car – which had a suitcase or bag in it. I thought, briefly about taking the bags back to the ‘place’ and then going to get the bag from the car afterwards and then, as I was already halfway back to the car, decided to carry on.

V was there – somewhere. Next I knew I was in the car; he was driving; we were going down Broad Street, in Hereford, the magnificent Cathedral ahead. It was dark but not black – like it was early evening. An old couple were crossing the road, some lady with a stick or one of those walking frames, crossing slowly. V didn’t slow down. I almost curled up as we passed her at some ridiculous speed. “Oh, don’t be so stupid”, V said – or something like that.

I woke up. The dream left me with some uneasy feeling which I couldn’t (and still can’t) put my finger on. The first city wasn’t Hereford but somewhere else I know or knew or, maybe, a mix of places. It had steep streets. I realised I had slept really deeply. I checked my phone which had been lying on the bed next to me. I had missed a call – I mean, the phone had rung about half an hour before and I had not woken up. It was a deep, deep sleep.

I must have needed that, I thought. I’ll just have another 5 minutes, I thought, setting my alarm for half an hour later. But I couldn’t get back to sleep because of the dream and so got up anyway, had a cup of tea and got ready to go to A’s place.

I had only gone to lie down for 5 minutes in the first place, almost 2 hours ago.

It had been quite a busy day. It had been quite a successful day, all in all. But that was only stage 1. Stage 2 is today, with me sitting here, writing this, instead of getting on with the things I should do, procrastinating about doing some things because there are other things to be done which are less unpleasant but, still, I write this instead of doing anything. I don’t know why I do that. I wish I didn’t. Yesterday was an example.

It’s so hard to explain. There’s a fear that I have. It’s a fear of people or something. It’s a fear of situations. Situations that might be a little bit difficult; people that I don’t understand. And, yet, when I actually do the things, it usually is OK and, although I know that, it doesn’t stop me feeling this fear. It’s stupid. I tell myself it’s stupid and I know that it’s stupid but it doesn’t stop me.

Even yesterday.

I had intended to get up by 8 and walk the dogs and start doing the things I needed to do.

I got up at 8.30 and decided to have coffee before I took the dogs out. I had two coffees, doing not much except surfing the net and playing games and reading the news. I had set reminders on my phone. I reset the reminders as they came up. Just another half an hour, I thought – the real reason being that I didn’t want to go out. I’m sure that, without the dogs, who MUST be walked, I would spend most of my time like a hermit. It’s like addictive things (smoking) – I know what I’m like.

I’m sure I’m only a step away from becoming crazy.

Eventually, I set my ‘final’ deadline to leave. I must go. I have no choice but there are things that worry me about the whole day. There are four things to do for today. A chatted to me on Facebook, yesterday, meaning that there’s a fifth – but I may lie to him about that and say it wasn’t on the way. I reset my deadline. I reset it again. But, I must be at the first place before 12.30. And so, at one point I do make the effort.

It’s a bit of a drive. I know the way except, at one point, I realise that I have taken the wrong road. Damn! But my sense of direction is good and so I end up on the right road in the end. I drive to the place and park the car. I had toyed with the idea that I wouldn’t question anything – having to do it in Italian (or, rather, Italian and a mix of hand signals and miming). It would be easier to say nothing. I berate myself for thinking this. We shall see.

There’s no one in reception. I walk round to where it says ‘Office’. There’s a couple of guys there. One asks me what I want – or rather – ‘Tell me’ or ‘Speak to me’ – “Dimi”. I explain, in my really crap Italian, that I’ve brought the car in for a check and to pick up the car ownership documents. We go to the office. He tries to find someone from reception. He suggests they are having coffee and, this being Italy, I resign myself to the fact that the coffee break, being so important, I shall not see anyone for another 10 minutes. It’s OK, siamo in Italia.

The lady comes. I, kind of, explain what I want. Another guy takes my keys. I go through the explaining of the two problems. It’s a mix of Italian, English, miming and gesticulating. However, he seems to understand. The lady searches to find my documents, which she does. I ask her about the MoT Test (revisione, here). In the UK this is done when a car is three years old and then every year. She explains that, here, it is after four years and then every two years. I am quite pleased with that. It won’t be due until the end of next year.

The guy explains that the braking ‘problem’ is normal. He explains that the ‘pinking’ problem is because of some cheap fuel that contains water. I don’t believe him but say nothing. He suggests using different garages. We shall see. I never believe mechanics. But I can’t argue because I don’t really understand. It’s a bit like doctors. Still, I am quite pleased with myself. I asked about everything and got an answer on everything and I understood, which is always an achievement.

My next stop is equally ‘harrowing’. But it has to be done. And I have checked and double-checked what I am going for. I also checked the way since, to go directly from the garage would incur some stupid couple of euros in tolls and for the sake of a few kilometers, I have found an alternative route.

The alternative route takes me past the ‘fifth’ place. I decide that I will stop, after all. Looking costs nothing. I walk towards the back of the ‘store’. I know where they will be, more or less. I see ones that are done in the old style but are actually reproductions. €1000 or more – and that’s with the discount. No way! Anyway, they don’t look that good. I walk on to the second-hand stuff. There’s nothing like the one I found and that, after procrastinating for so long, missed it – it being scrapped as it had been there too long. But, wait! There is one that doesn’t look so bad. Nice size but covered with other stuff. I look underneath and can’t work out how it works although it is obviously extendible. I look at the price. I can’t work out the discount price. It looks like €200. It has four chairs around it. The chairs are not necessarily with the table but they do go with it, sort of. I wish I had someone else with me. I don’t like doing this stuff on my own.

Still, I remember the last time I was here and missing out on one which was, probably, Art Noveau and, so, I decide to bite the bullet.

I go the the front cash desk and ask the lady for help. My Italian is crap but, somehow, I manage. I amaze myself sometimes. She finds a guy for me and we walk to the table. He struggles with it but suggests that it is €200 as I suspected. I ask if I could see how the table was extended as it’s not possible to see without taking all the stuff off.

He gets someone to take the stuff off and pull it out so as to extend it. It is badly scratched in the centre – but nothing that can’t be fixed or, rather, nothing that can’t be fixed eventually. It’s a solid table. I’m not sure what period. Maybe fifties or, even, sixties but it’s solid and a good table. Not quite what I wanted but better than this bloody horrible IKEA desk that I’m sitting at now and making the lounge look so terrible (in my eyes). I think about waiting until F gets back from London and getting him to come with me and look but decide that, in doing that, I am just procrastinating and, who knows, maybe it will be gone in a week – just like the other one.

I ask about the chairs since I can’t find a price on them. The guy finds the price. They are €80. They are good, solid chairs. The seats are soft. The colour of their wood is almost that of the table. If I don’t get these then I would have to get some less comfortable ones that are new and cost €35 each. I phone A to ask if he can help me. I need a van to get them all to my place. I will have to hire one – but it will be cheaper than paying €200 for delivery by the people here (which is a crazy price and would mean taking a day off work, etc.). I explain about the €200 and the fact that it will be cheaper to hire a van for a day and do it that way. He agrees and says we can look later, when I go round for dinner. He asks if I want him to negotiate a discount. I say that I’m OK and I can do it myself (to be honest I hadn’t even thought about it). We discuss about doing it tomorrow and I ask them if they are open – which they are. We finish the conversation. I ask the guy for a discount. He says he has to go and find someone else. The first guy comes back and I suggest a price of €250 all in – making a point of the scratches on the top. He thinks about it and then goes away. He comes back and the deal is done.

So I pay the deposit and, feeling even more pleased with myself, get in the car for the next place which was, in fact, place 2. As I said before, I had selected the route to avoid the toll on the motorway. I picture the ‘map’ in my head. I go to the place. I hate this place with passion. It is full of cheap crap – but it’s cheap crap that does the job even if most of it won’t last like my new ‘old’ table. It is full of people that, I am sure, spend their whole weekend just walking around it, they are so slow and seemingly admiring the ‘set rooms’ that are there to show you how wonderful your home could be – if only you bought all your furniture from them. But they do cupboards and I want cupboards for the bathroom. I want to move towels out of the bedroom and I want my huge pack of toilet rolls to be not on show and not on the floor. Perhaps F is rubbing off on me?

I walk round the store, since I need to find the cupboards I want and note the code number and place to find them in the warehouse section. I also need to check which doors I want.

There is one saving grace about this place (other than it’s cheapness for cupboards) and that is the meatballs. Swedish meatballs with gravy and redcurrant sauce and chips. But, I am on my own and it’s another thing to fear (the mass of people, the sitting on one’s own, the having no one to talk to, the mass of people (yes, I know I mentioned it twice but I really do dislike being around all these people – these kind of people)). I find the cupboards and the doors and make notes with the conveniently supplied pencil on the conveniently supplied checklist. It’s all very convenient – except for the mass of people who, quite obviously, are here to wander and, generally, get in my way. Of course, I am much later here than I had originally intended to be – but only through my own fault.

I go, as fast as I can, dodging the fat people who, walking as fast as snails and three abreast or more, block the pathways. I am irritated but not so much as usual because I have, after all, already accomplished a lot (in my head, anyway). I reach the end of the ‘showroom’ and I see the restaurant. It is mid-day. I decide that I will treat myself to the meatballs. The queue is long. There are so many children. The man in front of me, when we reach the place to pick up the trays, is on the telephone. Obviously he has ‘gone ahead’ to get the stuff whilst his family or friends (or both) trail behind. Now he is here, having to make selections and the others are not. He is reading out what is available. The person on the other end is obviously passing it to the other people and then relaying it back to him. I find this annoying since it means he is taking too long to decide. But I cannot be angry – I am too fearful. I concentrate on anything other than him. The children are, in general, bored. I can’t say I blame them. Me too!

I decide on 15 meatballs. You have the choice of 10, 15 or 20 – all conveniently priced. 15 seems the right choice. Not greedy but enough. It seems that I don’t get my proper portion of chips but I’m not complaining. It will be enough. I grab a beer and a glass and queue up to pay. It’s less than 10 Euro so reasonable value for money. The place is bursting. People have ‘bagged’ their table by dumping coats and bags on seats. I toy with picking a table with a ‘spare’ seat, knowing that it will probably annoy them but decide not to. Who needs the hassle? I find a woman sitting on her own at a table of four. I ask if the seat diagonally opposite is free. It is. I sit and eat and enjoy my meatballs. Perhaps I shouldn’t eat them as I’m going to dinner later but, what the heck!

I go down to the warehouse part, through the kitchen stuff and the storage boxes, etc. I go to the warehouse. People now have big trolleys which they can’t steer and there’s even less consideration of others. I steer mine to the place I want. I pick up the flat-pack boxes containing the cupboards. I move on and pick up the boxes containing the doors. I worry that I haven’t picked up the right stuff so check the codes again and the colours again, marked on the edge of the shelves. It should be OK but I have no one with me to confirm – like everything today. I go to the check out. They have the ‘do-it-yourself’ ones. I’m happier with those. After all, It means speaking to less people. There is one free and the helpful assistant sees me hesitate before waving me through. I check out. It’s all the price it is supposed to be.

I load it into the car. There is someone waiting to have my place and the man has got out to safeguard the place. I unload my stuff but then have to take the trolley to one of the trolley areas. Instead of saying that he will do it for me or do it after they have parked he just stands there. I decide to make my own little protest. Having got in the car I spend a few moments organising myself and not rushing as I would have done if he had offered to take the trolley. There! That’ll show ‘em!

I drive home, more pleased with myself at having done everything I meant to (and more – now that I have the table) and it is still only about 1 o’clock. I unload everything and get it home.

But, still I haven’t finished. I have to go out again to the ‘3rd’ place. Again, not only venturing out of the flat but also having to put up with lots of people. I make myself tea. But I have to go and do this thing. Well, I don’t HAVE to but I want to. It’s for F. Of course, this has the added ‘fear’ in that, this is the first time I will do this and is it the right thing to do? I mean to say, it’s a risk. If it had been V there would be no risk but F is different and I don’t know him that well or, rather, not well enough. Still, as we walked past the shop the other night, he said that he really liked them.

I go. I have to get on the tube. Every move I make is hard. I just want to go home and do …. nothing but at least I wouldn’t be here, with all these people around. I get on the tube train. I feel self-conscious. I stare straight ahead, seeing myself in the reflection of the window. I am an old man. Do other people see that too? I am slightly shocked when I look. The wrinkles, the sagging face, the flappy neck. I don’t feel like this but know I am like this. But what do others see? It’s like the liver spots. They have appeared, on my hands and arms, in the last year or so. Mostly faint and only a few. It’s not really a problem, just a reminder. And, yet, I’m not ready for it. It’s not like I really care it’s just that, it seems to creep up on me and I can’t see myself in the way that I see others and, so, I am curious as to what others see.

I get out of the tube and walk up the road. The streets are thronged with people. Too many people. Strolling around on this Saturday afternoon. But not many bags. That’s the thing to look for. How many people have bags. There’s a crisis. The shops are full but not enough people buying; not enough consumers to pay of the debts or, rather, increase the debts to put more money in the system. I go to the shop. OK. I’ve picked the blue one. That’s the one I like most. I go in. First you have to find where they are. There are three or four floors. I go to each one. Eventually I find it – the blue one. They are on a shelf above me. I get them down. The sizes are L or XL – I want medium or small. I could ask. If only I knew, for certain, who were the assistants since, these days, people don’t wear uniforms. It’s to give everyone the feeling that we are all equal or something. It’s all casual. As if the assistants are supposed to be like your friends rather than someone there to assist you. I guess. I prefer not to speak to anyone. I decide that I won’t ask. Normally, these days, they’ll just say they only have what’s on the shelf anyway. I think I’ll go to the one on Corso Buenos Aires. I get back on the tube and go to Lima. I get out and walk up to the shop. I realise that I haven’t actually spoken to anyone in hours. Even if I am surrounded by so many people. In fact, I haven’t spoken to anyone since I did the deal with the table!

I go into the shop. They don’t have quite the same things as the other store. I wander round. I can’t see the blue one. But I find a grey one that seems similar. Grey and red. I try it on. It fits me so it should be OK. I take it and go to pay. I hand over the item. My credit card doesn’t work. The cashier explains. I ask him to try it again since I know that the card is OK – I used it in IKEA, after all. It still doesn’t work so I use the debit card. I leave. Now I worry about the purchase. What if it is too large? What if it isn’t one that he likes? I shall leave the price tags on in case he doesn’t like it. I have to try this the once, at least. If he doesn’t like it then I can always use it. It would be OK for work, if nothing else.

I realise that, as I am going to dinner tonight, I should go and get some wine from my ‘wine shop’. Now this is fine. For this I have no fear. I don’t know why this is. After all, this is another case of me having to rely on someone else. However, I quite like the guy and he always says ‘hello’ to me if I’m passing the shop and he’s outside. Also, I can trust him. I say what type of thing I want and he will tell me the different ones I can choose – and he’s never let me down yet! I tell him I want a white wine, not sparkling or fizzy and dry. He points me to some. Telling me how each one is good. I select one. I love his shop. On the counter are some bottles of beer and cider. One group is for Bulmer’s Original cider. I smile to myself. This is from home, after all and it’s funny to see that whilst being in a foreign country, there is a little bit of Herefordshire, even here. And no one knows – like it’s a secret between myself and, well, myself.

I need to go to the supermarket. I could go to Unes, round the corner, or go home, drop off these bags and then go to the local Carrefour. I don’t like Unes, really. Or, rather, I don’t like the assistants. And, more particularly, I prefer the milk from Carrefour. I walk home, down my street, which is long. I am struck (again, after all this time) how my street is like it’s own special place; it’s like a village in the centre of town. I love my street.

I get home and drop off the bags and go straight out to get the shopping I need. I have decided to get some DVDs and CDs – to copy some of the stuff I have on the computer to play in the car and stuff. The tills are almost empty. I pick the one with the woman that reminds me of the woman that used to work for my grandmother when she had the post office. She always seems so miserable though but she’s OK. I ask her about the CDs and DVDs. She says I have to get them from the desk (where the expensive or easily-stealable stuff is kept). I don’t fully understand at first and ask if I have to pay for them over there. She explains that I have to get them and then bring them to her. I do so and as I return she says “give me”. Smiling as she does so. I laugh and tell that she speaks perfect English. I say that in Italian, of course. It pleases me because I know she is another of the cashiers that I will like and will be OK in the future.

>I go home. I am so tired. I will just go and have a lie down for a bit.

I think of the day and know that making the effort was worth it. I did many things. I know that my fear isn’t right, nor logical but what can I do about it? Every step outside, on my own is such a big deal in my head. I worry that, one day, it will become too much. I worry that Best Mate and I have too much in common – have this in common and, one of these days, it will become a hurdle I can’t get over. For sure, it isn’t right, I know, but what can I do?

I am a sex god!

Posted on by
12

Whoops! Of course, although the title may have got your attention (and, as a result I’ll probably get even more spam comments), I forgot to add a ‘y’!

Yes, the title should have read I am a sexy god ……… apparently. :-)

People have said, in the past, that I have a nice voice. I have been called upon to read things in groups, etc., as a result. When I did my certificate for TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language), the group asked me to read a poem out loud to the class. Well, to be precise, N asked me to read it but the others agreed. When we were at the Hay Festival, one time, I was asked to read the English translation for an Italian guy.

As an aside, that leads to a story that I used to give to my English classes about pronunciation. Italians find it so hard to pronounce our words correctly. In Italian, apart from the stress (which I find very difficult) and the single and double consonants (where I hear no difference but the Italians do), you pronounce the word according to the way it is spelt. In English, of course, this is not so. Take bough, cough, tough and hiccough as examples. And so, having never seen the text of this passage before, I came across a word, in English that I had never seen before. The word was gelid. If I had thought only in Italian, I would have pronounced it like jellied but I was in the UK and for me it could also have been with a hard ‘g’ as in gelding.

Since I had no way of being able to tell how to pronounce it and no time to look it up, I went with the hard g. When I came back to the audience, Flo, the wife of the man who started the festival, whispered to me how well I had read and said how glad she was that she wasn’t reading it because she would never have known how to pronounce the word and how on earth did I know? I explained that I didn’t. Looking it up afterwards, since I was already teaching English, I found, of course, that it should have been pronounced as jellied – but how does one really know in English?

But, back to the headline story.

I had to ring the garage about my car. The guy only speaks about two words of English and so I had to speak in my (bad) Italian. After I had finished, S, my colleague was laughing. She explained it like this:

‘I’m sorry that I laugh but it’s so strange to hear you speak in Italian. You don’t sound the same. When you speak English you speak very well (sic) – your voice is ….. umm …. sexy. When you speak in Italian it is different and it seems like a child’.

This is not the first time. Apparently I have a sexy voice :-)

OK, but why ‘god’ you may well ask?

Last night we went round to F’s place. I know he has lots of things to do so it is much easier for him and no real bother for me. Anyway, the dogs get their walk and so it’s fine.

It’s now a little chilly but because he had been working round the flat he was warm. Still, as he was closing the windows, the shoes which were out on the balcony, airing, needed to be moved.

‘Is it going to rain?’, he asked.

No, it was not, I assured him.

Yesterday, I was asked by two people in the office about the weather tonight and the weather at the weekend. I feel like a god! Actually, I use a site called Meteo Blue. It is a forecast so not always perfect, particularly more than a day or two in advance and it does change every few hours (if the forecast changes) but it is the most reliable weather forecast site I have found. You select your country and start typing your city – it will list all the possible options. I cannot say what it is like for other countries but for Italy it is pretty damned good.

And so, I am a god (apparently) who has a sexy voice. Not quite the same as being a sex god but you get my drift, yes? (as they say in Italy).

The mist spills over the mountain top

Posted on by
2

The mist spills over the top of the mountain as if it is a waterfall. The mountain is not black but, rather, dark grey. The sky, over there, a long way away, is bright and white. Here it is raining. The heating is turned up in the car – at least, in the car, I have heating!

Autumn is here with a vengeance!

Friday night was rain, Saturday rain for half the day, Sunday sun and warmth and this morning rain again and cold. Nope, I like summer (and spring if it’s warm enough and not like this year).

There are a ton of half-finished posts – I just couldn’t get my head round them to finish them. Maybe this will be another. I did do lots of little odd jobs around the house (as F was working), which was good. It was only little things – but it makes a difference and makes me happier. Still a lot to do though.

Things have happened that, really I should have mentioned before; that I did mention in those half-finished posts but of which you, of course, know nothing. So let’s tell you something, at least.

R&Al, with whom we went out for a meal (or, rather, R, whilst we were having a cigarette, outside Baia Chia) told me that, in all the time they have known F, he has never spent so much time in Carrara! I thought, at the time he told me, of how lovely that was. Since then (and, in particular, this morning), I’ve been thinking that, perhaps there is another reason. My own paranoia stepping in and leading me to doubt the motives. I force myself to put those thoughts aside since it is highly unlikely that they have any basis in fact.

A few days ago (or maybe a week or two, now), F said that he would ‘like to go away for Christmas, just you, me and the bambini’. Obviously, the holiday was even better than I thought it was. It was very relaxing and he would like the same thing for Christmas, except ……. before this statement …….

Well, it seems (according to R) that he used to spend nearly every Christmas in Vienna (his favourite city). As such, his friend, Fi, phoned and he agreed that we would go there this Christmas (after he had checked with me) and, so, Fi found us a flat in the centre for us to stay with the dogs. To be honest, even if it will be cold, it should be lovely. And it is his favourite city and one to which I have never been, so it’s time. In addition, Fi is a very good friend of his (who I have not yet met) and is married to a guy who is a chef by trade – so just imagine how spectacular Christmas lunch/Christmas Eve dinner would be! Yes, I said, of course I would love to go. And, if there is snow………for Christmas……..how wonderful that would be!

But, we shall see what happens. However, we have been talking about how we should spend our 1st anniversary. I know, a whole year! Hahahaha. This time last year, we had only chatted online. The restaurant we choose (for it will be celebrated over dinner, of course) will be one of our favourites. Probably Giacomo’s. It won’t be L’Assassino, which is where we were on Saturday night, even if it is a lovely restaurant with 1st-class service. In the end, it is similar to Giacomo’s and the real cost was €154 for the two of us – anitpasto, secondo, dolce, l’aqua e vino – but I had a voucher meaning that, on Saturday night, we paid €54! Of course, the voucher (for €100) cost me €50 about three months ago via City Deal.

I did wonder if it would really work. The basic concept is this. A company (restaurant, hotel, gym, etc.) offer a deal – in this case – €100 voucher for €50. If you want to go for it (you have to be signed up to do this), you click on the appropriate button within the 24 hours that the ‘deal’ is active (each deal is available for only 24 hours). However, that doesn’t mean you get the voucher. The company have set the minimum number of people that must take up the offer before it is effected. If, at the end of the 24 hours, enough people have signed up for the deal then they email you the voucher which you print out.

In this case (and another that I have for another restaurant), you book the restaurant, go and eat and then, when you ask for the bill, show them the voucher. I did expect a bit of a fight and half-expected that I would be told that ‘you had to tell us at the time you booked, sir!” but no, none of that. Just a ‘Ah, you have a voucher’, then the bill with the explanation as to how much we were to pay and that was that.

It worked fabulously. Next is a restaurant near my flat and one which I have wanted to go to for ages. Unfortunately, it is a meat restaurant and so the intention is to go with A, later this week. I’ll let you know.

One downside to this City Deal is that you get two emails per day with offers (it used to be one) – each one lasting until 23.59 of that day, so no chance to go and see first, if you see what I mean. However, it was a really good first experience of both City Deal and L’Assassino.

And now we have entered the ‘stressful period’. Last week was Milan Fashion Week, with the Showroom Sales in full swing (hence the working all weekend). Towards the end of this week is a two-day trip near Venice, followed almost immediately by Friday and the weekend in London. And then, in November (for he plans his stresses in advance), he will be away every week.

On the plus side, as we were walking back through the centre of Milan, past the Duomo and up Corso Vittorio Emanuele II, we passed the Zara shop and we looked in the windows (as it’s part of his job, he can never resist) and he saw a cardigan that he said he really liked. So that sorts the anniversary present, then :-) and that I can get on Saturday, whilst he’s away – and, maybe, go to IKEA and get some cupboards for the bathroom so I can tidy up a bit more of the flat – I have a goal, after all!