Tag Archives: Friends and Inimies

It is as it is.

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Nearly, nearly done.

The cocktail cabinet is in the wrong place. And, by that I mean that we both agree that the place where I have put it is wrong. It will have to be moved and the chest of drawers that is in the hall will have to be moved to make room for it. Where the chest of drawers is to go, I have no idea!

The final bit is the final payment which will be done tonight. And then it is finished, done, complete. Phew!

F arrived home last night. PaC continues to go through good days and bad days. I asked how his mum was. He said that she seems OK but he really couldn’t tell. Sometimes, with the exception of his sister, they seem more English, with the stiff upper lip, than English people.

He should be going away to Venice at the end of the week but he’ll cancel. He should go to Greece next week but he’ll cancel. It’s all a bit uncertain.

But J comes on Thursday. And the weather is quite spring-like which seems likely to continue. I keep thinking of what to do when J is here. So, I thought maybe of going to the lakes (Lake Orta, Lake Maggiore) if the weather stays good. I had thought of taking her to Villa Litta where they have a fantastic water garden but, unfortunately, it is only open from May through to October.

But I have some ideas for a rather gentle time, strolling through Milan, etc. Nothing too strenuous. We shall see but, in any case, I’m looking forward to it. How much F will be here, of course, all depends but I’m planning that he’s away most of the time.

It is as it is. And nothing I can do will change this.

Nothing to say

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PaC has been in hospital but came home yesterday.

Normally, of course, this would be a good thing but, just like F’s aunt, last year, this is not. There is nothing more they can do. It could be a matter of hours, days or, I suppose, even weeks.

F had been back for just over 2 days. Yesterday he went down again. His back problem has returned and he needs injections to enable him to keep going. This has been brought about by the stress. I don’t like to see him like this but there is nothing I can do.

Apparently, PaC, just like his aunt, is asleep most of the time. That’s probably better for everyone. So, F will get only snatches of time with PaC now. It is better than nothing. When he left to come back home on Sunday afternoon, apparently PaC woke up and asked for him which, I suppose, made him feel a bit guilty that he wasn’t there.

Of course, he says nothing of how he really feels. I can only guess by the occasional loud sigh that he makes. And his back. And the other things that are wrong with him (not sleeping, earaches, etc.)

Next week we have J coming. We have tickets for the opera at La Scala. At the moment, of course, I don’t know if he will be here at all, let alone for the opera. But I don’t worry him about that. After all, J is a lovely person and really such an easy person to look after. She talked to me last weekend and asked if she should cancel coming. I said “no” and F agreed when I told him.

I have nothing else to say. There is nothing else to say.

Getting my stuff back

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I was apprehensive.

The text messages had been weird. Too familiar, too intimate. It had given me unease. I concentrated on the body of the text. We agreed on prices. Then there was a sudden “Can you give me some money in advance.” I see that nothing has changed. And, of course, I know very well how people, in general, are “dealt with” and so I know the tone really means nothing. It all is, after all, a great big lie.

Still, I have this strange feeling of unease as if, any moment now, I’m going to be hit with some information that I really won’t like. It shouldn’t affect me but I’m wary in case, in some way, it does. In my head, the answer is “no” to any question regarding loans.

As usual, I’m asking “Why?” Of course, on the surface, it’s plain and simple but my experience tells me that nothing is quite as it appears. He’s not doing this as a favour for me, how ever prettily it’s all wrapped up; nor is it in memory of “us”. I don’t believe that one for a second. Still, it’s odd.

I had a text the night before confirming everything but saying that he had “no electricity” to recharge the batteries on his phone as the electricity has been cut off. The story of this is both funny and ironic. Apparently. I suspect it’s neither funny nor ironic. I’m not even sure if he understands the word ironic. He’ll tell me tomorrow, apparently.

The day dawns and I find myself nervous. I’m nervous, in part, because I’m wondering how I’ll feel seeing the things that, in the main, I bought, being “left” or “thrown away” or “sold” (if he can find a buyer which, at such short notice is hardly likely). Will I feel sad? Will I feel some draw? In spite of myself. I’m also worried that I will be hit with some information which leads to a request where I will have to say “no”.

I’m nervous about the dinner service that I will be getting. Maybe F won’t like it with his “minimalist” approach. Ah well, it can always go down to the cellar. I shall have it anyway. And the chair. And the cocktail cabinet. The rest I’ve said “no” to. After all, where would we put it? Come to think of it, where will we even put the cocktail cabinet? Another for the cellar? These things I only left behind with some sadness. I guess, the difference would be that it wasn’t because they were “us” but because of the few things I have left from the UK, they were things that I really liked.

I had people over for dinner the previous night. Take-away Indian. Just for a change. There was FfI, FfC and L. I told them about the exchange of emails and the agreement we had reached. They weren’t happy. I got the feeling that they didn’t trust me. Or him? FfI reminded me of a comment he made all those years ago of “I could get him back any time I want.” He wasn’t right then and is certainly not right now. But my friends are worried.

“Have you told F?”, I am asked. I haven’t. Their question is heavy with alternate meanings. I do understand but they don’t apply. And, yet, my friends are incredulous that I haven’t mentioned it. I haven’t mentioned it because he has hardly been here since last week and he has more than enough to worry about, what with PaC and the rest of the family. He is tired and under stress and this is of no consequence.

But that is not the real question, is it? The real question is “Is F comfortable with you seeing him?” It’s so hard to explain that it’s OK. At least, I’m sure it’s OK. We don’t work “like that” and never have. It cannot be explained and, to be honest, until I met F, I wouldn’t have understood or believed it either. It’s called total trust and it’s what I like about our relationship and I refuse to be deterred by people who cannot believe in it.

But, you know, for a moment, they put doubt in my mind.

But, I find it impossible to explain because it’s not in other people’s experience so they don’t know how it could possibly work. Of course, everything was fine, as I expected.

So, I drive to the place. His house. I park nearby and ring the doorbell. I’ve forgotten which floor. I thought it was the 7th. Turns out it is the 4th. I am let in and introduced to Max. I don’t ask who Max is because, quite frankly, I don’t care. I see the stuff in the hall. There’s a LOT! CDs in bags. The dinner service in bags, wrapped in sheets and pillow cases because neither V nor I have newspaper or any packing material. I hope nothing gets damaged.

I wonder if it will all fit in. I note that the chair is broken. It wasn’t like that when I left. But, it can be repaired and I will get it repaired. It’s also not so clean. In fact, I decide to have a cigarette first before starting to load the car. I sit in the kitchen with Max whilst the DVDs are packed. Max tells me he’s not a good cook but he had made cous-cous for lunch. He’s right, it looks dreadful.

Whilst sitting in the kitchen I notice how filthy everything is. I’m used to living with F where cleaning is like a drug. It’s not here and it makes me feel uncomfortable and dirty. Funny how quickly my standards have changed.

We load the car. Everything fits. I pay most of the rest of the agreed price, keeping some back for the delivery of the cabinet. I will get that on Monday evening, apparently. Just in case, I’ve kept some back.

I get home and unload everything.

F arrives back earlier than expected, just as I’m cleaning the kitchen floor. He sees the service and really likes it. I am relieved. He also likes the chair. I am doubly relieved. He’s also happy to go through the CDs (although he will already have most of them.) And, since he came home on Sunday, we’ve been thinking about where to put the cabinet.

Although, surprise, surprise, I don’t have that yet.

Now promised for Thursday. We shall see.

But the unsurprising bit of news has been given – the deposit money for the new flat may not be available. I’ve ignored it. And, on Thursday, in my wallet, will be exactly €50 more than we’ve agreed. Which will be perfect.

And, then it will be done. Done and finished – the end of it all.

Maybe.

A long weekend with an old, old friend

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What I really need now is a weekend off.

I am, in fact, completely fucking exhausted. The last four days have been just constant activity. And, for almost all of it, F has not been here. PaC is not good so he was down there for a couple of days and then he had to go to London for work. So, it was just me and I feel like I just want to relax now.

But, back to the long weekend, (since Lola is so insistent). It was exhausting because D wanted to walk everywhere. I do understand but, obviously, for me, living here means that I don’t need to see everything so the metro is fine.

But we walked. And walked. And bloody walked. Then, whilst they were relaxing in their hotel I would be out walking the dogs, of course. And then walking them in the morning and in the evening. I actually feel like I don’t want to walk for a week.

Or eat for a week when it comes to it. From my usual one meal a day to breakfast, lunch AND dinner. I am stuffed.

So, there it is. After around 30 years of not seeing each other, D was just the same. A little older, true, but really just the same. And I’d forgotten how much he talks. We would be in a restaurant and we (J, his partner and I) would have finished eating whilst he had been talking, so his food was cold (I imagine). And still he would talk. And talk.

And, what did we do besides walk and talk (or listen) and eat?

Well, not much as it happens. They didn’t want to go inside anywhere. I did take them to Villa Necchi – but I think I only got away with that because it poured with rain on the Saturday. And, so, being inside was a good thing. They said they wanted to soak up being in Italy, so I did my best to give them that.

On the first day, we walked to the centre of the city (via the flamingos off Corso Venezia), past the Duomo, into the Galleria to the front of La Scala then up to Brera where we had lunch. Then around Brera and on to the the Castle and then back down to the Duomo and back to their hotel via Via Della Spiga and the park. That evening we went to Ristoranti Al Grigliaro where we ate fish (this is because J really likes fish and so does F and F was only going to be with us for that night for certain.)

The next day, F was at work. I met them at their hotel which was close to our flat and we strolled through Porta Nuova (the brand new area of Milan), stopping for ice-cream (it was J’s first time in Italy), walking down Corso Como (we stopped in to take a look round Corso Como 10 a famous designer shop/café/restaurant which also has a bookshop and an exhibition space) and then on to Eataly where we had lunch. From there, down Corso Garibaldi and back to the centre and straight back to Corso Buenos Aires. That evening we went to eat at the Cantinetta Belle Donne so that F could get home easily if it got late.

The next morning, early, F left for London. I had some errands to do so I ended up at their hotel about mid-day. We went to La Belle Aurore for a simple lunch and then to Villa Necchi Campiglio (the villa that featured in the film I Am Love). The nice thing was that, this time, we had the tour with a guide who spoke English (rather than a recorded tape) and, as there were only 6 of us, we saw a couple of rooms that I hadn’t seen before (the bigger groups don’t get to see them). In addition, they had finished the work on the basement so we got to see the Butler’s pantry and what had originally been the changing rooms for the swimming pool and the snooker room. That evening, in spite of the persistent rain, we went down to Navigli (we took a tram) and had an aperitivo (with mountains of “free” food) and then a pizza at Fabbrica – they loved the pizzas.

By the next morning, it had almost stopped raining. By 10.30 we were on our way to via Paolo Sarpi, the “Chinatown” of Milan for the New Year’s celebrations. We got there early and walked about. We couldn’t get in to any of the Chinese restaurants but went to a Sardinian place off piazza Gramsci (Ristorante Giulia) and came out just before the parade started.

As J comes from Taiwan, he was able to explain the procession – the Emperor, the concubines, the courtiers, the common people, the wedding party with the bride and groom, etc. So it made it much more interesting.

Then, even before the thing was over, we were back on the bus to their hotel as they had a plane to catch and I had a lesson.

It was really nice to see D again, after all these years. And J, his partner was lovely. There weren’t any “difficult” moments and it was all very easy (if exhausting) and I think they enjoyed it very much. It was unfortunate that F didn’t get to spend more time with them. But I think they did get a flavour of Italy, which was important.

And in a few weeks, my friend, J, is coming for a few days and a trip to La Scala, so that will be nice.

A change in feeling

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So, I mentioned before that a friend is coming to Milan who I haven’t seen for more than 35 years. And, I mentioned that I was a little bit apprehensive. After all, we’ve kept in touch by Christmas and birthday cards only. Not even letters or stuff. So I don’t really know much about him over all these years.

At one point, the cards started to come with J’s signature. I guess that was about 10 years ago or more. I’ve seen some Facebook stuff and J appears to be Chinese or of Chinese origin (in fact, I learn, Taiwanese.)

They’re coming tomorrow.

We’ve exchanged phone numbers. And last night, we talked. It was so strange. It was him and it seemed like, apart from knowing almost nothing about each others’ lives over the intervening years, we’d always been in touch. Which, of course, is very good.

In his words, they want to “soak up the atmosphere.” They mean, of being in Italy, of course.

And that made me think. I’ve been here so long now that I don’t see things as different or strange. Or, at least, not so much. So I’m having to rethink. To try to remember what makes Italy different from being in the UK. What makes you go “ooh!”

Aperitivo is one thing. I’ll have to pick some places to go. Eating outside isn’t really on right now, unfortunately. Ice-cream, of course. Pizza. Coffee at the bar. Coffee near the Duomo, sitting and watching the people, even it’s it’s outrageously expensive. The places we should go.

I’m gong to take a couple of days off work. F doesn’t really understand this. He thinks it strange. But, then, even if he’s lived in the UK, he doesn’t quite understand us that well.

Anyway, he’s hardly going to be here. Sadly, PaC is not good and he’s going down for a couple of days. Then, on Saturday, he has to go to London for meetings. I’m not sure when he will be back. Possibly Tuesday. So, in the end, he’ll just have dinner with us a couple of times. But that will probably be enough for him.

So, now I’m quite looking forward to seeing D and meeting J. It should be nice.

I don’t think I will like it (even if I have no idea what it is)

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He pulls a face.

“Ugh!”, he says.

I think: Oh fuck, he doesn’t like it. Oh well, I’ve done it now. Perhaps it’s the hazelnuts? Or the meringue? Or the combination?

I’d just thanked him. He’d been to the supermarket and brought back some raspberries. He knows they’re my favourite fruit. I’d said, enthusiastically, “Oh, great! They’ll be perfect to go with the sweet.” Which they would be. After all, fruit and nuts go together well. And raspberries and hazelnuts would be a perfect combination.

However, of course, I wasn’t thinking. He didn’t know I had picked this dessert. He had assumed it would be something along the lines of what I had mentioned before. And I had forgotten that I had mentioned something else.

So the response of “Ugh!” came from him asking me what I was doing and me replying, Hazelnut Meringue.

Now, I’ve absolutely no idea what he thought Hazelnut Meringue actually was. But, he didn’t like the “sound” of it. Apparently.

We were doing dinner for a couple. In fact, she was my first landlady in Milan, when V and I came for 3 months to check it out, to see if we really wanted to come and live here and to find a flat to live in. Since then, we’ve kept in touch because she’s really lovely. Well, she really isn’t Italian, in many ways. She had several different types of job and keeps trying new things – radical changes to her life. The latest is that she’s set up a business in Australia. And she’s back for a couple of weeks so, as Saturday was almost the only day we could do it, we opted for dinner chez nous.

I had asked her if there was anything they didn’t eat and she said she was intolerant to gluten (Coeliac) but that one night wouldn’t matter. However, if someone tells you they have problems with a particular thing, you have to do your best to accommodate, don’t you? And so, we had to really think about what we were going to do. Out went all pies/cakes and things like that.

We decided the main would be the salmon and courgette fish cakes that I had in the freezer. So the first course was going to be F’s chickpea soup with fried prawns, I would do the fishcakes with some buttered carrots and fennel and then we needed a sweet. I had said, that morning, that I would probably do something with chocolate. But, then, F had to pop to the shop to change his password and, whilst he was away, I suddenly remembered the hazelnut meringue that I hadn’t made for over 30 years. I had the recipe from the time when I went to night school and took a Cordon Bleu cookery course. I had no idea if it would work OK or not but I had, for some time now, wanted to re-try it.

So that’s what I told him when he came back with the raspberries and that’s when I got the disappointment of him not liking it.

Except, I should (and, for that matter, he should too) know better. He didn’t like the sound of it but, really, he had absolutely no idea what it was.

I made the two layers of the hazelnut meringue which were to be sandwiched together with whipped cream with a little coffee flavour and then to be decorated with whipped cream, hazelnuts and, now, a few raspberries.

I cooked the meringue. Unfortunately, I didn’t have two good size baking trays and so, for one of the layers, I used a roasting tin. I was worried about it turning out OK given that it had deep sides but I needn’t have worried. The cooking of it wasn’t the problem. the problem was the “getting it out of the tin in one piece” on which I failed comprehensively. So, there, cooling, was a perfect layer and a layer that was more representative of a jigsaw puzzle. However, I knew I could put that as the base and “put it together” so that it wouldn’t really be noticed.

F suggested that, instead of trying to put the base together, I should just crumble it on top of the other one. It was, in fact, either something like a meringata or a brutti ma buoni. Apparently. So he said.

But I was curious as to his sudden interest in it.

“Have you tried it?” I asked, slightly accusingly. And, yes, he had. And, yes he liked it. In fact, he loved it. And this is not the first time, of course. I stopped him “picking” at the broken one, which is what he was doing.

So, I have to remember, next time he pulls a face or says he doesn’t like something, to say that he should trust me and remind him of fruit crumble (another occasion where he had said he “hated” it …… until he tried it) and hazelnut meringue.

In the meantime, here are some photos:

Hazelnut Meringue (sadly, NOT how mine looked although it still looked quite good):

hazelnut meringue

NOT my hazelnut meringue, sadly

Meringata:

Meringata

Meringata – a bit like hazelnut meringue – without the hazelnuts

Brutti ma buoni:

Brutti ma buoni

Brutti ma buoni – a smaller version of hazelnut meringue

Spring cleaning every day.

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“Look!” he says, showing me the cloth in his hand. It has dirt on it.

“Bravo,” I respond.

He’s not really happy with my response. But no response I could make would be good enough.

“When I did the kitchen, it only took me a few minutes to do the top of the kitchen cupboards because we did them before Christmas.” “WE” didn’t do them, of course, but that’s a moot point. He continues, “This is from the cupboard in the hall. That’s why if you do it often it’s not as bad as this.”

He’s right, but ……

Nobody will look on top of the cupboard. To do so, they would need to get a pair of stepladders and climb to the top.

But, that’s not the point.

The flat was cleaned yesterday. But, this morning, it seems like we’re doing a whole spring clean thing. That’s because, tonight we’re having a party. Well, kind of. He invited a few of his colleagues, one of whom told everyone so now we have invited everyone. I say “we” when actually I mean “he”.

Of course, I don’t mind at all but he is forever apologising about it. More than that/worse than that is that he won’t let me do anything. I can’t buy anything, I can’t make anything, and, of course, I can’t clean anything. Except the dogs. I’m permitted to do them. And, after much insistence, I make my little ricotta and courgette tartlets. Better than nothing.

But, he spends all day doing this cleaning. The day before, even if the cleaner was round, he did the kitchen – including the top of the kitchen units. Everything must be perfectly clean.

It has to be some sort of obsessive compulsive disorder. I mean to say, it’s nice to have everywhere clean, but the pressure and stress that goes with it (he gets quite grumpy because he always runs out of time) is a bit over the top.

Everything must be perfect for guests – especially his guests who, of course, expect everything to be perfect because it always is.

It feels like we have spring cleaning every day!

[From Saturday]

I guess it was a bit of a shock!

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“It will be quite hot,” I suggested.

“I come from Calabria,” was the reply. And, it is true that Southern Italy cuisine tends to use chillies in their food, making it a little hot.

But, this was Indian food and Indian food uses a variety of spices that can numb your mouth in ways that chillies really can’t. But, we’re in Italy and, after all, Indian food here is certainly not like Indian food in the UK. No, no, not nearly as hot as it can be in the UK.

I was having my usual Lamb Balti. On the menu it has two chillies against it meaning it is one of the two hottest/spiciest things on the menu. I love it.

A had chosen Chicken Madras. If we had been in the UK I would have said he shouldn’t have it. Here, I couldn’t really say that even though it was the only other item on the menu with the two-chilli sign. However, I was a bit concerned. After all, in spite of everything they may say, Italians simply aren’t used to spicy-hot food.

However, in his usual arrogant manner, he effectively told me that people in Calabria do everything better, especially when it comes to hot food.

Let’s be clear on this, I had not chosen the Indian restaurant. He had chosen it. It’s not because I didn’t want to go just that Italians trust “foreign” food in the way they trust immigrants – in that, they don’t. We still have stories here about the Chinese restaurants using cats in their dishes, etc. Plus, Indian food can be very spicy-hot and really not at all what Italians are used to. So, even if he’s a “real man” and comes from “God’s gift to the world”, Calabria, I had my doubts about the choice. I was, in fact, quite nervous about this. But, hell, I love it and he had chosen it.

Whilst we’re waiting for our antipasto (I had the usual mix and he had chosen some chicken and lentil soup – which, apparently, was quite nice), he said that I was an OK person for never having insisted on this place as one of our options.

But, that’s partly, for me, because it would only give him another reason to diss English people and their choice of foods. He can be quite crap at times.

Still, we were here. As part of my mixed starters I have a poppadom and I like to mix the incredibly hot onion mix with the cooling yoghurt to have with it. After he had finished his soup, he looked at the onion mix.

“That’s really hot,” I warned him. He decided to try a very small amount. It was as I had said. Too hot for him. He was grateful I had warned him and said so. But, that really should have been a warning in general. Anyway, it was too late now – we had ordered. The main dish arrived.

The waiter had persuaded him to take rice with his madras. I was, as usual (as always), having two naan breads. There’s a thing about spicy-hot food that’s done well. It takes a few moments to really hit home and then it stays with you and builds up over time. It’s one of the things I really like about Indian food. But, for me, you really need the naans to take away the heat. Bread works wonders.

So he started with his madras. The first mouthful was OK but by the second, you could tell by the look on his face, it became a little too much.

After all his “this will be nothing – I’m from Calabria” stuff, it made me laugh (inside, of course – I couldn’t actually show that). As it happened, the waiter came over to check if everything was OK. He knew me so knew that I was fine but was really checking about A. A spoke to him telling him it was too hot. The waiter suggested that he mix it with the rice (although I’ve always found naan breads better) to take away some of the heat. Still the waiter took it away to be “softened” a bit.

Except something went a bit wrong with the instructions and it came back hotter than it had been. It was like something from one of those comedies.

Needless to say it went back again to be “softened”. By that time, I’d finished mine. I tried the “new” version. Obviously, mine had been quite hot too so my taste buds were a bit fucked. Anyway, I found it too tomatoey.

But, fair play to the people in the restaurant. They were sympathetic and tried to be very helpful. I guess they’ve seen all this before!

However, maybe next time we go somewhere he isn’t used to, A will actually listen to me and not assume that, just because he’s from Calabria, he knows and can do everything?

Although I very much doubt that, bless him :-D

We were at the Rajput – see link on the right

Reconnections and visits and some apprehension

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This year’s going to be busy, I think. A bit “unstable”, of course, with PaC and the problem there and then there’ll be F and how he will react.

But, also, this year there are going to be a few reconnections with the past.

Towards the end of March, a guy, D, and his boyfriend are coming for a few days. I haven’t seen him for over 25 years. We’ve stayed in touch, just about (I’m talking Christmas cards). He hadn’t ever even met V (although he did see him, briefly)! I am a bit worried that, after all this time, we won’t really have anything in common. Except a past that I can barely remember due to an ability I have to shut off and eventually forget almost all things to do with my past.

Then, in early May, a friend from school days, R, and his wife are coming over. They got married 35 years ago (in May, when they are here) and it was the terrible occasion when I was the Best Man and did, possibly, the very worst Best Man speech ever. It was so bad that over the years, whenever I see, attend or watch (on film) a wedding, I am reminded of it and cringe inside. M (my first boyfriend) and I used to see them occasionally for a couple of years afterwards – but I probably haven’t seen them for over 30 years. Again, we stayed in touch – in exactly the same way as above. And, in exactly the same way as above, I am a bit worried that we won’t have anything in common.

So let’s look at what I DO remember.

Let’s start with R. At one point, probably my best friend at school. I don’t even know WHY we were best friends. He liked and played football and cricket a lot – I hated it. I smoked – he didn’t. We both liked drinking. That’s it. Things I remember: He was going bald by the time he was 17. He never had “girlfriends” whereas I always had a girlfriend (and look how THAT turned out :-D ). We used to (in the 6th form), go to one of two pubs at lunchtime and sometimes only return to school to catch the same last bus home (we lived quite close to each other.) My first holiday away from my parents (excluding the disastrous time they made me go to Boys’ Brigade camp in Guernsey – which had such a profound effect on my life thereafter) was with him and another close friend. We stayed in my parents’ caravan in Cornwall. It was just after we had taken our A Levels (the final examinations at 18 at that time.) My results came through while I was there and my parents couldn’t really understand why I could not have given a shit about the results.

So, at the end of all that, we were drinking buddies, I guess.

For D, he and his partner, S, were the second gay couple M and I met and became friends with. They were a lovely couple. Sadly, at the age of 21, S committed suicide which left D quite bereft. In fact, in one way (but not at all his fault), he was the reason that I found V and that M and I split after 10 years. In fact, that moment, in a club in Birmingham, was probably the last time I saw him, so that would make it close on 17 years ago.

So, I am a bit apprehensive.

On the other hand, J should be coming in the middle of March as I got her a ticket to Aida at La Scala. I’m thinking I might take her to Florence for a day. I think she might like that. And she is one of the sweetest people I know.

And S, my very Best Mate, should come over at the end of May for a few days and I am really looking forward to that.

So, already 4 different visits. It’s going to be a busy year.

Some hits and some misses

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I had a list of things to do on Saturday. Many things didn’t turn out as I quite expected and I did some stupid things.

So, I didn’t get up that early but after two mugs of coffee and a shower, I could face the world. After taking the dogs out, I went to get my cigarettes and went for breakfast (another coffee and a croissant) and did the supermarket shopping.

Then I went to have my haircut. Now, I may have mentioned in the past, but I have a rather weird thing about having my hair cut. It’s a bit like having sex in that it feels incredibly intimate. V used to do my hair for many years but, even before that, I had this weird feeling about having it done. And I still do. After V and I split, I went to a local barbers. But I didn’t really like it. Or, rather, I didn’t like him. Then I tried another barber and I didn’t like him much. Then, for some strange reason, I decided to grow my hair, possibly because I just hated having it cut. Eventually, I decided it wasn’t for me. I liked having long hair (I always have liked it) but it didn’t really look as I had hoped. So I went to get it cut.

And I happened upon this place and was appointed a hairdresser who tried his damnedest to give me the “David Bowie” haircut that I asked for. He was also a nice guy. And so, every 4 to 6 weeks I go back. He’s Romanian and has adopted the Italian version of his name (since Italians can be quite funny about being served by a “foreigner”.) We’ve talked during the haircuts and he’s told me how, eventually, he wants to return to his hometown and set up a hairdressers there. But, for now, he’s learning and so he will stay.

However, Saturday, he was telling me how he’s had a bit of a falling out with his boss and how his boss isn’t speaking to him now and how he’s looking to move somewhere else. I was uncomfortable with this given that I have these feelings about having my haircut and, now I’ve found someone I like and can trust, I don’t want to have to search out someone else. So, I replied to this news that I just had to know where he was going. He said it may not be for a while and I said yes, but I only come in every so often. So he suggested becoming friends on Facebook. And so now we are. And, providing he doesn’t move back to Romania or somewhere to far for me to go, I will be able to go to him. I feel like I’ve almost got a personal hairdresser again. Thank God! Although, at the same time, it feels a little strange to be friends with your hairdresser.

There was some shopping that I wanted to do. I went home and had a cup of tea first. After pouring the water out, I checked and the kettle did need descaling, so I filled it with vinegar and water and brought it to the boil. Then, as usual, I filled it with fresh water and put it on again. Before I would go out, I would turn it off, if it hadn’t boiled by then.

I finished my tea and sorted out more washing and then went out to get a) some thermal underwear (I need it for when I’m at work), b) some jeans and c) to look at possibly getting a new earring.

First, I went all the way across town to the sports shop and got some underwear for when you go skiing. after all, sometimes it is probably warmer on the slopes than it is at work.

Then back to the centre of town. It is sales time here and I thought I would go to the Iceberg shop and get some more jeans as their jeans have a cut that seems to fit really well. Obviously, it’s been some time since I’ve been to Iceberg. I say “obviously” because it’s no longer there. No problem, I have my phone. I’ll look up their website and check out where the shop is now located. Except the location was where I was – so the website wasn’t up to date. Perhaps they don’t even have a shop any more?

I was disappointed but thought that, at least, I could look for the earring. I wanted one like the one I lost. A diamond from Tiffany. Tiffany, being a jewelers, won’t be having a sale, I knew but the beginning of January would be the right time to go as, in the run up to Christmas, they have queues running outside the door!

However, it seems that January is as bad as December! The queues, whilst not outside the door, snaked round the shop. I decided to go back another time and went home instead, not entirely happy that the only thing I’d got was underwear!

As soon as I opened the door, I remembered. I remembered that I had had to turn the kettle off before leaving. Unfortunately, having NOT turned the kettle off meant that it had boiled dry. Having boiled dry, it had heated up. Having heated up (it’s one of those you put on a gas ring and it whistles when it boils), it started to melt some of the plastic which makes up the lid. Luckily, it didn’t melt the handle nor the whistle and the plastic only melted “in situ” so didn’t melt into a horrible mess on the cooker. And, after it had cooled, I found that it does work, just not as well because some steam escapes from around the lid, so the whistle isn’t at strong. But at least it works!

So, it was a day of hits and misses.

I have emailed Iceberg about the shop – but haven’t heard anything yet!