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There’s a weirdness about Italy that is not particularly peculiar to Italy but, in my view, the extent is peculiar.

It’s about secrecy.  In all aspects of Italians’ lives, it seems, they have a contradictory and irreconcilable view on their privacy.

Being a rather bold statement, I suppose I had better explain.

Our smoking room is being moved.  The room we have been using, at work, also doubled as a meeting room (Meeting Room 2).  For most of the time it was used for smoking.  There are about 6 people (out of about 20) on this floor that smoke.

Two of them, being directors, smoke in their own offices.  One of the others chooses to go downstairs and spend time with his colleagues downstairs when smoking (and anyway, only smokes a few cigarettes a day) leaving three of us, die-hard smokers who tend to go there about once per hour.

But now there is a sign on the door asking us to NOT smoke, please, in this office.  I first knew about this some weeks ago.  I was told (by one of the smokers who is the most gossipy woman I know) that someone was being employed by the company and that this room would be their office.  We are to be moved downstairs to what was an archive room.  It’s about half the size of the current room and right next to reception.

But rumour is rife.  Who can it be that is coming here and who is going to have such a large office?

Now that the sign has gone up, the rumours are becoming more rampant.  I am now told that it is an assistant to the Managing Director.  But no-one really knows.  We arre, apparently, awaiting the instructions for our network guy to prepare the computer and then we shall know.

Not that I’ve expressed my opinion out loud, but I can on this blog as no-one here will read it – I think it’s the Colonel who has been a consultant but is now to come here full-time.  I’ll let you know if I’m right.

I’m sure there is a good reason why people are being secretive about it but I fail to see why they should be.  Why not, even a couple of weeks back, pass the word around as to who it will be and why they are here?  What is there to lose?

A couple of weeks ago, the Purchasing Manager went on holiday for three days.  A week or so before that, we were talking and she told me where she was going and who with (it was a long weekend with some friends).  However, no-one else knew.  And by that I mean her assistant didn’t know a) where she was and b) for how long.  I don’t mean that she should have given an itinery, but at least say beforehand something like ‘I will be away for three days from next Wednesday’.

And then there’s the publication, on the web, of the salaries of everyone, done as some sort of spite thing, maybe, by Prodi’s outgoing government.  People are very angry.  I understand why.

But.  And here’s the big BUT.  Everyone has to have an Identity Card and you have to have a form of identity with you at all times.  Every time you check into a hotel; hire a pair of skating blades; pay by credit card; you must show or give them the ID card.  For a hotel, a list of the names and ID card numbers are given to the Police.

And for every (well, not quite every) financial transaction, you must have a codice fiscale (Fiscal Code – our nearest equivalent would be the NI number).  And I have heard that this now extends to when you buy something from a chemist (I will find out next month when I have to buy stuff for the dog(s)).

There is no real secrecy here.  And, yet, the obsession of being secret – not telling someone exactly what is happening or why you are doing something pervades, it seems, every part of their lives.  And they get quite uptight with the idea that stuff must be kept from others.  I know that in the UK we have the same thing but here, it seems to border on obsessiveness.

And the latest.  Dino (picture above) is due with us on 18^th May.  I had planned to take the whole week off.  This year, instead of usual, the factory will close for two weeks only in August.

The normally 3^rd week can be taken at any time between June and September.  I want to take it for the week we get Dino.  Except I also have clients coming to witness some testing in that week.  Now, because it’s technical I won’t be needed for all of it but I guess I should be here for some of it.  Alberto suggested that I tell the office it was ‘family reasons’ and just take it off anyway.  But I’m afraid I cannot.  So I spoke with the MD and told her why and she, at first, suggested that I bring Dino in.  I explained that that wasn’t such a good idea being as he was a new puppy.  Then she suggested that, maybe, I could do one or a couple of half-days in the office.

So I guess that’s what I will do.  I mentioned it to Alberto and he was horrified that I had told her the real reason.  My comment is – why not?  If she had a real problem with it then, obviously I can leave and go back to teaching or something.

Anyway, I have now confirmed with her that I shall probably come in for half a day on the Monday and half a day on their last day here.  I’m sure that will be fine.  And then I shall take the following Monday off so that V&I can have the day off together as V will be taking the UK Bank Holiday, of course.  But that changes from the start of June!  More in another post.

So, at the end of the day, the things for which the Italians retain a high level of secrecy seem, to me, to be strange and misguided.  Salaries – OK; going on holiday – maybe not, eh?.  I probably haven’t explained it very well, for which I apologise.

In the meantime, Dino is really cute, isn’t he?  Perhaps the same can’t be said for the bloke holding him ……..?

Being brought up in the UK, no-one said much about the choice of words you used.  It was all perfectly understood.

Here, however, it’s different.  Even for those people who have English as their mother tongue – but a different form of English.

Fantastic is a word I use often.  And it was here that people started to comment on it.  Apparently, it’s the way that I say it not that I over-use it (although I’m sure I do).  So, for instance, at work, people use it in a joking way and say it in the way that I do, a little over emphasised.

And the other night we were at friends for dinner.  K had cooked, as usual, a really fantastic (and I mean that) feast.  We had anchovies in an oil and lemon sauce that simply melted in your mouth.

I complimented her.

‘This is lovely’, I said.

She is American.

‘Does that mean that you like it or not?  I can never tell when English people say “lovely” what they really mean’.

I was, somewhat, taken aback.  Lovely is another word that I use a lot.  In the UK you can tell whether people mean it or not by the tone of voice, the inflection, etc.  In this case I was using it genuinely.

Funny, isn’t it?  Ordinary words suddenly have so much more meaning and power than they used to.

When we were in Siena (was it really only last weekend?) we saw a lot of swallows doing their air-acrobatics.  I love to watch swallows and swifts to.  Anyway, this led Alberto and I to talking.  Whereas we have the saying that 1 swallow doesn’t make a summer, for Italians it is 1 swallow doesn’t make a spring.  Makes sense really.

Which reminded me that, when we had our house in the wilds of the UK, our driveway was made of very old tarmac and moss and lichen grew on it.  Swallows used to land there, in the morning, before the sun got on it, to pick at either the lichen or the bugs, I could never be sure.  It was quite funny to watch them as their legs are far too short and far apart to enable them to move on the ground so they, sort of, waddled, a bit like ducks!

Gardening is one of my favourite hobbies.

And it is a hobby rather than anything I could remotely think of doing as a career.  After all, although I always enjoyed it I was never really good at getting the plants or shrubs to their perfect state.  In fact, they were often in a state after only weeks under my care.  Still, I never let that little thing stop me.

And here, in Milan, it’s no different.  Well, that’s not entirely true.  We don’t have a garden so, in fact, it’s not the same at all.

When we were last in the UK, we went to Woolworths for chocolate and DVDs.  And I saw seeds so, as they’re so cheap, I thought I’d buy some.  All were flowers, mostly that had scent – sweet peas, that sort of thing – since that’s what I like.

My simple-minded thinking was that I would give them a try because, at the very worst, they would sprout, hang around for a bit and then die, allowing our balcony to return to its ‘half-dead state’ once again.

So, a little while ago, I planted the seeds in the window boxes that we inherited, kept them on the floor of the balcony to give them a chance and watered them daily.  They favoured my watering charms and sprang forth just like, well, erm, plants.

My plan was that, on 1^st May I would put them in their proper place, overhanging the railings of the balcony, where they would trail and droop, giving us a screen from prying eyes, being pretty and allowing a stunning waft of scent through the back door directly to me when I’m sat at the computer.

I was a day late putting them ‘out’ since it also meant a good spring-clean of the balcony.  However, that’s done now.  I can now, I thought, sit back and look forward to the riot of colour and smell that will soon be a talking point of our balcony (and the lady with the terrace downstairs as when I water them they inevitably pour forth the excess water directly outside her windows).

So, yesterday afternoon, I spoke to Jean on the phone and decided that I should sit out there now that it was clean and lovely and had green things everywhere.

But I think my fears will be realised.  After being out there for all of 10 minutes, it was just too hot.  Of course, I can come back into the cool (soon to be relatively cool) of the flat.  Unfortunately, the plants cannot, being, as they are, highly immobile.  They will get direct sunlight for most of the day.  And it’s only May.  Come June and July it gets so hot out there that, even at about 10 p.m., when the sun has long gone, the walls of the balcony are almost too hot to touch.

Personally, I give them until the end of May before I start to see the first signs of them giving up the ghost.  On reflection, getting UK seeds was a bit of an error on my part

Perhaps I should just go and buy cactii or artificial plants or something.  I understand that, these days, fake plants can seem almost like the real thing.  A bit like the burgers and the like when compared to the fabulous photographs that you find in fast food outlets, I suppose.

Man of Roma tagged me for this meme. It is the first time I’ve ever been tagged.  I’ve noticed other people have done this sort of thing before and always wondered what it would be like and if I would do it, not being mad on the chain-letter type of thing.  However, I thought I would give it a go.

1. Last movie you saw in a theater?
Forgetting the americanism of calling it ‘theater’ rather than ‘cinema’ or ‘theatre’ it was Sweeney Todd: the demon barber of Fleet Street .  Johnny Depp was, as usual, great – and he can sing, even if it did sound a little like early Bowie.