Do Not Call The Girlfriend

Despite his best effort to be as quiet as possible, pulling all the duvet to his side and elbowing me on the head trying to turn in the bed, the travelling husband has been all but discreet, and obviously failing in his attempt not wake me up.

Only half awake, I have to blink twice to make sense of what I am seeing: my husband trying to make a call from an old-fashioned orange telephone (complete with receiver, speaker, and curly cord).

“What are you doing?” I managed to mumble,

“ I am calling a friend,” he candidly answered.

I look at the alarm clock on my bedsidetable and go, “It’s two o’clock in the morning. Who are you calling?”

“It’s a girlfriend. I really like her. I love talking to her. She makes me feel good.”  

“Ehm, I am sorry?!? I think I didn’t hear what you just said.” And I genuinely believe I misheard; I mean, would you not?

“I am calling a friend. She is a girl I really like to talk to.” Am I mistaken, or do I detect a bit of annoyance in his voice? First I prevent his phone call, and second, I ask for explanations. Gosh, the audacity of me!!!

Still, I feel I am not getting it right here, and so I go again: “Sorry, but I really didn’t get what you are saying.”

“I AM CALLING A GIRLFRIEND WHO I REALLY LIKE!” Ok, now there is definitely annoyance in the travelling husband’s tone and also a bit of “are you thick or what?”. Well, I am not! In fact, I clearly got what he said this time, and I also finally understand what people mean when they say they can’t believe their ears.

The realisation of what is going on here hurts me as if a big butcher knife pushed deep inside my back, but before I could even put together the only words popping into my head, WTF, the girls screamed for us.

The traveling husbnad is, unusually, the first to jump out of bed ( the special friend must work on his fitness too) and when I joined him in daughter number two’s room, he is comfabuling with daughter number one if the apparently unbearable cramps her sister is having might be appendicitis or food poisoning.

“Oh, for God’s sake, it’s just period pains. An Ibuprofen will fix it,” I say, maybe a bit too harsh but, hey, we have all been there and happily survived; what I am not sure I’m going to survive is the sudden crash of my marriage.

“Jeez, why are you so cranky mom? And what about if it’s not?” Daughter number one asks, obviously not used to my disinterest.

“I don’t know then. Ask your father, he might ask his special friend.” I barked, a bit too loud and, haime’, perfectly aware of breaking the first rule of a good parent: leave the kids out of your marriage trouble. Sorry guys, not feeling very mumsy at the moment, or altruistic. Actually, I am starting to feel pretty angry, ok maybe angry is a bit of an understatement, and my mind is already spiralling with images of nasty divorce lawyers fighting for me in court. But fighting for what? I gave up my career and most of what I have is in common with this bad bad man who calls his special girlfriend in the middle of the night with me sleeping beside him and he doesn’t even have the courtesy to deny it or, at least, be quiet about it.

Oh my God, how did I end up in this situation? There were signs before? Doubts and dilemmas and pain and aches and then…Then thanks to heaven my middle-aged woman’s bladder woke me up for the usual trip to the bathroom.

What the heck was that? Well,  I would hardly call it a dream. I would more call it a freaking nightmare. And, believe me, that version of the travelling husband made me want to hug Freddy Krugher.

Unecessary to say that I struggled before going back to sleep and yes, before you ask, I did think to call the traveling husbnad (who was obviously traveling), just to check if his phone rang free or not; but by then it was past three in the morning and if he was fast asleep, rather than conversing wth a very special friend, that would have not gone down well, would have?!

The first night he was back though, while both in bed, I told him about my dream/nightmare.

“But, we don’t have a land line anymore.” He said perplexed.

Seriously? This was all his take of my devastating nocturnal ordeal?

Maybe moved by my astonished expression, or most likely not, he added: “Anyway, don’t worry, I don’t need another special girl, right ……Ada?!” And just like that, he rested his hand on the dog’s head who, God forbid she leaves his side.

Yep, a phone with a long cord might indeed come in handy on certain occasions!

Sweet dreams everybody and enjoy the wee ahead 😜🥰

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With Love From Krakow

Back and reporting about our trip to Krakow.

Well, what can I say? The city is gorgeous, with amazing architecture, lovely people, and a very interesting story that I totally overlooked before visiting the underground old medieval city.

Now I can understand why Polish people are so proud. And they are certainly right.

Most amazing thing to report, though are the cakes. Oh my lord !!!!!!

And they still have proper, good old-fashioned patisseries where you can sit on a comfortable velvet little couch and enjoy a big slice of cake adorned with whipped cream. To Nona and me, a journey down memory lane when, as a child, she used to take me to a little patisserie every Wednesday after ballet. That was most likely even the reason why, instead of a ballerina physique, I developed a cursing sweet tooth, but also a happy soul, on top of lovely memories to pass on to my kids and still share with my mom.

Last but not least, I really need to highlight how hygienically superior this country is. I never went to a toilet that was not squeaky-clean. Even the unisex one at the petrol station in the middle of the countryside on a rainy day. And the hotel room was spotless in places ( like behind the window frame), which I saw was dusty even in big posh 5-star hotels.

Passing on to my travel companions now, here it is when my account could get colourful and seriously entertaining, but unfortunately, I’m not allowed to go unfiltered.

To be completely honest with you, I have already been scolded after the previous post. According to Nona, I might have given the impression that she is a bit difficult and not very flexible, which, of course, she is not, and the only suggestion of such a thing is outrageously untrue. Even if two days before departure, and right on the day I paid for the hotel, she asked to change our reservation and have a single room all for herself.

In fairness, she did say, “If it is not too much trouble,”……After I had already spent an entire afternoon cancelling the original hotel, getting a refund and finding another hotel with availability on the same days and under the same conditions.

Anyway, in the end I must admit two rooms proved to be the best option…. FOR EVERYONE!!!

And surely here I’ll get scolded again🙄, even though I can try to save my skin blaming daughter number one for not coming this year and making an odd number.

Blames and jokes aside, we learned our lesson for next year. Yes, next year!!!! Because this little multigenerational girls’ trip is by now an established tradition, and with those ladies of mine, the fun is always far bigger than the hassle.

Have a great week ahead and don’t forget random Wednesday tomorrow (yes, this week’s post was late, but we had a little health issue with the travelling husband, but don’t worry, he is ok!), and if you haven’t read the interview with Artyplantsman yet, just go back to last week’s post…it’s worth it! https://artyplantsman.wordpress.com/

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Happy Packing

Finally sitting down and back to the blog.

Of course I didn’t mean to skip a week and truthfully I had it all carefully planned to have the post ready before leaving last Friday but, as it always happens, things didn’t go according to the plan.

I admit it, may be I was a bit over-optimistic to think that the day before leaving I could fit in a good clean of the house , so to guarantee relatively good igenical living conditions to the travelling husband and the girls till my return; the packing and of course my personal restoration ( wax, hair, mani , pedi and everything to pass my mother inspection as we all know how she hates shabby women).

Over 20 years abroad thought me to choose smart and in an efficient way. The days of overpacking are well gone. Years after years and packing after packing I kind of mastered my skills.

I carefully pick my clothes in a way that they can gracefully mix and match and be interchangeable and with the same criteria I pick my accessories, shoes included. Plus an extra outfit because I also learned to accept my problems with certain food, especially if dressed in white.

The toiletry pouch is not an issue anymore either. I efficiently learned to restrict the amount of make up to what I am actually going to wear and not what I might wear; and over time I collected a wide range of miniature containers for the only purpose of the brief breaks away.

That is it: Easy peasy. All sorted and ready to the actual packing that I’m not afraid to say years and years of practice made a child play.

Pick, fold, pack: No hassle!! If done smartly. And not to brag, but I am a smart woman, or to be more precise a smart packer.

Now, you are probably thinking if I’m so smart and the whole packing affair is so easy to me , why was I so delayed to not have time for my supposedly planned blog?

Well, first of all because the picking-folding-packing process might be smart and easy, but that doesn’t mean is quick too. Also I ended up tackling my wardrobe around two hours later than planned, (more or less like always).

Make up and cream are no trouble. Not much to choose there, the only time consuming part is decant everything from the big jars to the miniature containers.

Picking and pairing outfit is not so straightforward . Once is done is done but before coming to that, there might be a long time of wandering, consulting the mirror, swearing at the mirror , taking a break for coffee and cake because anyway that pair of pants I wanted to bring are too tight anyway etc etc.

Then there is the metheo variable. All of a sudden the weather forecasts had changed and what I originally planned to bring is not weather-appropriate any longer.

Shoes and bags must match the clothes but they must also be comfortable and not too heavy , because the extra weight in the case is rigorously reserved to the souvenirs …. Yes even if I go back “home” to Italy.

When finally everything is ready and in the suitcase, is finally time to relax; have that long hot shower, blow and dry the hair change the nail polish while trying to avoid the dogs so that they won’t decorate my newly varnished toes with components of their fur.

Once all that is done , there is still the handbag to pack. Well mine is more a small weekend bag filled with anything I couldn’t fit in my suitcase plus my handbag containing my kindle , phone charger, adapter and travel documents ( strictly double checked by the traveling husband, thing that would normally infuriate me if it wasn’t for that time we nearly missed our plane because I forgot my passport or the other time when I brought my expired passport 🙄)

Refreshed, cleaned, perfectly groomed and satisfied with my accomplishments is time for a last look at my suitcase before zipping it close.

That is what you might call “the one look too many”. My case never survives that last look! I impulsively change my mind (every bloody time) and the whole process of picking, pairing, folding and packing start all over again. The only positive side is that by the time I get to bed it is so late and I’m so exhausted that there is no way the excitement for my traveling the next day will keep me awake.

P.S

I don’t t have to tell you that once at my destination action and unpacking I always wished I have t changed my outfits right??!!!

Have a great week ahead and if you happen to travel somewhere, happy traveling🤩

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Christmas Markets? Ya Danke!

After a very early start on Friday, 4.30 am to board my plane at 5.50, I hopped on and off three trains and in the end made it to lovely Braunsweigh and retrieved daughter number two.

Daughter number two enthusiastically showed me around all day and evening while I, desperately tried to hide that my only desire was to sleep and get rid of my throbbing headache .
The following morning, the throbbing migraine was still there but, as we already paid for breakfast, I ventured to the buffet and it actually turned out that, more than sleep and ibuprofen, I needed food. With the greatest amusement of myself and the couple sitting at the table beside us, I filled my plate three times and drank half a litre of coffee. Feeling so much better I was ready for another half day of hopping on and off trams and trains.

Unfortunately, unlikely the day before when everything worked at perfection, none of the public transport was on time and to make it worse we got off the wrong stop.
Not entirely our fault though, in fact, why in hell would you call the stop before Hamburg, Hamburg Harburg? Only to confuse poor Irish tourists.
Over two hours later than planned we made it to our hotel, checked in and headed back out for a concert in St Mikael church and ultimately to the Christmas markets.

Now, let me tell you: German markets have no rivals. Contrary to their trains that could do with some more punctuality, hard to believe, I know.

Back to the markets, that very weekend was the opening weekend and we got to see Santa arriving on his sleight. We also got to listen to his long speech, which I didn’t understand and couldn’t care less to be honest. I just wanted him to go and take with him half of the lower Saxony under-five overexcited and screaming population that came to see him along with their parents who swung around the crowd with massive buggies committing a genocide of unkles.

Finally, my prayers were answered and Santa took off leaving the markets to the adults who could eventually enjoy their mulled wine in peace.

Sunday was another full-on day. We had no breakfast at the hotel and found instead a lovely old-fashioned bakery where we still gulped down an absurd amount of calories that could easily keep us going till summer.
Once satisfied with having made the most out of our last day in Hamburg we went to get the train for the airport except there was no train due to some maintenance works on the railway but, the Germans being Germans had it all organised with buses .

Finally, three days, 7 trains, one tram and two buses later we boarded our direct flight to Ireland loaded with chocolate, liquours, tacky souvenirs and the best of memories.

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