Posts Tagged ‘Nonnu’

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responsibility / Tube update: Hyde Park Corner and Green Park.

February 11, 2012

So after living in London for 5 months (to the day today!), I finally got around to registering with a GP this week. It was my second choice of doctor, after the top choice recommended by the NHS website turned out not to take new patients from my area (when I said that the website recommended me, they apologetically informed me “Ah yes. The website is wrong”). I think the website was wrong again, because my first appointment with the treatment nurse on Friday evening was nothing short of horrific.

I was informed that my blood pressure was that of a “much more mature person”, and that I need to go back in a month and keep monitoring it in the meantime. Ok. Furthermore, I need to lose “15-20 kilos”. Now, in my own opinion, over the last few months, I have put on a few pounds. But at 6 foot, I am not delusional enough to believe someone when they say that my ideal weight is 11 and a half stone. I would be skeletal if I lost that much weight – I am not fat as it is. I am my own harshest critic, but at the most I could do with losing half a stone or so. No more. I promise you all I am not kidding myself – I wear small or medium sizes in clothing. Yet I apparently have a 40″ waist (again, despite the fact that I wear 32″ and 33″ trousers). I also had to do a urine test, and when I said “um, right now?!” she said “is that a problem?” I ended up being able to perform, so to speak, and I told the nurse upon my return that “I drink a lot of water”. She eventually confirmed “yes, your urine is clear.” No shit, lady. In addition, how dare you tell me to lose so much weight – not only is this essentially promoting anorexia (because obviously she says this to everyone; I am not a special case), but it’s hypocrisy from someone who is definitely more overweight than I am! I am outraged that people in a position of authority and whose responsibility it is to promote healthy living, is telling people to become dangerously underweight.

I apparently have to go for a yearly check-up, “because things can develop without you knowing”; ok, but if there is nothing wrong with me, why would I waste a doctor or nurse’s time? I never had to go before, except for when I felt that there was something wrong with me. After checking my blood pressure, the nurse kept insisting “are you sure you don’t feel dizzy? Or ever have headaches?” Lady, no means no. I am perfectly happy and healthy. No matter how much you want to make me feel like something is wrong, you won’t convince me that you know my body better than I do. I spent most of my childhood and adolescence hating the way I looked and the way I felt. I finally got myself right a couple of years ago or so, and I will not let some irresponsible woman set me back. I will keep y’all updated on my future adventures with this doctor’s surgery. The last thing on my mind is that she mentioned the possibility of taking tablets for my blood pressure if it doesn’t go down. I am confident I have white coat syndrome – I am nervous when it comes to having my blood pressure checked, and I have done it on my mum’s machine at home and it has come out a little high, but far closer to normal. What’s more, I have seen my grandparents existing on cocktails of pills, and it was one of the things that contributed to my grandfather’s ultimate deterioration in health and multiple health problems that culminated in his death in 2008. I know that doctors and nurses have a job to do, but they do not know everything, and I refuse to be bullied into a dependency on medication that I neither want nor need. I am 26 years old; I do not need to be on tablets for my blood pressure when I have no other health problems or symptoms. I was telling Mike and Caroline this today, and they both said that this woman sounds insane and that I should never go back there. But even though this visit was horrific, it did ultimately mean that I accomplished my goal of registering with a GP.

You’ll notice that I mentioned Mike and Caroline just now. Well, Toby and I saw them today! They came down to London for their wedding anniversary, and are staying in the hotel just around the corner from my flat, in West Kensington! They went to the Science Museum today with Billy – we met them there (I had never been to the Science Museum before! A lot of it went over my head, tbh) after Toby and I spent a very long time walking! I suppose that a good thing about my visit to the surgery last night (I was seriously searching for a silver lining to that cloud!) was that is has further kick-started my desire to lose those few pounds and keep walking and exercising. So from Toby’s flat in Fulham, we walked to my place to pick up my sunglasses, walked to Brompton Library where Toby and I both joined and were rewarded with festive-looking membership cards (I will also be able to take out some books in Italian and develop my skills in that language!), went to the V&A, made my first purchase from Harrods, then walked to my favourite Starbucks in Belgravia (although they went down in my estimation somewhat today after messing up my drink – twice!), and then walked to Hyde Park Corner:

Now I realise that you can’t see which station it is from this picture. Hence:

And then we went to Green Park, before going back to South Kensington to the Science Museum and having a lovely afternoon with Mike, Caroline and Billy:

And from there, a lovely afternoon and evening with Toby, re-organising my flat and watching Desperate Housewives tonight. Tomorrow I am going to sort out my Valentine’s gift to him and have a quiet but productive day before another week of work!

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surveillance.

March 18, 2010

Tonight, I got home about 8:30 after seeing Karina and talking about our love lives, her work, my uni, and other topics in between.  We had a really good time, and I ended up having a panini in Costa for dinner as I was hungry and it transpired that I was gonna be there until 8ish.  I called home during my time with Karina to let my mother know that although I wouldn’t be home late, I wouldn’t be having dinner with my parents as I was eating out.  Bearing in mind that I rarely am home to eat with my parents, but I let them know this every night (or they ask me in the morning prior to me leaving the house), this usually works fine and they respect me doing whatever I’m doing.  However, tonight as soon as I got in the door, my mother asked me for no apparent reason “is that all you’ve eaten today then?” Like wtf? Bearing in mind last week my mother practically called me a bulimic junkie, again for no logical reason, it’s getting on my nerves.  Nevertheless, I had to give her a rundown of exactly what I had eaten during the day, and then we debated whether I actually liked tuna or cucumber (because I had a tuna and cucumber sandwich at lunchtime).  I’m 24 years old, I pay rent to my parents (admittedly a token amount, but rent nonetheless) so in theory if I’m not eating at home, it’s more money in their pocket.  We have a good relationship, and I come and go as I please.  I’m tidy, I respect the house and clean up after my father where necessary (this has always been the case).

So one minute, they respect my privacy.  I appreciate this when it occurs, as I haven’t come clean about my current relationship (until it’s firmly established, I don’t see why I have to tell my parents about my sex life or my love life – it’s not their business. And to be fair to them, they don’t ask) and so the fact I don’t need to make up excuses about why I don’t get home most evenings before 11pm is a weight off my shoulders.  But then, the next minute they take that respect away with bizarre questions or requests for information about my private and personal life, and I feel like I’m a little kid again.  Am I respected as an adult or not?

Things have been intensified by the return of my grandmother last week from Australia.  Now, me and my nan have always been extremely close, and it’s pretty clear that I was both of my grandparents’ favourite grandchild (although the fact that my competition was halfway across the world in Australia meant that I did have an advantage).  My nan and I have called each other during the day and at night to converse, or at least to say hello or goodnight as appropriate to the time of day.  But now that I’ve been free of my nan for 3 months while she’s been in Australia, it’s hard to adjust back to this constant feeling of being under surveillance and having to answer questions on who, what, where, when and why.  I’m a pretty decent grandson – I’m 24 and I still visit my grandmother every week and spend time with her.  Most people my age (and a lot younger) barely see their grandparents except on special occasions.  I genuinely love her, feel close to her and treat her with dignity and respect, and so aren’t I a good grandson that I deserve some respect also?  I mean, I feel awful saying that because she does love me to pieces, spoil me and she does respect my intelligence but also the person that I am.  But she doesn’t seem to respect my privacy or boundaries, and wants to know every little thing I do.  I’m 24 years old, I’m a good grandson and a good human being, but I’m also a grown man – am I not entitled to my own life?

Talking to my friends, it’s apparent that I have to move out.  Not because any relationships are strained – I don’t believe they are.  I do my own thing, and the fact that my life seems to be clicking into place at last – career, relationship, driving, general happiness – means that I’m fast outgrowing my bedroom at home.  When I’m at Toby’s house, although he shares with 4 other people, it’s nice just to have the ease that nobody cares whether I’m in or out, what I’m eating, what I’m doing and with whom.  I guess that also, my parents and I seem to get on a lot better generally when I’m actually not here – largely because I don’t have to listen to their arguments (or “discussions”), and I have little chance of becoming embroiled in them.  I miss my grandmother, but I guess I’m really a man now – I handle my own business and I no longer need anyone else in my family to do that.  I have enough close friends, good friends, to whom I can talk about any problem or issue, big or small – for a long time, there’ve been things I didn’t want to discuss with my family, but now there’s nothing I feel I need to run by them.  And I guess I get confused when one minute, they don’t expect me to run things by them, couldn’t care less what I do and barely seem to notice my existence – and then the next, I’m guilty of some big crime (which I haven’t committed) without even being made aware of it.  I don’t want to be under this surveillance, and I feel that I’ve been a good enough son and grandson that not only does my family not realise how lucky they are, but I’ve earned respect and freedom, and the right to lead my life the way I choose without any repercussions.

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shopaholic.

February 13, 2010

“She got a Fendi fetish / She got a shopping problem
That girl’s a shopaholic / She only mess with ballers
She got a Gucci fetish / She got a Louis problem
She got a shopping problem / That girl’s a shopaholic”

— “Shopaholic”, Nicki Minaj f/ Gucci Mane.

Listening to the above song from Nicki Minaj’s stellar Beam Me Up Scotty mixtape, I can’t help but relate.  I have never been very good at resisting shops, but today I went into Guess with Toby and promptly dropped £136 on a bag (it matches my wallet! And I’ve been keeping an eye out for a new bag) and a hoodie (it was in the sale, the last one and my size.  Therefore, it was destiny and there was nothing I could do but fulfil it).  Note that I have my excuses rationale ready 😉 I felt a little guilty because Toby has a little bit of cashflow difficulty, and I didn’t work last week when I went to get my new tattoo done (which cost £100 in itself!).  I think I might have to take on some extra shifts at the hospital.  I am not one to flash cash, especially when that cash comes largely from funding to do my course, and I am also spending a significant amount of money on getting my driving licence (wish me luck for my theory test on Tuesday morning!), which is a pretty necessary measure.  I’ve never been rich.  But sometimes the allure of beautiful designer things is just too much to resist.

I spoke in a recent entry about the fact that I wasn’t always like this.  Designer names used to be something out of reach, irrelevant.  I was younger, those were things that would come in time.  Well, I’m not younger anymore; that time is now. Life is too short to be wanting forever; I don’t spend crazy amounts on irrelevant things, so why shouldn’t I treat myself?  Generally, I am a shopaholic because I love spending money, be it on myself or on other people, and I’m just as happy to buy other people things because I find the look on their faces when they open a well-chosen gift something to treasure; that’s my favourite part of holidays like Christmas.  But sometimes I feel a little guilty because perhaps I should be a little more responsible with money – you never know what is going to happen tomorrow.  I should appreciate more the plight of people who might never be able to have even one beautiful thing in their life.

I think about my grandmother when I have crises of confidence like this.  She’s actually quite wealthy, but she’s never been one to treat herself; she would much rather give everything she has to other people.  She will be  77 years old next month, and in April it will be 2 years since my grandfather died.  I love her to pieces, but it’s hard to get through to her the philosophy that she’s earned the right to spend a little on herself and treat herself to a nice little something every now and then.  Hell, I’m 24 and I’m feeling that life is too short! But since she’s never bought herself designer things, precious jewellery, something special, preferring instead to shop at pound stores and discounters (even though their wares often fall apart in a matter of weeks, necessitating a repeat purchase and costing you more in the long run – I’m a believer that generally you get what you pay for, and if you don’t then you take it back and you take your money elsewhere).  I wish that she would recognise that she is worth a little bit of luxury.  I think that she is a good person; I think that I am at the heart of it a good person, and a good person doesn’t declare themselves all the time.  But nor should a good person go totally unsung or unrecognised.  That’s why I love to treat my friends, my family, those close to me – they are good people and they deserve a little luxury.  The same goes for myself.  And I wouldn’t spend it if I really couldn’t afford it, so why should I feel bad about it?  The only thing I hate is to be spending like this around people who honestly can’t afford it, because the last thing I am is a snob.  After all, this ability to buy something nice is fairly new to me – I wasn’t always like this, and I’ll never forget that there was a time (and there might be a time again soon – who knows?) when I couldn’t afford it myself.  I know what it’s like to have to really budget, and I truly hope that nobody close to me thinks that I’m buying things just for the name.  Shopping is about achieving the person I always aimed to be, about externally realising the man I am inside.  I hope that nobody close to me ever thinks that I don’t appreciate what I have, or that I take for granted my current finances.  Because I do, and I don’t (respectively).  And as for what the rest of the world thinks, I couldn’t give a fuck.

I have found my own sense of style, and a look in which I feel comfortable.  Unfortunately, that look is expensive 😛 (What do you expect? I have Italian blood 😉 ) Sometimes I have to ask Toby / Hannah / Nick / Davina / Deena / Karina to drag or steer me away from certain shops, because I know that I shouldn’t spend the money – it’s not necessary.  But from time to time, I give in to the devil on my right shoulder and buy myself something nice because I want it, I need it, I earned it.  Maybe I’m a little bit devilish, maybe I’m a shopaholic.  But if so, that’s who I am and on the whole, I like it 😉

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what christmas means to me.

December 20, 2009

I remember when I was little I would count down the days to Christmas Day so eagerly.  About the 22nd December, I would be so excited I couldn’t sleep.  And then on the day itself, I’d be up ridiculously early, eager to open my presents and be spoiled for the day before we would go to my nan’s for a big Christmas lunch, relax in front of the television watching one film or another while my mum and my nan chatted, my grandfather slept and my dad made a nuisance of himself in one way or another.  Eventually we would go home to wait for the inevitable boredom that was Boxing Day. But overall, it’d be a lovely day and hold the type of memories I’ll always cherish.

I guess it’s called growing up, but I don’t feel at all the same now.  Part of it is that those memories are irreplaceable – my grandfather is now dead, my grandmother is in Australia this year, and the year before last spent the day in hospital with my granddad, and my father is the one who cooks now (nowhere near as well, though it’s ok) and we eat here at home.  There’s no eagerness to open my presents, and since my parents don’t seem bothered by what I get them, they wait until 11am or something ridiculous like that just so that I can see their faces and suss out whether they really like their gifts.  In other words, the childhood traditions of Christmas are completely broken and gone; we do things differently now, and sometimes I wonder if I was the only one who ever enjoyed Christmas.

Nowadays, I dread the day itself.  There’s nothing to watch on TV, there’s nowhere to go that isn’t parent-sponsored (my friends are all busy with their families, obviously; there aren’t any buses and as I don’t yet have a car – something which I’m looking to change in the very near future – I am essentially home-bound), the sanity of my nan’s conversation and the scrumptiousness of her cooking is poorly imitated by my father.  And I feel bad for saying that, because it’s not that his cooking is bad; it’s not. It’s perfectly edible, but it’s not the same.  I have a lot of my own issues with food, eating food and generally feeling guilty for it. (Another down side to Christmas – every cigarette I have is under surveillance, so I am currently eating more and smoking less.  Not good for my figure, nor my state of mind!) But nevertheless I am always eager to taste my nan’s cooking – it is that good (I like to call it the Italian influence) that even though I exercise restraint in size of portions, I eat more than I otherwise would.  Her food has a certain feeling of safety to it that is comforting and yet vibrant and actively tangible; my father’s food just feels fake and bland in comparison.  That’s just Christmas Day – this year I plan to be talking to Mike (who is a real Scrooge!  I’m certainly not as bad as he is – he actively hates it) and complaining in unison, and quite possibly working on my essay.  Hell, there’s nothing else to do.

Nowadays, my favourite part of Christmas is buying everyone’s presents.  I couldn’t really care less what people get me, as I appreciate anyone thinking about me enough to get me a present, and I don’t tell people what to get me as everything I actively want is invariably too expensive, and I wouldn’t be happy with people (not even my parents) spending that much money on me.  I prefer to buy jewellery and expensive items with my own money, because then it’s my own decision and I’m not bound to being grateful to anyone.  The thing I enjoy about buying people’s presents is the rush and buzz in the shops, the feeling that Christmas is here (maybe it’s left over from my days working in retail – which I am still so glad are over) and most of all, choosing the right gift for somebody so that it will genuinely make them happy and let them know I have not only put thought into what I’ve chosen for them, but that I value them as a friend.  This year I have spent a bit more money than usual and than I intended, but since I have my bursary from university, I can afford it 😉 Hell, if I can afford my Gucci earrings and bracelet (which FINALLY came on Wednesday after a 3-month wait!), I can afford splashing out an extra few £ for my friends.  I take pleasure and pride in that, and I believe that as much as I deserve to be treated, so do they.  We all should allow ourselves to feel good, and allow our friends to shine a little sunshine our way every now and then.

But the meaning of Christmas has changed.  This year at university has been something I’ve enjoyed so much, I plan to go into the library over the holiday just to see Mike and do some work – it fills the time! I can barely stand to be at home anymore unless I have the house to myself, because I feel like I’m in a cage that isn’t allowed to co-exist comfortably in the same room as my parents.  I go to Starbucks most days when I have free time just to work on my essay – it has the double bonus of allowing me to escape the house & have some cigarettes, and I actually seem to get a fair amount of work done there.  (The unfortunate drawback is that I consume a beverage that contains calories – though I always go for skinny, so I guess it’s not too bad.) I like being around people, I like being close to my friends, and the fact that I have this essay to work on means that I have something to focus my energy on.  I don’t know if it’s that my attention span is getting shorter as I grow older, but I cannot stand to simply sit in front of the television and vacate my brain.  I need my laptop near me at the same time as I am watching anything just so that I can talk to friends and surf the internet – my nan jokes that I am constantly multitasking, but it is true!  I don’t know if it’s that I don’t know how to relax, but most of the time I don’t really feel the need to relax, because I’d rather be on the go.  And I guess that that’s at the heart of the problem – at Christmas, there’s just not enough to do that keeps me entertained!  I don’t dislike Christmas, but as I’ve gotten older I’ve realised that the soft-focus memories of my childhood aren’t enough to hold my attention anymore, even if they were still able to be replicated (which they’re beyond not).  I don’t need gifts anymore, and I don’t need to watch a silly film on the TV while eating x, y and z.  That’s not me. Fundamentally, what I want from Christmas more than anything is to spend time with my friends, get out of the house and go somewhere and talk, be silly and have fun.

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quiet storm track walkthrough (part iv).

November 20, 2009

(clicky) Quiet Storm (album download) (clicky)

Okay, this is the final part of the stories behind the tracks on my album Quiet Storm.  Parts 1, 2 and 3 can be viewed if you click on those little numbers, and I want to thank everyone once and again for supporting my album and my blog.  I really appreciate it, and I hope that these behind-the-music notes have added a little to your enjoyment of my music.  On with the show!

18. Role Model (Interlude)

This was originally an entire song which was a rap song with a sung chorus. You can hear the original full version on my High Fashion mixtape but although the lyrics were kinda cool, I wasn’t too keen on my flow in places and I thought that I would rather not have the raps as part of my album.  Nevertheless, I appreciated the idea of the chorus and feeling misrepresented in society as a young person, a gay man, a singer, my music tastes, where I come from, my heritage… all those things are categorised and yet how many of us actually fit the stereotypes for those categories?  I felt that it led into the next song well, as it is about exposing who I am as a person, and not letting anyone’s pigeon holes or preconceived notions dictate who I am.  This is me, and this is…

19. The Truth

This song is probably the most heartfelt I’ve been in any of my songs recorded to date.  It discusses my relationship with my family, life and death, my emotional state and insecurities, my childhood, my education, and music.  It is the truth of who I am – sometimes we feel sad or hard done by, and other times we remember how happy we have been and whatever happens, we just have to keep going and get on with it anyway.  This song is a bit scratchy due to the fact that I have recorded myself playing acoustic guitar on the track (yes, that is me!) and it didn’t work perfectly, though I think it did the job.  I liked the guitar and the piano and the beat – it combined together well to be a midtempo R&B joint that was musically quite stable and almost sunny, yet anchored in place by some really heavy lyrics.  I thought it would originally have been the album closer, but then you’ll see I changed my mind about that.

20. Last Chance

I wanted the last song proper on the album to be a dance song – something that really went out with a bang! I decided this because sometimes (in keeping with the nocturnal theme of the album) you’re not ready to go home at the end of a night, until the DJ has played one final song that really gets you to annihilate the dancefloor and you can just let yourself go with the music before calling it a wrap.  This song is that song – I was inspired by “Work” by Ciara (sampled on the track!), “Get Me Bodied” by Beyoncé, “Boom Boom Pow” by the Black Eyed Peas and just any song that really makes me want to move.  Other songs sampled in this are Paulina Rubio’s “Sexi Dance” (at the very end when the track fades out) which gives the song a late-night / early morning sensuous hue, and Beethoven’s “Für Elise” – just because it worked! I was crafting this track for a really long time, and between utilising the beat at the end of “All Night Long” to give the album a sense of circularity and closure, and trying to really fire up the beats and make them incendiary, I just tried to be as crazy as possible.  The rap, the off-kilter song structure with multiple hooks and instrumental at the beginning, the extended coda – it’s really going for broke! And that was what I wanted for the last song.

21. Close

To once again fit with the theme of closure and circularity, this is the “outro” of the album, to pair with the “Open” intro – again, I wanted to use the word “Close” in two different ways, both signifying the end of the album and also bringing in the idea of just wanting someone to hold you close, and desiring that intimacy (not necessarily sexually) at the end of the night, just before the sun rises and you’re feeling contemplative.

22. Lucky To Have You (Bonus Track)

My grandfather passed away during the creation of this album, and I remember being at Oxford and hearing on the telephone from my mother and grandmother that his health was really deteriorating. I wrote this song to comfort him (though he never heard it, and neither has anyone else in my family) as he passed away – I wasn’t allowed to go home and see him because it was in the middle of my finals, and he died and the funeral was held all while I was stuck in Oxford and expressly forbidden to come home.  I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forget that – feeling so helpless far away and yet just glad his suffering was over (his illness was long and protracted).  This song is really personal and dedicated to him; it doesn’t fit with the rest of the album, but I nevertheless wanted to include it somewhere so I thought a bonus track was the best opportunity.

That’s it!  Once again, please download my album if you haven’t already, and check out my blog! Thanks for all the support – I really appreciate it and I’ll keep the posts coming! 🙂

(clicky) Quiet Storm (album download) (clicky)

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conundrum.

July 12, 2009

A moral dilemma that my grandmother is going through: My grandfather died over just a year ago, and I don’t know how long after the funeral it was but she received a letter not long after his death from his nephew Marco asking about the house in Italy.  My grandfather’s father owned the house, and eventually it became the property of my grandfather, and now he has died, it’s the property of my nan. Apparently, Marco cannot take this and is desperate for the house for some reason, and he basically asked my nan in this letter to give him the house because of the family connection and because it was his grandfather’s and all this business.  Of course, my nan was upset and angry because a) it is her house! b) how dare he ask such a question, let alone at such a vulnerable moment and c) who does he think he is?

I have never met Marco in my 23 years of life.  Not while my grandfather was well and I was a child, not during my adolescence and when he was beginning to get ill, and certainly not in his last year or so of life when my grandad was bedridden and my nan was his carer, nor when he was more or less a permanent resident at the hospital moved from ward to ward.  My mother had a bad relationship with her father (“distant” is probably a good word) and she still visited him.  I would go and visit him in my lunch breaks at the Perfume Shop; when I was home for the weekend during my final year of university (when I had dissertations and finals revision), I made the time to go and visit him with my grandmother and great-aunt.  I never met this Marco once, so why is he suddenly so interested in my grandfather?  He never was when he was alive.

The premise now is this: Marco was on the phone to my nan on Friday and decided that he wanted to make a plaque down in Fanna (the village in Italy where my family is from) honouring the memory of his mother and uncles, one of whom is my grandfather.  According to what my grandmother has told me, these plaques involve a short message and a photograph in memory of the deceased.  It sounds pretty tasteful, but what I don’t understand is that it has been a year and 3 months since my grandfather passed away, and he was the last of his generation to die.  What has suddenly inspired this idea in Marco?  Anyways, all Marco reportedly wants from my grandmother is a specific photo of my grandad which was included in the pamphlet at the funeral – he wants the full-size version emailed to him, or something.  But me and my family are wondering what his true motives are.  If he was genuinely interested in honouring his family, a) he would not have taken so long to think of the idea, and b) he would not have written last year’s disrespectful letter to my nan asking her for the house in Fanna in the first place.  Moreover, my nan was my grandad’s wife; she decided to have him cremated here in Bristol, and the funeral was held here, as was the burial of his ashes.  If she had wanted to have a plaque to his memory down in Italy, she would have done it by now and she certainly doesn’t need Marco to think of the idea for her.

So here is the dilemma: what does she do?  Does she go ahead and give him the picture, even though it is not really his place to honour her husband? (He is only her nephew and he never made any effort while he was alive)  Or does she refuse to give him the photo, creating more bad blood (under a serene-looking surface, of course).  Either way, from the viewpoint of the people in her village in Fanna, she would look bad: if she refuses to give the photograph, my grandfather will be omitted from the plaque and it will be made known that that was at my grandmother’s request, making her look like she didn’t care for my grandfather that she didn’t want a plaque put in his memory when it was offered to her.  Obviously, the complete opposite was true because she basically nursed him for the past 18 years and was his full-time carer for the past 5.  But that would be conveniently forgotten.  However, if she consents and gives Marco the photograph, obviously the villagers would say that it had to take a suggestion from his nephew to make her want to commemorate my grandfather, which suggests she couldn’t be bothered to put anything in his memory.  Where it wasn’t that she couldn’t be bothered, but she has decided to commemorate him here in Bristol where they have lived for 45 years and where she can visit him 2 or 3 times a week as she wishes (which she does).  So what is she to do?  The only other option I can think of is for my nan to decline to give Marco the photograph, and decide to erect a separate plaque to my grandfather commissioned by her.  It would steal Marco’s thunder in one way, but this would look a bit late (over a year after his death) and a feeble gesture.  And of course, it would be viewed as a competition to the plaque that Marco would place in memory of his mother and his other uncle.  Plus again, if my nan wanted to put a plaque down in Fanna, she would have done it by now – so she is being pressured into it.  What do you think is the best thing to do?  In any case people are going to say what they want to say, but when it comes to family, we already know the truth about who really cared about my grandfather… it’s more a case of not wanting a manipulative relative to sully my grandmother’s reputation and my grandfather’s memory.