Confessions of an undercover elf‏

This year I am not even going to pretend: here comes the Christmas blog post.

First of all, a confession: my Christmas tree was up in mid November, lit and decorated by December 1. Same for candles and lights around the house, the wreath outside the front door, and the nativity (aka 'il presepe'). Heralding my latest motto 'November is the new December', shopping was completed, food ordered and charity donations posted, faster than you can say 'mistletoe'. All to the soundtrack of endless festive singing, repeated to insanity, testing the patience of those around me.

I am not making this up. I genuinely get excited when the sparkly lights appear in the streets, and friends start organising pre-Christmas drinks. Once a year I like to behave like a ten-year old. I am sure it is allowed.

Of course, the whole shebang is pointless without.. well, yes.. without love. Of all sorts.
So, I wish you all a Very Happy Christmas of Emotional Incompetence. Be it embraced with the innocence of mistakes. With the hope of tentative trying and resolved understanding. Of openness and purity of heart.

Merry Christmas, to all.

What women want

Simple: good sex and a helping hand to get through the day.

The relative weight of these two components can vary with age. 

In our 20s, it is probably 90:10; 70:30 in our 30s; 50:50 in our 40s; 40:60 in our 50s; 20:80 in our 60s. And then, who knows, maybe a flip to the origins later on in life!

Diamonds, weekends in Paris, iPads, puppies, horses, handbags, shoes and new stereo systems are added bonuses. But the basics have got to be right.

Just my two pence.

The next love story - The end‏

The unbearable excitement of the wait.
Scouting the crowd for a face that brings a fearful joy. 
Then the little silhouette against the busy background. 
Struggling through with the many bags of a nomadic
life.
Her eyes lighting up inside his.
The hesitation that prolongs the promise. 
Like after a reboot, all memories are deleted.
In their arms, the past died.
And the next love story found a new beginning.
A really quiet one.
Because happiness is private. 
And words can never make it justice.  
It only lives on their lips. 
And it is nobody else's to tell. 

No more x

Being an immigrant comes with several downsides.


Not really knowing where your home is.
Being away from your friends and other loved ones.
Not seeing your nieces and nephews grow up.
Missing food, tastes, smells that you are unlikely to stumble upon.
And then, of course, speaking another language and adopting other people's customs.

I am not a big tea drinker, but quickly made friends with real ale.
Won't eat marmite, mince pies or fish&chips, but am a big fan of crumpets, toad in the hole and fish pies.
I am still confused about the number of kisses people give as a greeting (two, I do two), keep mistaking politeness for friendliness, and find Christmas cards a scary yearly mountain to climb.

But there is one British habit that continues to baffle me to this day, 14 years on: the virtual kisses. The 'x', or 'xx', or even 'xxx', in cards, at end of emails, letters or any other written form of communication.
May seem silly, but so many questions are attached to the use of this tiny letter. When? To whom? How many? And most importantly, what's the subtext behind the text?
First, friends. Is the number of 'x's directly proportional to the affection of the signee? If so, is a two-x friend closer than a single-x one, but not as good as triple-x? What if I sign with two, and they reply with one? Am I misgauging the level of intimacy? Am I being left mid air, giving an unrequited kiss (as often happens in real life)? And if you get downgraded, down the x-reducing spiral of discontent, who will address the horrible, persistent doubt: what have you done for an 'x' to be taken away?
Add romance to the equation, and my head starts spinning. What is appropriate? What looks suspicious? What means friendship and what something more? What if a kiss is just a kiss, especially in cyberspace, and doesn't stand for much in the real world?

Too much for me.
I shall go back to my old ways and cross the 'x' off.
No more kisses. At least in shortened form. Plenty left in real life.
Don't be offended. I am just Italian.