Time flies when you're having fun

Last summer I spent one and a half months living on my own in a half-empty apartment, sleeping on a mattress on the floor, my social life dictated by the infrequent trains that served my local station. That time passed so slowly; it felt like an eternity. In contrast, this summer has flown by. I can't believe that I've been here for two months and autumn is already on the horizon.

I've been very happy this summer. I've loved my living arrangements and will be very sad to pack my bags this week and return to my nomadic life. It's been lovely being part of a family while also having my own personal space. I enjoy eating with other people and hearing the sounds of their daily life going on around me. It makes me feel less alone. It's also been amazing eating their home-grown produce every day – tomatoes, courgettes, courgette flowers, pears, aubergines, lettuce; it all tastes so much better fresh from the ground/tree. It's made a big difference not being reliant on my friends for accommodation, transport and entertainment. I feel more independent. I've found my feet, made new friends, I love cruising up and down the Ligurian coast in my little English car.

It's strange to think that last summer I arrived knowing only Chri and up until then I hadn't seen him for 14 years! Now, thanks to him, I have a big circle of friends. There's Evelyn, a girlfriend like I've never had before, and who I haven't yet known for one year, who likes nothing more than doing girly things together. On Friday we stayed at home and watched hair-up videos on YouTube in preparation for the wedding I'm going to in Ibiza next week. (I think we've cracked a style that should work, although I could do with flying Eve out with me to recreate it for the big day because I'm not sure it'll be quite so easy on my own!). I have open access to her wardrobe and beauty products and she's constantly telling me not to wear all black, to experiment more with my make-up, to buy a new, more revealing bikini, etc etc. On Sunday night we went to her parents for dinner (melon and proscuitto, Ligurian style rabbit then ice-cream cake, all washed down with the red wine her father produces); they were so welcoming and hospitable and told me that their door is always open for me.

Then there's Matteo, who shares my love of travelling and experiencing new cultures. He's also a runner and, unlike Eve, has been to visit me in London so has experienced and understands my English life a bit. I love Matte's house, an old building in the heart of the village – maybe another of my havens. His parents have also opened the doors of their home wide to me and I really appreciated their hospitality too. Matteo has, perhaps more than anyone else, taught me to try and live more in the moment; not to plannify as we call it! And I've formed a special bond with his girlfriend, who I've only met a handful of times. She speaks good English and during a short car journey together we inexplicably did some mutual emotional story sharing. She has been through her own share of shit and is therefore perhaps the only person in my group of friends here who can really understand something of my experience. That's important to me.

Davide, an architect who also plays in a Blues band, is a one-off and never fails to make us all laugh. He should be on the stage really, he's quite the drama queen but all in the name of comedy. He plays his plastic fork like a guitar while queuing at the bar; he splashes you repeatedly with water while you're having a serious conversation about religion in the sea, maintaining a straight face for the duration; he bursts into song at random moments; he can make his bottom lip tremble dramatically when he pretends you've hurt him; he loves Queen. He is a proper gent, you can have interesting conversations with him and he's a very patient Italian teacher.

Gianluca is also a one-off, but in a completely different way to Davide. His humour is more base and he's inexplicably quite down on Italy generally. He is training to be a lawyer so lives at home with his parents. His mother seems to spend every waking moment cooking and we've spent many an evening at the beach, eating her torta verde and drinking a chilled bottle of white wine that Gianluca has brought along with him. He lives in the hills and has introduced us to a hidden beach on the Roya river that is amazing for swimming in the cool water. He also has his finger on the pulse regarding the dates and locations of all the village festivals, which is always good to know.

Andrea (a boy, the equivalent of Andrew in English), is an accountant. But he's not dull. He loves art and reading and the theatre, which I thoroughly approve of. It's nice to find a man to share those things with. He has been my personal guide to the area this summer and knows all the best places to go. We've been to an open-air cinema in a garden with the mountains as a back-drop. We've been to an open-air theatre in a village in the hills to see a Moliere play. We've been to nice restaurants and nice beaches away from the main drag of private beach clubs, and we've been to the best gelateria (or icecreameria as we christened it) in the whole of Liguria (his claim, not mine) and sampled their pine nut ice cream. Last night, on his recommendation, I took myself off to a little village down the coast for a wander on my lonesome. I looked around the church, had an Aperol spritz in the piazza while the sun set then wandered the little alleyways until I stumbled across a small photography exhibition. I ended up chatting to the photographer for an hour or so and loved every minute of it!

And, speaking of friends, Barbara just called me. She's from this area but now lives in Milan and she's here on holiday this week. She's off to Juan-les-Pins tomorrow with another friend who I've met once before and they wondered if I'd like to join them. Perfect timing as I'm off to Nice this afternoon because Chri, Eve and I are going to the Madonna concert there this evening!

Anyway, hopefully that gives you a flavour of some of the people I've met. It's not always easy to express ourselves with the respective language barriers, but somehow we find a way and all get on well. Nobody treats me like an outsider because I'm English. People are patient and inclusive and kind. In fact, despite the language barrier and the cultural differences, I feel like one of them. I don't see myself as different just because I'm from a different country. I guess friends are friends, whichever country they are from.

On Sunday I'm off to Ibiza for a couple of weeks. T's step-sister is getting married so I'm super excited about that. It will be so nice to see T's family again and to catch up on all their news. Eve, Massimo and Elvira are joining me for the second week. It's looking unlikely that Chri will be there, which I'm not very happy about, but wait and see. Then I'm back here for six days before heading back to the NE to see my precious family. The Great North Run is looking unlikely this year, due to a persistent knee injury, but I'm really looking forward to being back in the NE and seeing everyone again. And who knows what'll happen after that. As Matte has taught me, I'm trying not to worry about that too much right now so as to make the most of today, but I'm not good at dealing with uncertainty. My heart tells me to stay here where the quality of life is good and I've got a lot of single friends. My head tells me I need some stimulation and a 'proper job'. Any advice appreciated!

Riding pillion

Two boys in one week have told me I'm a great pillion. Apparently female passengers are normally very rigid and lean the wrong way into and out of corners, making it more difficult for the driver to control the bike. They were both surprised when I told them that last summer was my first real time on the back of a bike.

I've been thinking about this and it's strange really. In the past, I was so scared of riding pillion; in fact I could count the number of times I'd been on the back of a bike on half a hand. Then my husband is killed in a motorcycle accident. These two things should mean I'm even more frightened of bikes, but instead I've developed a new love for them. Well, for scooters really. I think the reason I'm a good pillion is because I don't think about it. I'm so relaxed when I'm on the back of a scooter, watching the world rush by, feeling the wind against my skin, breathing in the fragrant Mediterranean air, sharing observations with the driver. I move as one with the bike. I don't think about corners and which way I should be leaning. It's so liberating, I love it.

I've said before that when T died I like to think that a part of him fused with me so that we're living one life between the two of us. If this is true – and it's unlikely, I know, but just humour me – then I think I've inherited my love of riding pillion from him. And I like that. I like that through T's death I've found pleasure in new things, things that would have previously been totally off-limits to me.

On the news front, it's been another great week. Last Friday I went to an open-air theatre in a small village to see Moliere's Tarfuffe. It was magical. Then on Saturday a big group of us went to a village festival in a small village in the hills. We ate well, drank, danced and generally had fun. Sunday was spent dozing on the beach – cooling off in the sea when it got too hot.

The kids are on holiday for a couple of weeks so I'm a free agent now, so my days this week have mostly been spent at the beach. I've done lots of swimming and it's amazing! Yesterday I was in the sea by 9.15am and had my last swim around 8.15pm. I love my life here! On Wednesday evening we went to a lovely little village in the hills called Apricale. When I arrived there I told my friends that I thought I'd lived there in a past life. I felt instantly at home. We saw an amazing theatrical performance where you were taken around the village in groups to watch various performers tell their story in different locations. I didn't understand much of the Italian but it was a great experience. Then last night I met four friends on the beach when they finished work and we shared a bottle of wine, ate torta verde and arancini made by one of the mums, and had a swim. Tonight we're off to another village festival that promises to be a good night, then probably out in Monaco tomorrow night. On Sunday night I'm hoping to go somewhere dark to watch the meteor showers that occur at this time of year and that will forever remind me of the meteor showers we saw when T died. Life is good. 

Three years on

I think about T every single day; not one day goes by that I don't. Yesterday, the third anniversary of T's fatal accident, and today, the third anniversary of his death, have prompted more thoughts than usual, but I think my thoughts around the time of these anniversaries are more destructive than on other days of the year. I find myself reliving those terrible days: thinking that this time three years ago T was alive and we were all going about our lives as usual; that this time three years ago I received the call from the hospital; that this time three years ago I didn't know that T's accident was fatal; that this time three years ago I spent my last night with my beautiful husband; that this time three years ago I somehow said my last goodbyes; that this time three years ago I was taken back to the house we shared and how very little I remember about what happened after that. On other days, my thoughts are generally more positive. I remember T's smile. I remember his love for me, and mine for him. I give thanks to him for the life I'm now living in his memory. I speak to him; I tell him things I want him to know. I remember happy times with him.

But despite this, the third anniversary of T's death has been okay. It's almost been and gone and, once again, I've survived. I haven't done anything specific, I've had a quiet couple of days alone with my thoughts. I fought the urge to succumb to the destructive thoughts yesterday and, although it felt a bit like I was burying my head in the sand, I think it was the right thing to do. I half wish there was someone here who knew T, who could help me mark the occasion in some way, but it's okay that there's not. I'm grateful to my mum, dad, sister and nephew for visiting T at the weekend and yesterday and leaving him some flowers. I don't like to think of him on his own. I'm also grateful to my lovely friends and relatives for the messages I've received. I really believe that the strength of the thoughts for T over the past couple of days can only be a positive and powerful thing.

Today I'm also remembering the people who received some of T's organs; those people who were given another chance of life thanks to T. Only one organ recipient has contacted me so far. I'd like to think that one day I'll hear from some of the others, but that's up to them. I assume they'll be offering their own thanks to T and his family today, a third anniversary for them too.

I think this year's anniversary officially marks a turning point for me. It's taken me a long time, but I feel   completely happy again. You don't believe it when people tell you that one day you'll be happy again, but now I believe it. Yes, you never forget. Never ever. But you do start living again. Living happy. The pain of the loss makes you stronger. Makes you braver. Makes you grateful. Opens your eyes to life and how best to live it. I feel I'm living my life to the best of my ability right now.

Now I'm going to raise a glass to T. To the wonderful person he was. To the happy memories I have of our thirteen years together. To the life I'm now living in his memory. I love you T. Always.

2009

Yesterday, after a morning at the beach with both kids and their grandmother, we took the scenic route home in an attempt to get Pietro off to sleep. He resisted but we ended up near the cemetery where their grandfather is buried. Alice insisted we go and say hello, so in we trooped to pay our respects. (As a slight aside, many grave stones in continental Europe have photos of the deceased on them. To begin with I found this slightly disturbing, but now I quite like it. It enables you to picture the person, whether you knew them or not.)

Back at home, I had a late lunch with the grandmother; the first time we'd been alone like that. I decided to tell her that my husband also died in 2009, the same as year she lost her husband. I assume that she already knew something of my story but I'm not sure. Regardless, it felt like the right thing to do at that moment. We exchanged stories and shared our experiences of death and bereavement as best we could with my limited Italian.

I don't tell many people my story anymore. Partly because most of my friends already know, but partly because it's not what defines me as a person. It's no longer need-to-know information. But I was happy I was able to tell someone yesterday, someone who understands too. Strangely, later that evening I found myself dining alone with the housekeeper – again, the first time that has happened. During the conversation she asked if I was married. My usual response is no, but last night I also told her my story.

It felt good sharing it with women. Not that men don't understand, but I find a lot of men don't know what to say or how to respond when I do tell them. With these two women, I felt like it was a bit of female bonding. It maybe helped them to understand why someone my age was doing what I'm currently doing. And, if they already knew, maybe it meant there was no longer an elephant in the room, which is what my former boss told me when I confessed everything to him. He already knew my story but hadn't known how to acknowledge that fact to me. Actually, it was definitely female bonding because at about 22.15 there was a knock on my door and I was invited to go and have some gelato with the two of them. The three of us sat around the kitchen table and polished off the ice-cream together. It reminded me of the midnight feasts I used to have with my sister and good friend, Margot. It couldn't have been more girly and an appropriate end to the day. I love you Tim – you have opened more doors for me than you could possibly imagine.

Call to action!

This week I went on a date. Not something I would usually share in such a public place, however out of my date came an important call to action for us Anglo Saxons...

The date was innocent enough – a film under the stars (including one shooting: at which point I felt like I was starring in a cheesy movie but managed not to vomit into my popcorn...), followed by an ice-cream on the prom – so don't read too much into this next comment because it will sound way worse than it was, but I was told that I was surprisingly tactile. Romeo thought that Anglo Saxons were meant to be quite 'cold' people and not very physical! Funny what stereotypes perpetuate in this world we live in. Stereotypes that we need to challenge!

So, get out there people. Be more tactile. Show these Romans that they don't have the monopoly on romance. I've started the campaign (I felt it was my duty), but I need some back up ;)

Last Wednesday I did another first and drove into Monaco to pick Chri up from work. I don't know why, but I loved doing that. It was funny thinking of my little UK car having made it all the way to Monaco. I did almost roll into the back of the car in front while gawping at the flash cars cruising past me. It's a funny old place Monaco, but it is growing on me now that I know it a bit better. I've never been to Vegas but I think it might be a bit like that;  you have to just accept it for what it is in order to get on and enjoy it. 

Anyway, after I collected Chri (and he filled my car up with petrol – it's like having my dad here, love it!) we went to Villefranche and had our first swim of the year together in our favourite bay. It was a bit of a routine last year but now I'm living in Italy it's not very practical, so it was especially great to be back. I was in Nice to collect my friend Kari, who was visiting from the UK but her flight was delayed so Chri and I headed to an Italian restaurant near the port (where I did some Italian/French parking on the pavement outside a church). I had the most delicious seafood linguine washed down with a lovely glass of white wine. I love it here! I dropped Chri at home, had a quick cuppa then headed to the airport to collect Kari.

It was lovely seeing a friendly face from home and great that we had the drive back to Italy to catch up on each other's news. I dropped Kari at her hotel and met her at the beach the following afternoon once I'd finished work. Unfortunately the waves were too big to venture into the sea so we chilled out on the beach then I went for a run along the seafront followed by a pizza and a gelato. On Friday I drove to Monaco again and met Kari, Chri and some of his friends for an apertivo in The Brasserie. We then went for a really nice Thai meal (my first in France or Italy) in Juan Les Pins and a cocktail. That night we stayed at Chri's but I got up at what felt like the crack of dawn the next morning to take him to the airport for a stag do in Barcelona. Luckily I was able to go back to bed when I got back and caught up on some sleep before heading to Villefranche in the afternoon. Getting the train again made me incredibly thankful I've brought my car with me. I really couldn't survive without transport here. 

On Saturday night we picked up an Italian friend who was on my TEFL course last year and happened to be in Nice that weekend and drove to Menton – in France but near the Italian border – for a Bastille Day meal and fireworks with some of my Italian friends. It was a good night but another example of the Italian way of drinking/not drinking. Yes, we had wine etc with our meal, but after the fireworks we strolled through the town (not stopping anywhere for a drink) and stumbled across an old-school dance in a marquee on the sea front. We stopped there and did some dancing (well, I call it dancing but I think the pros there were a bit pissed off with us...) then headed home. It was a late but a totally sober night, for the drivers as well as the passengers. I think Kari was a bit surprised but you do get used to it and, although you might be tired the following day, it's actually really nice not being hungover. 

We spent Sunday on our usual Italian beach where it was finally possible to do some swimming, although the waves were still pretty big, then had dinner in my favourite favourite restaurant in Bussana Vecchia. It was so nice being back there and the food was as good as usual. Kari stayed with me on Sunday night then before we knew it, it was Monday again and time to take the kids to the beach. All in all, a great weekend was had by all and although I don't want the time to pass as quickly as it is, I say roll on the next one!

Two other things...

1. Today a snake slithered across the garden path in front of me. I assume it wouldn't have posed a threat but I was a bit surprised nevertheless. Thankfully, although I've heard a lot of them, I've not yet seen any frogs. I'd much rather encounter a snake than a frog.

2. I forgot to mention that when I go running I run from the town where I'm living to where my parents went on their honeymoon. I love that! I didn't realise that's where I ran to initially, but I really like that it's gone full circle.

Buonanotte!