Post script.
My friend Pheobe died last night. l was due to see her this afternoon. Yesterday she was really struggling with her treatment, luckily my last memory of her will be of her acting daft, saying how beautiful her nails were. A good person who made a difference to my life. l'll miss her.
Milly and l grew closer the longer we worked together. By this time l had been promoted to Creative Director and she became my little helper. She had been living with other Italian expats in Paddington, but l told her she'd have a better more rewarding time if she lived with English people. She found a wonderful flat share in Clapham with two girls, Charlotte and Ursula, who are also still her chums. She saw a side of living in the UK she wouldn't have experienced otherwise. We could never have much time off together because of work, so l sent her off around the country on our very generous holidays, [ten weeks hols a year!] She went to Cornwall, Scotland and Oswaldtwistle. The latter she loved, but could never get her tongue round the name and to this day still says l live in Oliver Twist.
l wasn't a bully or Prof. Higgins to this little Italian Eliza Dolittle, but l did push her a bit. l decided where she should live, where to go on her time off, but she gave as good as she got. Every Wednesday we'd go clubbing, Thursday being my day off but not hers, he he. After watching the caberet, who usually had Milly on the stage with them as she has one of those faces, we'd dance the night away. Milly doesn't drink really, one teqilla and soda and she'd be even more lively. l however like to let my hair down, but Milly always insisted on going to the bar, only years later did she admit that when she thought l'd had enough, the large vodka and tonic l'd guzzle down contained not a drop of alcohol!
When l left London for Glasgow, we stayed in touch everyday and she flew up to see me quite a few times. She was upset about me leaving her but understood my reasons for wanting a change in my life. Tired of London tired of life, well no actually just tired of having to be so aggressive to survive in the rat race. It's easier when you are a young rat, but as l entered the second half of my thirties l thought a Glaswegian cage would offer me new opportunities, which it did.
l'm really struggling to type with my left index finger, but the next time will write about the last time l saw Milly in Milan, entitled 'How could she love such a stupid Garinda?'
My friend Pheobe died last night. l was due to see her this afternoon. Yesterday she was really struggling with her treatment, luckily my last memory of her will be of her acting daft, saying how beautiful her nails were. A good person who made a difference to my life. l'll miss her.
Milly and l grew closer the longer we worked together. By this time l had been promoted to Creative Director and she became my little helper. She had been living with other Italian expats in Paddington, but l told her she'd have a better more rewarding time if she lived with English people. She found a wonderful flat share in Clapham with two girls, Charlotte and Ursula, who are also still her chums. She saw a side of living in the UK she wouldn't have experienced otherwise. We could never have much time off together because of work, so l sent her off around the country on our very generous holidays, [ten weeks hols a year!] She went to Cornwall, Scotland and Oswaldtwistle. The latter she loved, but could never get her tongue round the name and to this day still says l live in Oliver Twist.
l wasn't a bully or Prof. Higgins to this little Italian Eliza Dolittle, but l did push her a bit. l decided where she should live, where to go on her time off, but she gave as good as she got. Every Wednesday we'd go clubbing, Thursday being my day off but not hers, he he. After watching the caberet, who usually had Milly on the stage with them as she has one of those faces, we'd dance the night away. Milly doesn't drink really, one teqilla and soda and she'd be even more lively. l however like to let my hair down, but Milly always insisted on going to the bar, only years later did she admit that when she thought l'd had enough, the large vodka and tonic l'd guzzle down contained not a drop of alcohol!
When l left London for Glasgow, we stayed in touch everyday and she flew up to see me quite a few times. She was upset about me leaving her but understood my reasons for wanting a change in my life. Tired of London tired of life, well no actually just tired of having to be so aggressive to survive in the rat race. It's easier when you are a young rat, but as l entered the second half of my thirties l thought a Glaswegian cage would offer me new opportunities, which it did.
l'm really struggling to type with my left index finger, but the next time will write about the last time l saw Milly in Milan, entitled 'How could she love such a stupid Garinda?'