A life in print

A few things from the last week have re-opened my relationship with books, and don’t laugh, but it is my longest serving relationship to date.  Even as a child, I used to ignore requests to play outside, preferring the wonders of worlds written on the page.  But following numerous years of study, the relationship soured, and I turned to reading crap fashion magazines, because I could no longer bear the site of a serious book anymore. But at the moment Belle Lulu does not intend to stay put for very long. She has to play property developer for a while before she can fulfil her dreams. So that means de-cluttering and starting to pack things away. One of the first things often stored in the attic is books and this is also where I started. It is silly to say this, but it was really difficult to decide which ones to choose. Obviously the sex books are not packed away, that was the first rule. Then away go the study books, which is a real relief, but then a mass of books is still left behind; I feel an emotional attachment to yto some of them.  Do I put Beckett in the box, when I went to Trinity College to buy the plays? How can I hideaway all my well thumbed and annotated novels? I am normally very decisive; this process took a long time and without rational thought in the end.

But however, I found myself nearly walking into a lamp post today reading a book, so I think my passion has returned, which can only make me smile. But this week, I also finally received my very own book. My name in print, it was so exciting to look at the spine of that book and to see my initials. So now you will be meeting an author, but I doubt the topic is anything but inspiring except to other academics.

The great illusion

I have received a few lessons in stereotypes of national behaviour recently, some of it positive and some negative. Although the negative lead to discovering the positive aspects of Italian culture. Needless to say with Russians, I have had to practise enough patience not to blow up. Whilst I can reveal I left due to serious employer misconduct, some of the behaviour I witnessed was just plain crazy. When you are told that some people have skills to rival Mozart, it takes all the comic timing you can muster to keep a straight face.

In turn, I learnt about Italian hospitality, which was supplied without question and gratefully received. I also learnt enough about Italian compliments and cultural differences in approaching women. I don’t think I have ever been approached whilst cycling ever before; I am not quite sure if it was an approach based on a forward personality, or taking a chance with pot luck. Lucky for me, I do not drink coffee, to everyones’ curiosity! I also managed to learn a few great swear words and how to travel around Italy with more weight in my luggage than my own weight. Must be all the pairs of stockings, I still need a lesson in travelling light.

But in spite of all the hard work travelling around, I managed to discover a few things. On the romantic view to life, I have a better clue of what life is about. Little pleasures should include listening to church bells and picnics on the hill overlooking mountains and villages. Even though I prefer the melodies of Austrian church bells, the thrusts of the Italian church bells can be just as powerful.

I have also learnt to be a bit more careful with crush material, and remember what a crush is supposed to be about. A crush is something you can never do anything about, and that is what makes a crush so entertaining, perfect material for reserved use. Reality does not quite match the crush ideals.