Karavansara

East of Constantinople, West of Shanghai


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The last adventure of the year

The forecast says rain and possibly snow for tomorrow, and I am boarding a train early in the morning to go to Asti, the provincial capital, in what promises to be the last adventure of this year – braving weather and public transport to meet some people for a writing job.
One more little step to a better 2020, hopefully.

So I am taking along book to read on the train, Kay Kenyon’s At the Table of Wolves, plus pens and a notebook to take notes during my meeting, plus a pocketful of coins for hot drinks machines along the way.

As it usually happens when public transport is involved, I’ll spend most of the day waiting for trains and buses, but that’s part of the game. I’ll keep warm and read a book about Nazis and superheroes – could be much worse, and I like Kay Kenyon’s writing, a lot.

Of course this unexpected last trip of the year will provide me with the opportunity of spending Christmas and New Year’s Day in bed with a cold – but when one is trying to make a living writing, this is part of risks of the trade.

And really, it’s sort of fun.


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The countryside is dreary (and not in a good way)

Like Supertramp used to sing, It’s raining again, and the whole territory is under red alert for floods and landslides.
Yesterday night the take away pizza girl wrote down the wrong address – as a result, the pizza delivery guy drove under the pouring rain up to the door of our next door neighbour, and the moment he stood on their doorstep, the pizza boxed in his hand, the lady there started screaming, because who is this strange man bringing pizzas to her place in the middle of the night (as to say, a quarter past eight in the evening)?
My brother had to run there and intercept the lost delivery boy, and secure our dinner.

And I don’t know if this is a good starting point for the next Horror of the Belbo Valley, or if it’s just one of those funny things I should make cartoons about (if only I knew how to sketch) in order to attract people to my Patreon, as a social marketing guru told me about one year ago.
The only thing I know is it’s raining, the Belbo Valley is slowly slumping into the river, and we had to re-heat our pizzas in the microwave last night.

The dreariness of the countryside under the beating rain is not helping with my black moods and my general feeling of fatigue, the sort of things a warmed-over slice of pizza can only aggravate. And probably the two courses about forensic archaeology – that is, digging out the bones of the dead to find out what killed them – I am taking, while incredibly interesting, are not exactly contributing to cheer me up.

But who knows, things might get better.
They usually do.