Want to see a book being written?
I mean, actually being written – being added to word by word?
If so, then go here, to The Dragon Lords, to see something quite unique (I think).
You are even able to interact with the author.
New technology, to be honest, usually leaves me quite cold but this is truly amazing.
Note: I wrote part of this on the train, on my way to the Mantova Festivaletteratura. 6th September. The rest is from memory.
It’s 8.15. I’m on the train. I have butterflies in my stomach, partly because I am always like this when using public transport and partly because, since last night, I have been quite excited about going to the Festival.
It is far too early to be up on a holiday but I decided, this year, to take the train rather than drive. It means I don’t have to worry about drinking, the traffic, parking, etc. But also, I think, it is much cheaper, even if I am travelling 1st class against motorway tolls and petrol.
So I sit in leather seats, in comfort, with room to move around and can relax.
As I write, we have left, exactly on time. The rail service, here, is really very good. And 1st class is worth the 5€ extra.
The countryside is not really beautiful, to me. We are in the Lombardy plain, there are no hills. The flat fields to either side are full of ready-to-harvest rice – which plants look similar to sweet corn (maize to Americans, maiz to Italians), like dead stalks rather than food, or just-harvested fields with the few inches of dried stalks left.
Occasionally we pass buildings. Old, abandoned buildings – except they aren’t really abandoned. There are telltale signs – window shutters open, a car parked outside, washing hanging from the window.
Or small villages or towns, clustered houses which end abruptly to fields of sweet corn or rice or hay.
We pass through a station called Pizzaghettone (or something like that) and then, immediately over the river Po, I assume, the other side of which is a small village – which reminds me of Crespi d’Adda – a factory (still operating) with purpose-built houses and blocks of flats nearby. I must check it out sometime.
There are points on the line where the rail is single track. the train slows and passes through wooded areas. It looks so beautiful as the early morning sunlight shines through so it is not gloomy. We could be anywhere.
We arrive, on time.
This is, in fact, the first time I have come to Mantova by train and, if I am on my own, it is certainly something to consider next time.
I walk from the station through to the centre and the Festival office. I arrive at the square near to Piazza del Erbe. There is a café there that sells some special Mantovan pastry. I stop and sit at a table. In any case, I need coffee. It is hot and perfect.
The waitress comes and I try to get what I want but, either they have run out or they don’t sell it any more. I have coffee with a doughnut. It’s not brilliant but it’s OK.
I walk round to the office. It’s the first day of the festival but there are plenty of people around. I go into the office. They have changed things around a bit. I look for Marella but can’t see her. I see Sara and the guy from Sweden or Norway or somewhere of whom, to my disgust, I can never remember his name. He’s such a nice guy too. But I am crap with names. Sara explains that Marella is not feeling well. I am disappointed because I usually spend 10 minutes chatting to her and it’s always a nice start. However, Sara sorts me out, including which events to see. I have all day and only three events so plenty of time for sitting, relaxing, drinking and eating.
So, I leave the busy office, not wanting to be a burden, knowing, having worked at the Hay Festival, that you really don’t want people just hanging about. There is work to do, after all.
I make my way up to Piazza Sordello and one of the outside cafés. I sit and, even if it is about 11 a.m., I will have a beer 
Except the waiter ignores me. And I read about my first event. I check the time – it starts in less than 15 minutes. I abandon my idea of a beer and get up and walk towards the location. As I near the place, I pass another cafée and decide that I will have that beer after all.
I sit outside and order. I have 10 minutes. It’s enough time.
As I drink my beer, a ‘minder’ comes with two people. Americans. Since the couple have a minder, he or she must be an author or, at least, speaker. I look at him but don’t have any idea who he is. The minder is obviously bored with them or cannot find things to say. She checks her phone. I contemplate the idea of talking to him (for his partner has gone across the street to take photos) but don’t. After all, I don’t actually know who he is and just because I speak almost the same language, doesn’t mean I have to speak to him. Indeed, just because you’re gay doesn’t mean I will like you – in fact, I don’t really have many gay friends – I find I have little in common.
I suddenly realise I am going to be late and finish my beer, pay at the counter and go to the event. It is called Translation Slam. It may have been wonderful if it had been an English author but, unfortunately, the author was Spanish – so although I understood some of the Italian, the whole thing was quite difficult to follow.
After this, it was time for lunch. Lunch, of course, had to be Griffone Bianco (see link on right). I wandered up to Piazza Erbe. I could see some of the old buildings fenced off – the earthquake near Modena affected Mantova too – but none of them seemed to have fallen down – just a few bricks or slates having fallen to the ground.
As I walked up to the restaurant, I saw Peter, sitting on his own. I went to say hello and he invited me to join him, even if he was already on desert. I had a very pleasant lunch time and we chatted and ate and drank (although he only drank water) and it took about two and a half hours.
The next event was just after 3. Steven Greenblatt. It was OK and, obviously, all his bits were in English which helps a lot
On my way back to the office, I passed a shop which sold belts (amongst other things) and called in and bought a belt which I had needed for ages. Then I went to the office to enquire about Marella. Apparently she was going to come in later. But then I was off to my next event. It was Peter interviewing Aiden chambers – so all in English (with translations for the Italian audience. Mr Chmabers did seem quite a crazy guy (in what he thought) but it was interesting none the less.
During the event, Marella texted me to ask how it was going, were there many people, etc. There were a lot of people – almost full and I thought it went very well – the audience seemed to appreciate it.
Then, as Marella was now in the office, I went down to see her. Whilst waiting for her, Peter arrived and she grabbed him to ask if he would go to dinner with some important people of the Festival. Then she asked if I could come too. Is said I could for about half an hour as I had to catch a train. She said that was fine.
We got a taxi and ended up at the ‘staff canteen’. Mantova has an enormous number of volunteers – mostly kids from schools and universities and the one thing that Mantova does well is look after them. They have a huge canteen serving food all day and evening. I found it amusing that we were going to dinner there – what with such important people in Mantova!
We followed Marella into the ‘authors & special people’ dining room – away from the hordes of kids (thank goodness). There were about 10 very large, round tables, with tableclothes on. We were introduced to these people (a couple – the woman of which I had seen at Peter’s gig). Then we got food from where they were serving and sat down.
Considering these people had really wanted Peter to come, they hardly spoke to him which both Peter and I found quite strange. In fact, the guy spoke more to me – about the dogs, as it happens.
And, finally, Marella and I got a few moments to talk when I promised to try and bring F (and, maybe, the dogs) there next year. Well, he’s met Lola now and likes both her and G, so I’m on a roll right now!
Of course, because the time was short, I completely forgot to ask about Marella’s daughter – which I felt terrible about afterwards.
I left quite soon and walked to the station. I arrived with a few minutes to spare and got on the train. It left on time but, unfortunately, there was a delay on the way back (another train in front had some problems) and so I didn’t get into Milan until 11.30.
But, I thought as I caught the tram back – here (as opposed to Hay), I can wear my sandals all day and night – and that makes everything so much more pleasant.
However, I had a super day and was so glad that Marella (even though slightly sickly) was able to come. I’m sure that, without her (sorry Sara), the festival wouldn’t actually be quite the same at all.
So, next year, I have to try and persuade F to take a day off and come – even if it is his busy time of year.
Thursday was Mantova and the Festivaletteratura. A book festival. Of course it’s about books and, normally, selling them. It’s a requirement of the authors to go around pushing their books. So they talk about them.
I went to three events and with each one moved to better understand. The first was a translation event – translating from Spanish to Italian. Hmmm. I understood the concept and some of it. Then, another with an English speaker and, finally, an event with Aiden Chambers. As both the author and interviewer spoke English, I understood completely.
But the time went so fast! Last time, without anyone with me, there were times when I didn’t know what to do with myself. This time, I didn’t seem to have lots of ‘spare’ time.
I did spend several hours with Peter over lunch and also with him and Marella at a rather quick dinner (since I had a train to catch).
It was a truly delightful day. Sara looked after me as Marella was ill in the morning but she came in late in the afternoon and, although she wasn’t really well, it was fabulous to see her.
Although, thinking about it now, I never asked about her lovely daughter – but we didn’t talk alone or for long, unfortunately.
I was late back that night. F had looked after the dogs but, even so, we got to bed late and, therefore, were up late and, so, left late the next morning.
For this was a long weekend in Carrara.
That evening, we went with his sister and family to the beer festival that Marina di Carrara has every year.
Since F’s twin brother also works/volunteers there, it’s kind of obligatory.
We ate and drunk beer. The food was good, the beer OK. There were people from Inglestad doing traditional tunes, songs and dancing, in traditional costume. The men wearing liederhosen (spelling?) And the women crisp white blouses and long green skirts.
At one point the put on some tacky Italian music and in came some Italian dancers. I was struck by the difference. Perhaps one should call it national dress. Although dressed slightly more than the dancers that break up game shows on Italian TV, it was all boobs and legs.
It drew more clapping and cheers than the Germans had got – after all, the men had got to see more flesh
After the food and the beer (and the dancers), we walked around the stalls. Everyone bought something, except me.
Friends were met at various times, one of whom I knew.
Two different festivals in two days. And now the beach ……
“Family are important”
He wanted me to blog that I had said that since he found it strange or funny or both. Not the sentiment, you understand, just that I had said it.
But, to understand the statement, you need to understand the background.
He has a girlfriend. Or a might-be girlfriend. Or a maybe girlfriend. In any case, they’ve spent some time together.
“Have you met her parents yet?,” I ask.
Of course not. Relationships, for some people, go at snails pace. I know that, but I like to ask these things. Like I liked to ask “Have you kissed her yet?”
Please note that I didn’t ask for intimate details. I really don’t want to know about others’ sex life. A) it’s not my business and B) it is better not to be put into a position of imagining it all. I really don’t want to know. But, on the basis that, once, I was told about a girl with whom he had ‘had lunch’ several times and who was a ‘serious contender’ for the title of ‘Mother of my children’ – but who, with further questioning turned out to not know she was in the running for ‘mother of my children’ title and, in fact, had absolutely no idea that he was even interested in her, I like to ask questions to try to determine the ‘real’ state of things.
For your interest, the answers were 1. No and 2. Yes.
The ‘No’ was because ‘it’s complicated’. Complicated by the fact that the mother is a friend of a cousin and, therefore, word would spread and then ‘Mother’ would be involved and he doesn’t want interference.
I can only imagine.
But I justified my question by stating that ‘Family is important’.
After all, if she is to win the competition for ‘Mother of my children’, you need to know that a) you LIKE the family and b) that the family LIKE you.
He did make a valid point of the fact that this would be impossible for a partner of mine.
But to counter that I would say that, even if I could have children with my partner, my family would never know, let alone be involved. And, in any event, my family wouldn’t like my partner on the basis that he would be a man.
So the correct statement should be that ‘Family are important – as long as it’s not mine’.
Anyway, it seems like the competition for ‘Mother of my children’ is moving forward.
Of course, to me, every new one is a winner. That’s because I only get the barest of information about them and I only get that after asking A LOT of questions, since information is NOT forthcoming. It would, indeed, be easier to get blood from a stone.
And, sometimes I get a bit frustrated. Hence the question ‘Have you kissed her yet?’ And, anyway, asking a question like that gets a real response – at least non-verbal, which can sometimes say more than a verbal response.
I guess I’m quite wicked sometimes
Further to my post below. It worked! Well, it worked at one level.
About 6.30 a.m., Sunday, I heard the start of playing.
I encouraged them out of the bedroom and shut the doors, putting something behind the doors to stop them opening.
Only once did I hear an attempt to get through. There was no whimpering or other noise. I slept until 9!
So, Sunday was a good day.
F suggested that I get some sort of latch so we can latch the door. In fact, I will be getting two. One for when we are in the bedroom and one for when we are not.
The reason for the latter is because of two reasons.
1. Sunday night, we got back from having a pizza and, as usual, the dogs came to greet us. Piero was a bit late. As I thought, he had been on the bed. Worse, he had taken soomething fromo the bedside table and destroyed it. It wasn’t important in that it was only a box of plasters but that wasn’t really the point. The getting on the bed has to stop.
Of course, the problem is that it is not possible to enter the bedroom without coming into the flat through the front door – which always gives him time to get off the bed.
2. On Monday morning I got up a little later as F was going to take them out. I got up and, as usual, Piero was asleep in the lounge. I closed the doors to the bedroom and got ready for work, had a coffee, etc. Piero was completely quiet. When I left, I had opened the doors to the lounge but not the bedroom. Apparently, at about 7.30, he started whimpering, which woke F up.
So, for these two reasons, a latch or latches of some kind must be bought and fixed. And it’s not so simple either. The latches must be operable from both sides since I must be able to close the door from outside the bedroom and yet F must be able to open it when he gets up.
Actually this may require a ‘man’ to do it.
But, you may ask, why don’t you just shut the door properly?
Well, the problem is that these doors are very old (possibly as old as the flat) and they have warped and been painted over numerous times so that they a) don’t close exactly and b) anyway the handle doesn’t actually work.
On a more positive note, this morning, both dogs came with me as I went to get ready and have coffee. Again, I left the flat leaving the bedroom door closed but Dino knows you just need to push it. F informed me that, this morning, they were quiet.
It’s about 6.30.
6.30 in the morning.
6.30 on a Saturday morning.
After a week of getting up at 5.40.
We stir enough for Piero to come in from the balcony. It is light. Dawn has broken.
In his mind, light = day. Movement = awake. Day and awake means getting up and going for a walk.
We don’t move from the bed. It is September and Autumn has well and truly arrived. It is cold, not helped by the balcony window being open. The bed is warm. F is warm. I need another hour or an hour and a half.
Piero doesn’t.
Piero tries to get our attention, which doesn’t work. So, he turns his attention to Dino.
He wants to play if he can’t go out for a walk. Dino is more like us and doesn’t want to play.
There is some playing on Piero’s side.
Dino gets fed up and gets on the bed. On Frankie’s side, of course. He lies down.
Piero puts his front paws on the bed but it seems a little too high for him (thank goodness).
I try to go back to sleep.
After a few minutes, Piero makes it onto the bed. Dino moves further up the bed. F, who is under the covers, whispers ‘Ti voglio bene’ (meaning I love you – as you would say to a child/relative/close friend). This sets Dino off and he moves further up the bed so that he is almost sitting on F’s face. Partly to get away from TLB (The Little Bastard) and partly because of what F has whispered to him.
F gets up. It is about 7.
We talk later about this. I tell him that this is not acceptable. He agrees. I say we should shut them out – shut them in the kitchen. F doesn’t want to do that. He says we can close the bedroom door. It doesn’t close properly – they will come through, I point out. He says we can put something behind it, like the laundry basket.
So, tomorrow morning, about 6.30 a.m., I guess, I will, most likely, be getting up to shut the door to the bedroom and, hopefully, giving us more time to sleep.
God, I really hope so. I feel as tired now, as I write this, as I did before the holidays!