I have returned from a most marvellous week in Italy and am once more a stressed out little frizzball. I am contending with the morons who are sorting out my money. I am searching for information. I am trying to get through at least half of the required texts before classes start. I feel uncommonly tired, and I can’t even blame jetlag, there being a mere 1 hour time difference between cloudy Britannia and sunny, sunny Italia. Sigh.

I am not patriotic, I never will be. I never have been, unless you count a smattering of tears when Diana died and that was due to everyone being so emotional and me being what, five or six or seven years old? I forget and I don’t particularly care. So I feel no guilt in writing that, if I could, I would drop everything right now and move to Lake Garda, Northern Italy. Yep. Even though a lakeside apartment costs upwards of 250,000 Euros. Oh yes. You see, I would write, I would own a cat, I wouldn’t be hemmed in by queues and paperwork and rain. If I don’t spend a lengthy period of my future life in Italy, I will be shocked at myself.

I will post photos from my summer holiday in due time, most likely along with random facts I either knew before from extensive internet-based procrastination sessions, or ones that I learned from various tour guides.

And lo, the new blog has been christened.