I’m back in Venice in the same hotel, the same room, where exactly four weeks ago my trip to Iraq started.
I came to Venice to pick up my duffel bag, my flake jacket, my helmet (you never know when you need these items again) and also to meet the editor and publisher of my new novel.
The editor is in love and the publisher quit smoking and drinking.
One is now a little bit too much over the moon to my taste, the other one is a bit too healthy.
I was happy when I arrived here but to see somebody else in love is a fairly melancholic, not to say depressing sight.