The First Draft Is You Telling Yourself Your Story - Memoirs and Biography
It was the last night of my four night visit to Rome. I 'd walked myself to the verge of exhaustion again and was having a final cup of tea in the bar/restaurant next to my hotel. Some new brick paving was being laid on the street and the bar was struggling to keep down the dust, even after the builders had finished for the day and the air conditioner was doing it's best to pump out some cool, moist air onto the tables and customers who were sitting outside with food and drinks. Emerging from the haze of cold air combined with concrete dust, came a woman, glasses hanging lopsidedly from their cord around her neck, speaking a combination of English and Italian, from which we customers surmised that she had something annoying in her eye. She lurched across to my table and asked if she could "leave this here a moment", laying down an A4 notebook, whilst squinting and protesting about the "something" in her eye as she did so. "This stupid thing - it keep