Adieu, Mon Doux Rivage

It is time for us to part. Hence, this heartbreaking title. Which is an aria written by the largely-not-remembered composer Meyerbeer, who once moaned about Chopin. In a very catty way.

It is also the title of one of my short stories, hopefully in a new book coming out at some point in time. A stolen title, that suits the story very well. Hopefully it works.

But now it is time for me to move away from this neglected blog and move to a proper author website, details of which I will post here very soon. In the hope that you might wish to read a little further, not so much of Marilyn or even my own antics in Italy, but more about writing and the creative effort. And gardening and shoe sales and philosophy and hiking and all of the rude things that pin us to this life...

Thank you for reading this far, and apologies if I have hopped off the blogging bus for so long. It was a great ride. I've made genuine friends of some of you - with some of you (you know your names) turning up in Venice for long rowdy wandering staggering train-missing days. Which were great. Talking with writers helps so much. Talking with readers helps so much. Thinking for a second longer about the things surrounding us - are they connected? are we responsible? what must we do? - has always been at the centre of this blog, as much as indulgent wailing about favourite books and lovers and holidays. I think a good time has been had. My foray into 'intelligent' erotica and Italian divorcehood was a lot of fun.

But now it's time to get serious. Ahh yes. This writer is on a new mission now.

And of Marilyn? Our Divorced Lady Living in Italy? I can only tell you that I see her sometimes when she breezes in from Rome or Milan, with or without her lover Arnaud. She speaks the language now - with a Roman twang that can't be helped- and has grown Monica Bellucci-beautiful.

I wouldn't worry about Marilyn being marooned here, or helpless, or in decline. She has truly found herself. As I hope you all do.