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Me and my Mini Morris - the adventures 2.


To tell you the truth, the complications usually start even before departure. Let’s say when I go to the garage in my 5.5 inches high-heel shoes. I cover myself in a wonderful cloud of perfume, toddle to my Mini, stylishly get in, just like Lady Diana used to do. Then I gracefully place my purse on the passenger’s seat and try to dredge up my driving shoes from under one of the seats. I suspect to explore the elements of feminine foresight and care in the use of different shoes. Only an irresponsible woman would jeopardize the lives of others by pushing the accelerator on stilts... I’m not like that. I take off my super-sexy shoes and put on comfortable, flat-heeled ones (of course not the type that has slippery sole, in which you can cause a pile-up, but rather one, which is better not to be seen by anybody because they don’t really go with my clothes, but they are convenient). Of course, the preparations haven’t been completed yet. While the engine is warming up, I prepare my sunglasses, my cell phone for the journey and have a look at my make-up. Here we go - you may think now, women and men alike, a typical woman. Yes, I reply bravely, a typical woman. Because whether you like it or not, no matter how ridiculous or exaggerated it might seem to have a woman spruced up as a poodle in such a small car, it is a fact that if we have the possibility, men and women alike, we take a glance into her car and as far as the crazy city traffic allows us, we look her up and down…
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When All Seems Lost — and Even When It Doesn’t…

When All Seems Lost — and Even When It Doesn’t… As a writer, I read more than average. Not necessarily books that fall within my immediate interests, but rather those I can learn from, marvel at, analyze word by word, and sometimes even those that demand more effort from me than usual. That is how it is with Alice Munro. I bought my first book by her when she received the Nobel Prize. Then life happened, and the volume sat on my bookshelf—either I had no time for it, or it lingered somewhere at the bottom of my list of priorities. When I finally picked it up, I could hardly believe my eyes—or my reaction. First, I was utterly outraged; my blood pressure shot through the roof in an instant, and I almost started swearing in disbelief. I had barely skimmed the first few lines, yet that was enough to know: it was perfect. A true masterpiece. Excellence among the excellent. Every word reached the deepest layers of my soul. I was touched by its purity, its delicacy, the noblest simpli...
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Evening thought

Now and then journalists in search of copy ask me what is the most thrilling moment of my life. If I were not ashamed to, I might answer that it is the moment when I began to read Goethe’s Faust. I have never quite lost this feeling, and even now the first pages of a book sometimes send the blood racing through my veins. To me reading is a rest as to other people conversation or a game of cards. It is more than that; it is a necessity, and if I am deprived of it for a little while I find myself as irritable as the addict deprived of his drug. I would sooner read a time-table or a catalogue than nothing at all. That is putting it too low. I have spent many delightful hours poring over the price-list of the Army and Navy Stores, the lists of second-hand took-sellers and the A.B.C. All these are redolent of romance. They are much more entertaining than half the novels that are written. /W.S.Maugham/
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