Devil's Dictionary

A person whose job it is to protect swimmers from drowning (Merriam-Webster)

My job is to ensure that stupid people stay in the gene pool (Reader’s Digest – Job issues)

The boring stuff

While my parents were never keen on me having a job while at school - doing well academically was always preferred over having a few extra pennies in my pocket - during the holidays I was encouraged to earn an honest crust!
Thus, I found myself doing a variety of jobs over the years: I was a steward at Notts County Football Club, I spent a holiday working in a park, in an office, as a barman etc. I've never really not worked since leaving school.
On finishing university I spent half the year working in Italy and the other half managing a record shop in Nottingham.
At a certain point, however, I felt that it would be more sensible trying to find use for my degree in Italian and French and this, coupled with the opportunity to live in Alassio on the Italian Riviera, led me to do a course in TEFL in Canterbury before packing my bags.
In Italy I found work in a hotel kitchen and then as a gardener before an opportunity to teach at a school in Genoa came up. Despite the distance and timetables I enjoyed the work and over the next 12 to 15 years I both taught English and covered the role of Director of Studies in a number of schools in Liguria and Lombardy.
I then saw the opportunity to work for a publishing company, promoting their materials to teachers, both state and private, at all levels, including universities. I then moved to a rival publishing house before being approached to promote ELT products around the world and returning to Liguria, this time to Rapallo, a short drive from Portofino.
I currently work as a teacher trainer for a major Italian publishing house and spend my time travelling up and down Italy holding seminars and helping our agents promote our scholastic English materials.

From here came the idea to combine my endless time on the road with my love of good food. While I miss every moment I'm away from my wife and dogs, I can at least help the time pass more quickly in the evenings by posting my photos and thoughts here in the future.

Home is where the heart is

I have led a nomadic existence since stepping down from the train in Alassio all those years ago. I just did a quick calculation and I've lived in no less than ten different towns, mainly in Liguria and Lombardy.

Now I'm finally settled in a small town called Sozzago, a ten minute drive from Novara in Piedmont and about an hour's drive from the Alps which you can see in the picture to the left. The area is flat and mainly agricultural, the main crops being corn and rice.
We have a fairly muggy climate in the summer and find ourselves living in the fog from November through to February, but my wife and I have plenty on our hands with our four legged family!

We have the good fortune to have two lovely gardens, one out front and the other out back and share our house with three dogs, the distinguished white-haired, elderly statesman,







                                         the golden boy, and pretender to the throne and

the nipper who has been with us since February last year when we read his sad story on the website of Lida, a kennels in Olbia, Sardinia.

The nipper had been shot and thrown on a rubbish tip to die. Fortunately a good samaritan took him to the kennels where he was nursed back to health. Unfortunately the kennels suffered massive damage in the recent storms and floods in Olbia and many dogs drowned.

So, there you are. That's us!

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

July 20th 1991, and my Italian adventure begins. I step down off the train in the summer heat at the station of Alassio, some 90km from Genova in the direction of Ventimiglia and the French border. 
The plan is to stay three months, but as we all know, the best laid plans...

December 13th  2013, and I'm sitting at my desk on a bright, crisp winter's day to the north of Milan, the Italian Alps visible in the distance from my office window. 
The poem Ithaca by C.P. Cavafy comes to my mind, and the fact that more than often in life it's the journey and not the destination that counts. 
My father gave me a copy of this poem in 1991 as I set out on my journey. 

Many things have changed since then.
Many of those who waved me off are no longer here.
Many of those who I met along the way are lost to me now.
Many more, and this I'm sure of, I have yet to meet.

This blog is another new beginning, an attempt to overcome an inherent desire to remain hidden
and an inherent feeling that what I might want to say will be of little interest to others.
I have no dreams of protagonism but wish simply to share some of my encounters, experiences
and ideas with you.

I hope you enjoy it.

Karl