After returning from Montreal in September I exchanged a few messages with Dwight, a well thought man I met there. Dwight is one of those individuals who have the rare gift of scrutiny and sometimes he translates his canny observations of people and situations into written pieces. So last Autumn he sent me a novel based on an experience in a small village in southern Crete. When he sent it to me, Dwight added a note to the text. I am not going to share the novel with you; but the note – that I will. It goes like this: “that was also my only time in Italy; an ephemeral visit spent entirely on a train going from Paris to Brendisi where I caught a ferry to Greece but not before witnessing an Italian’s small car roll off the wharf into the water beside the boat because he forgot to put the brake on. Hence my memory of Italy is a constantly changing landscape and a desperate man hanging off the wharf trying to stop his car from sinking with one hand“.