The great thing about my four books, and now the first 8 pages of my fifth, is that they are full of passion, and truth—the psychosis of AUTISMUS, the longing for Lotta in LOTTA, the breaking through the barriers of THE COLD ICY AIR OF THE MOUNTAINS, the tiring of travelling and falling in love of CASANOVA. It all rings so true and is dripping with passion, truly written in blood and tears. The preparing to go to Vienna is now going to be such a big part of the new book. The visit itself will probably pass without a word—I shall not have time. Oh but to go to St Stephen’s seems an essential part of any visit to Vienna, even if one foregoes Richard Gerstl’s Laughing Self Portrait in the Belvedere or Titian’s Mars, Venus & Amor in the KHM. I am becoming really excited about my writing again—the loving embrace and acceptance of —— enables this to happen. TRAVEL PICTURES is the perfect title for the series, as they are dominated by my visits to Berlin, Brussels, Vienna and Munich, the interludes in London always an agonising torture of boredom and longing, filled with disappointments of the trips just completed, and almost in the next breath the yearning to go again. My movements are very regular, I am blessed like that—the intervening months trapped in London a kind of constipation. But one pays for such movements, and one can never pay dearly enough. In all this planning for Vienna, I have somehow steadfastly avoided actually checking what the actual costs of going might be. I am circumnavigating that particular fly in the ointment.