As recently noted, I spent a fair amount of the last year penning a memoir. This was a long overdue project, one which I had been turning over in my head for several years; so many years, in fact, that I had begun to fear the thing would never find its fickle way onto paper.  As with the finest wines, however, I like to think that this memoir gained greatly from the length of time it spent strolling through the sunlit channels of my over-brimming brain. It was clearly maturing up there, biding its merry time before spilling joyfully from the tap of my imagination in an eager, entertaining gush.

I may be wrong: this may be the most tiresome memoir ever penned. Worse, even, than Niklas Naramaratov’s With a Brief Grin: Memoirs of a Gun-Toting Madman, or Alexander Rottenberg’s sixteen volume Factory Days. It is not impossible that the reason that this is the first ever memoir about the late great Johannes Speyer is testament to the fact that no one has ever, or will ever, have any need for such a book. To my credit, yet, I am at least granting my readers the opportunity to lightly dismiss or disparage the work without the loss of a single banknote. Yes indeed: Conversations with Speyer (for so it is called) will be available free of charge, in a series of instalments, to all who care to read it. Exactly how many instalments I have yet to decide; so too the length of each instalment. The important thing is that the work is written, and that this is the year in which it will be sent out into the world.

More on this very shortly…


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