Every now and then, I browse through my case-bound notebook made by Ryman, a whole collection of which I bought in Reading before leaving for Motovun. A few of them are still waiting on the bookshelf in my study, but the one I am using currently is always in my knapsack. All the essential notes go into it. Besides, I use it to measure time. My time. And the notebook I am currently using is full of surprises. For instance, I thought it was rather new, but I just discovered that the first note on its pages was written nearly three years ago. Indeed, the date that comes with the note is September 20, 2012. What is even more surprising, I am only a third of my way through the notebook. At this rate, it will take me six more years to come to the last page, which would bring me all the way to 2021. I almost panicked when I realized that I will be seventy-six at the time. And there are two more Ryman notebooks still untouched in my study, not to mention five of them made by WH Smith, which my beloved brought for me from Britain several years ago. They are about half the thickness of Ryman’s case-bound notebooks, but a few of them are still liable to survive me. A good measure of my time, no doubt.