Summer Holiday

One thing I do miss since I got to the point where I can call myself an adult with a mortgage and a drawer full of bills, is the long summer holiday. Those seven – eight weeks of no schedules, no responsibilities, nowhere to be and nothing to do. Those few weeks were often enough to allow for a revolution in my ideas, my dreams, my passions. Especially I remember the summers of 1991 and 1993. Oh those beautiful, lazy days when I was consumed with burning passions – the first for the Mafia of the 1920s and 30s, the second for the French Revolution – and entire new worlds opened up their doors.

It would be wonderful to live those days again. To find a new interest that swept me off my feet and turned my world around. So purely by chance.

The first was inspired by my favourite Danish author, Bjarne Reuter, and his hilarious books Casanova, Tropicana and Vendetta when I fell for his rendition of Dutch Schultz and then Lucky Luciano. The second was when I was Les Mis in New York with my parents and fell for Enjolas with a bang that must have echoed through the entire theatre.

While my girlfriends were plastering their walls with Tom Cruise posters, I had a succession of dead gangsters and even deader French politicians.

There must be something out there still. Another burning passion, another interest that makes me want to throw over everything and start all over. Both of those summers were spent largely in the library. I might be too old for a fictional crush but you never know what’s out there.

Maybe this summer will be another one for the books.

Or maybe I will finish Chocolates on My Pillow? If I’m really lucky, maybe that will end up in a library one day and be someone’s summer reading.

One can but hope.

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