I’m not Bridget Jones, nor Virginia Wolff, and even less Casanova, but I have my diary too. And it’s one of the few things I couldn’t live without.
It was 1982 when I first picked-up a regular notebook, following a suggestion from a friend, and started filling it with ink. As it would soon turn out, this became my very first diary.
Since then I have filled some 30 diaries – one per year – and I have rarely missed a day of writing. There are times when, after a full day of travelling and meetings, I don’t feel like writing. Yet, even then, I force myself – and I never regret it. Yesterday my day started at 6:45 and I came home after an official dinner at 23:40. But I still wrote one page before brushing my teeth and putting on my pajamas. [more]