So I will not move to this small nice town on the idyllic country side. I will not have an office in the old but expensively modernized and very well restored town hall. I will not be in charge for the historical archive containing nearly twenty original charters reaching back to the high Middle Ages. I will not work as redacteur for the volume of the town-history to be edited in occasion for the twelvehundredth anniversary of the town being named in a list of places someone gave to someone or whatever the reason was the godforsaken name got written down. No, I will not live in a cheap but extraordinary large four room appartement in the quiet center of the historic district where no cars are allowed and everything is to be reached by foot within ten minutes’ distance. I realized this when I pulled the large brown envelope from my mailbox. They sent my papers back because I was on the short list and had had an interview. I thought it went well. The city council deceided in favor of another person.
I rearranged some furniture here. Took care of my adressbook. Even cleaned my desk (!). Read newspapers, again. Procrastinating, have to meet a deadline in four weeks, a kind of archival research, I know how to start and what steps have to be taken, from a certain point onwards the results define the further direction of the research; besides that here on my desk sits a large heap of related materials that needs to be worked through, sorted, listed; very first step should be a search for literature in a small and specialized bibliography, part of the library here and only here, I can do this from my desk. I know that I have to start now and that there is no more space for delays …
You know Staropramen?
Comes from Prague.
And a postscriptum: