This autobiographical note, based on diary entries, is just so unique and genuine- it’s a glimpse into the author’s life which is both warm, full of colour, events, and pathos. It’s almost a stream of consciousness in the tradition of Joyce. It’s about thoughts of youth, getting old, recollections of parents, family, places known from childhood. It’s touching and innocent, with simple everyday experiences from the past so well described. I thoroughly enjoyed reading this, and did so more than once. There’s something totally personal about this: time and events have passed, but there’s not a hint of regret about the passing of time. The author must come back with more; he has a rich seam to mine.