The picture is my desk, a couple of minutes ago when I stopped searching Google images and reached for my Nokia 8gb. My desk is always cluttered, crowded and messy. From time to time I scoop everything off into a crate and try to get around to sorting it out sometime.

This apparent lack of discipline has effectively enforced some rather strict disciplines. The post is opened the moment it arrives and bills get paid immediately, on-line, with a delayed date -naturally - so I don't lose any notional interest. Creative people seem to fall into two categories: the cluttered and the minimalist.

My category is obvious, though I love the blank canvas of minimalism, which just waits for a few pieces of well-chosen clutter until... Well, at least I try.
But the reality is that I tend to identify myself through my clutter, everywhere in my life. A dish of pebbles on the bookshelf, a box full of old postcards, those empty jars scrubbed clean of their labels and waiting to be filled with screws, or nails, or maybe sand from a beach I remember.

The challenge now is the prospect of moving home. My partner has had countless homes in the past decade across two continents. I have moved twice, - but within a 5-mile radius. My clutter has moved with me, the pebbles placed back on their dish, the box of postcards placed in a dusty cupboard and the collection of jars neatly boxed under the bed.

Now the prospect looms of moving to Italy, starting afresh with a joint home and combined resources, energies and... clutter. Except that I have to admit a sense of confusion in the way that I identify with my clutter. It's a strange sense of loss and a wonderful sense of newness.
It's coming to terms with all the impact of a new identity.

Exciting.  

Writers have always been able to work anywhere; it's taken me a while to find the courage to move away from my clients and - more importantly - to acknowledge that I am actually a writer. And it's taken me years to fully accept that idea, going back to a dinner party a dozen years ago when the hostess introduced me to her friends with the unforgettable words: "This is my friend, Bob - he's a writer."

In truth, I've always thought of myself more as a communicator, and hence Tork & Grunt, and the books on two aspects of interpersonal communication, negotiations and presentations. Then, when I was asked to write children's books, I didn't hesitate, and I'm excited by my next project of personal-development books for the sub-teenage group, starting with one all about happiness. Mind you, corporate communication still fascinates me, and I am continuing my work on helping people to improve their presentation content and style with a much-needed book that will denounce much of what has been written about the effective use of PowerPoint.

What I've now decided - with the help of a very dear partner whose love of Italy is as intense as mine - is that I don't need to be in Tunbridge Wells, or anywhere near my clients, in order to put fingers to keyboard and create my work. And so, if it's not tempting fate to write it, we are in the throes of the excruciating process of acquiring a former farmhouse in the Marches, twixt Ancona and the Sybilline mountains, where 4-wheel drive and the arrival of broadband will ensure that we can operate just as effectively as in Britain.

With my clients all in the English-speaking world (well, their version of English, you know) I am still wondering where I will stand in terms of taxation. I am now officially on the Italian radar, with my Italian taxcode that enables me to open a bank account, but as a self-employed person I have no idea how the system will operate.
And to be honest, I'd rather not rush to find out. It's more than enough of a complication to follow the Italian property purchasing system, and worry about important considerations like whether the removals van will make it down and up the gravel track.

In our global society, with e-bay and money that moves at the touch of a PIN code in a hole in the wall, I wonder how the establishment will keep tags on everyone in years to come.

Meanwhile, I far too busy wondering where I'll put the herb garden, and longing to try out the wood-burning oven that's conveniently near where the patio and pergola will be.  

As a linguist and a writer, I appreciate the critical importance of understanding the subtle nuances of language. Both French and German (and many other languages around the world) have several words for "You," according to the degree of familiarity and formality. As a foreigner you will probably be perplexed by the way Latin countries are moving the goal-posts on conversational familiarity, and may find that generational differences and even regional variations between town and country.

Don't let anyone tell you they speak our language in the United States, especially if you're shopping for clothes. You'll find that knickers are shorts, pants are trousers and vests are waistcoats. All of this can be mildly amusing, but move language into the the fields of business and politics and the implications can be serious.

The problem arises when the word carries different connotations in different languages, and if you are unaware of these differences, you can land yourself in difficulties. Such a word is "crusade." Dictionaries give "military campaign" as the prime meaning, but in general parlance it's the figurative meaning of "aggressive movement against public evil" that is meant to be communicated. A major diplomatic flare-up occurred when the US projected the invasion of Iraq as a crusade, meaning "aggressive movement against public evil" while the Muslim world perceived that America was considering the action in its literal context of a Holy War - specifically in the context of reclaiming Holy Land from Islamic rule.

As I am at pains to point out in Tork & Grunt's Guide to Effective Negotiations, what matters is not what you say, but what the other party hears and how they interpret your communication.

So - it's Valentine's today, and did you hear what you wanted to hear...?