Recently, my guy met a woman from Azerbaijan in Milan, with some other Italian business colleagues, and they discussed a potential project. Unfortunately, there’s a war on between the Armenians and Azerbaijanis, or rather Azeris as they are often called. The woman from Azerbaijan was deeply concerned, as her cousins and family members were being drafted into the conflict. The project may be put on hold, as one might suspect.
But these meetings take place in Kafkaesque times, a theme that keeps occupying my mind. And so it reminded me, once upon a time, when I was hired to write feature articles and a few satirical diaries for a flashy magazine out of Istanbul called “Elephant Magazine”, a luxury mag for energy tycoons.
I decided to write a diary based on my own experience at ‘house parties’ in England, these 4 day events including black tie, drinks, long dinners, and hunting, of course. Where I might find myself gathered around a Land Rover for consomme and vodka with a bunch of toffs. It was a trip and we engaged in these house parties on more than one occasion, so once, when trying to find some fresh material for another diary, I decided to include a mysterious man from Azerbaijan, – just because like can be Kafkaesque, indeed.