Sia chiaro da subito. Se riapri un blog dopo un paio d’anni di silenzio e prima ne avevi uno dove hai scritto per quattro anni, ci può stare che ricicli qualcosa. Se poi quello che ricicli sono delle perle di rara bellezza, beh, tanto meglio per chi legge.
Il fatto è che questa mattina mi andava di raccontare la grande malinconia che mi ha preso come mai prima, nel corso dello scorso anno, per un paio di capisaldi della mia infanzia. Bologna e i Peanuts.
A Bologna si stava bene, punto. Certo Roma è un’altra cosa e, probabilmente, se non mi fossi trasferito tanti anni fa, avrei preso i voti. Ma si stava bene.
L’ironia dei Peanuts invece mi manca anche peggio. Perché ce li ho in tutte le salse, in tutte le edizioni, ma non riesco più a leggerli. O meglio, leggendoli oggi non mi piacciono come mi piacevano quando li leggevo più di vent’anni fa. Tragedia. Perché?!
Meno male che ci sono i ricordi. Un surrogato della realtà, che non ti abbandonano all’alcol. Non sempre.
Vàmolà lo sguardo lucido e savio dell’Avvocato Legnani, in compagnia del Guccio e del Dottor Masotti! Rigorosamente in un’osteria di fuori porta.
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