Dear readers! You can probably barely remember when I used to write guidebooks. Neither can I!

Not since last August have I complained, exulted or otherwise ranted about guidebook writing, because I’ve been sitting at home, all domestic-like, writing the cookbook.

But now I’m heading out on the road again, very shortly. Too shortly: the 24th. The amount of stuff I have to get done between now and when my plane takes off for sunny Andalucia is keeping me awake at night.

I’d go into more detail, but Leif Pettersen has deftly summarized the arc of a guidebook gig.

Read that, substitute Andalucia for Tuscany, deduct total sexiness by 10 percent due to my not having practiced my hot lisping Spanish accent, and you’ve got my upcoming gig. Oh, and did I mention my mother is coming?

Brace yourself for on-the-road posts involving ham, ham, sherry and my mother. And if you have any recommendations for me (Granada and Almeria provinces are my beat), let me know in the comments.