Oxford, Paris, and other things

                            Banbury. Kings Sutton. Heyford. Tackley. God this train is so slow! But there’s a reason for that. Beauty. The landscape’s slowly showing off Fields and trees and cows and sheep Green on green with splashes of white and brown The infinity of green and the sun playing with you Blinding you slightly. And gone. A wink. Next to me bubbling The English of the South, Fresh as a stream.

The tradition is that I write a poem on a postcard to work in the language of the country I'm visiting. This time it was French, quite difficult... all bad words and expressions to be blamed on the "enemy's wine" (Claret). Paris vue 1001 fois Toujours aussi belle Les Japonaises pièces de musée prière de ne pas toucher et la Joconde, toujours un peu ennuyée - trop de touristes empressés Le cadeau des vieux messieurs qui portent du Guerlain Le bruit des brasseries le goût du pain du vin et moi qui pense de l'autre côté de la Manche Pourquoi quitter tout cela ? France... "que mon coeur aimer doit" (1) (1) Charles d'Orléans En regardant vers le pays de France

"Вы идиот" говорили Да... не знаю... maybe Но между нами Я, меня и мне Мы идем как дураки Или блаженные Ничего не знаем о любви Ничего не знаем о вас - увы? "Вы - идиот!" говорили Да... не знаю... maybe Но между нами Я у меня и во мне в жизни идем как дураки или как блаженные Ничего не знаем о Любви Ничего не знаем о Вас - увы?

This title refers of course to the brilliant novel from Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid's Tale , which was recently adapted into a television series. It describes a futuristic society (but not that futuristic...) where the new masters of the land are hard core puritans and where women deemed as "lost" become surrogate mothers. I won't go into that much because I believe many people know the story, or if they don't, they should read the book. Shall I remind people what a book is? A good one? It's a work that has been created for quite a long time and that we, the public, read in a short-ish amount of time, a bit like a painting, hours and hours of work from the painter, that is seen and judged, and looked at for a few seconds, before we move on to another painting. I'd like to remind people that because perhaps fewer and fewer people read books, fewer and fewer people get lost in front of a painting admiring it. The internet is a great place, but it is pro...

That's it. I have arrived safely. The fire was impressive to look at from the plane. Luckily the house and the whole district here did not go to flames. Same good old house and pool but ash, a lot of ashes. Forgot how quickly the night comes. No sunset - not in downtown LA pollution and all that. There's light and then it is switched off! At LAX I had some conversation partly in Spanish, partly in French, partly in English with a Portuguese student who is at a liberal arts college called St Thomas. It is there where the fire started apparently, hence the name of Thomas fire. Day 2 drove down to Ojai. Air hot and wind. We didn't stay outdoors for too long! Day 3 started the Stephen King book on writing - definitely better than the horror I was currently reading, though it is good to read crap books too! King, like Truffaut for cinema, thinks it's a good thing. Not sure I'll be able to finish that horrible book though. Bon fromage ici Et Dianne est toujours u...

I used to go to work early, and even then, I was not ready. So I would pop in Taylor's on St Giles and get an espresso. Then, I would go to my place – I wish I'd say my favourite place but it's a graveyard and I'm no Goth – under that fig tree, just outside the graveyard, against the small wall. I would enjoy my strong coffee with a cigarette, the taste of each other mingling nicely together and progressively waking me up. And almost every morning, by the dot of 8 am, Mrs Dalloway would appear. I did call her Mrs Dalloway because she would walk fast, as if she'd "get the flowers" herself, like in the begining of that novel by Virginia Woolf. And yes, immanquablement, invariablement, Mrs Dalloway would appear ; a long, tall woman with fair hair, vaguely looking like a prettier Virginia Woolf with a rucksack on her back, wearing a shirt but with sport shoes, à la New Yorkaise. And yes of course, I had to quote an English author, perhaps the most En...

вино - как дверь нельзя открывать в Синей Бороде замке в комнате, где вы находитесь моя любовь моя любовь мой Любовная тоска