Like Estragon and Vladimir, Steve and myself have been waiting. We too have talked a lot about the arrival. But for us it is of our course members and unlike Godot we know for certain they will arrive and then the play will begin. Also our waiting has been a busy, active time, more action than talk in fact. We arrived at our French house just a week ago and the last week has been been getting the set ready in preparation for our writing and art courses. This means many trips to Leclerc and trolleys filled with wine, cheese, coffee, yoghurts etc. The garden pots are filled with geraniums. The rosemary and lavender are trimmed and watered. We try out the swimming pool; we get out the Penguin deckchairs; we prune the bay and we warn our French neighbours that the English are about to arrive. Happily we watch where the shadows fall in the courtyard to note cool areas for sitting to paint and write.
The house sparkles – as much as an old farmhouse in France can sparkle. Old, stone shutters and big fireplaces are by their nature dusty but hey ho it’s French dust so that’s alright. Last night I mopped the tiles in the kitchen as we backed out to go to bed. I greatly enjoyed seeing the white tiles come whiter and the black blacker. It was a D. H. Lawrence moment; he loved sweeping floors.
How awful if our course participants did a Godot on us. We would have to drink all the wine ourselves. Meanwhile we lie on the reclining chairs under the walnut trees, start on the wine, and wait.
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