Because I’ve been accepted onto a course to do French Language in London. I don’t
know London and found it intimidating when I went for the interview but I know I want
to study French.
I have never seen a Cézanne oil painting in real life but my boyfriend gave me a
little book of his paintings: it fits into a pocket and I am in love with Cézanne’s blue,
his gentle card players and his cubic rocks. I want to go to Provence: about as far
away as you can get from this river flowing red with dye from dark Satanic mills.
And I will go to Paris and I will read Proust. I will learn about De Gaulle. With my
French friends, I will be dizzy with colour after visiting the Musée d’Art Moderne.
Guided by Elizabeth David, I will make tomato sauce.
I will hear a different melody and rejoice in the sound of the accordion. I shall be
entranced by Françoise Hardy. Perhaps I too will become chic.
It’s not that I didn’t like working on Maggie’s farm, it’s just it isn’t in the Auvergne or
Brittany. Maggie doesn’t wear a coiffe. I shall eat fresh fish, caught by a Breton
fisherman and yellow mushrooms picked in a forest. There will be the smell of
lavender.
No comments:
Post a Comment