I was brought here from Senegal when I was two years old by the chevalier de B., who was then governor there. Ourika, Claire de Duras, translated by John Fowles ***** John Fowles was the author of The French Lieutenant’s Woman, whose opening line I posted yesterday, as no. 3.
The photo I chose for the ‘Together’ challenge shows soldiers far from home, undoubtedly lonely for family and not wanting to isolate themselves from the local people. It reminded me of the concluding words of George Sand (pen name of Mme Aurore Dudevant) after spending a couple of months in a deserted monastery in Majorca, separated… Continue reading
8th April – My son is on a camping holiday for four nights at the Folk Festival, fifteen minutes from home. 9th April – The 100th day of this year. A guest brought us some Hot Cross Buns from a Vegan bakery. On the packet it says ‘cruelty free’. How much cruelty is there in… Continue reading
I’ve just accidentally deleted this post. Good thing I kept notes; I can rewrite it. I had tried to add a photo. That was a mistake. Wish I could undo the disappearance.
To my surprise, in my summer years, I find language and words filling my life. On any day, I spend hours dealing with language. This weekend, for example, the last day of 2011 and the first day of 2012, I have helped an eight-year-old learn to read; I have read chapters and chapters, on a… Continue reading