Too late back from the emerald city of Norwich, where son, daughter and son-in-law were gathered. From there to a bar/cafe called The Workshop which looks like something out of Paris or Amsterdam in about 1972. I say this in full approval. In any case it is full of young things, or youngish things, and a screen in the downstairs back room is showing Au Bout de Souffle on a loop so Jean Seberg's beautiful face comes round again and again (I was one of many millions who fell in love with her, then fell in love with any girl who looked even vaguely like her), and Jean-Paul Belmondo keeps stroking his lips, Humphrey Bogart fashion. Meanwhile I notice there is some truly execrable poetry in the dialogue, probably just execrably translated. The Workshop serves pizzas that barely fit through the door, so the five of us share one, then have another half by way of afters. Downed with Guinness.
That is why I am sleepy now. All significance remains on hold.
5 comments:
I recently read Carlos Fuentes's fictionalised account of his torrid relationship with Jean Seberg Diana: The Goddess Who Hunts Alone.
She was beautiful but lived a truly tragic life.
The Workshop is a jewel. Always reminds me of long afternoons and evenings in Cambridge haunts (from the 70s to this very day). Lucky Helen and Rich -- and they've found the numerous hearts of Golden Triange.
Yes, I remember reading about the tragedy - not the book (or books) just in reviews.
The beauty wasn't just in the face - it never is. It was in movement and mood and shades of expression. As if faces could read their own fortunes.
I always think significance is best on hold, as significance that seeps through the cracks is somehow more significant. May we all live like youngish things.
Consider it on hold, mise. Youngish thing is as good as I can go.
Diane, I think we may go to The Workshop again. Though if we are going to eat there we had better go in fours.
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