Apart from that Mrs Lincoln, what did you think of the play?

Unaccustomed as I am to physical toil, I can now say with some authority that if you are going to mix cement, mix it close to an idyllic sea shore where the aches and pains of the working day can be soothed by the warmth of sun and sea. Over the last two days, whilst helping a friend build a house, I have become overly familiar with a cement mixer, and I have a feeling that we will be seeing more of each other (both the friend and the cement mixer) over the weeks to come. There is a certain irony in the fact that sand, in one place, becomes a heavy, intransigent material that drains the legs of energy, the arms of strength and the mind of will power yet, but a short walk away, that same material metamorphoses into a warm carpet leading to the softly breaking waves, whose deep boom had been has been a constant temptation throughout the working day. Plunging through a breaking wave of warm sea has  a deeply  restorative and cleansing power made more intense when that sea is fringed by miles of seemingly unpopulated sand dunes and pine forests. This is the end of the summer season on the Atlantic coast of the Vendée. The flag on the point, in the main picture, flies above the small wooden house that Georges Clemenceau turned into his summer retreat where he concentrated his mind on ceaseless philandering when not discussing art with his close friend, Monet, which is clear evidence that, even though he may be judged as flawed politician,  he was a hedonist of towering proportions which description ( with a current version of Monet) would be apposite for many of the duly elected representatives of the world’s people before and since that time. Tout ca change, tout c’est la même chose

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