The prettiest time in our apartment. The sun is drawing bright squares on the floor. Breeze is amusing our seashell wind chime on the balcony. tibetan flags dance above the blooming geranium . Mi is slow cooking some delicious stew dish. The sunny space is filled with that lovely aroma of cooked meat and the sweetness of soy sauce. I’m finishing up a glass of slightly chilled Gamay Rouge. Two cats are sleeping on the two sides of me. Occasionally we hear kids laughter from the gardens downstairs.
I’m reading a thin volumn of short story collection by Maugham, which i got from Green Apples two weekends ago.
Delightful writing. Reminded me of Greene, but not so serious. A humorous and curious creature. And such lucid writing.
Needs to get the full collection of his short stories. English language seems to take on a new life when written by him.
Ashenden, leaving them to their emotions, strolled through the garden and sat down on a bench that had been prepared for the comfort of the tourist. The view was of course spectacular, but it captured you; it was like a piece of music that was obvious and meretricious, but for the moment shattered your self-control.”
What’s even more fascinating to me is how class-conscious the British society is. And Maugham’s eyes missed nothing, and his pen, merciless.
It amused Ashenden to see R., so sharp, sure of himself and alert in his office, seized as he walked into the restaurant with shyness. He talked a little too loud in order to show that he was at his eas and made himself somewhat unnecessrily at home. You saw in his manner the shabby and commonplace life he had led till the hazards of war raised him to a position of consequence. He was glad to be in that fashionable restaurant cheek by jowl with persons who bore great or distinguished names, but he felt like a schoolboy in his first top-hat, and he quailed before the steely eye of the maÃ®tre d’hÃ´tel. His quick glance darted here and there and his sallow face beamed with a self-satisfaction of which he was slightly ashamed.