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A Bridge Not Quite Far Enough

would that she were anyone else

Daphne du Maurier

me in a beret


28th March 2009

(no subject)

me in a beret
Lady Somethingorother asked me to tea on Tuesday, and all I could think was "Tuesday?  Honestly?"  Can no one give a girl some space to recuperate from the week-end?  After a decent weekend of partying like any reasonable lady ought, I'm no good until late Thursday afternoon, if we're being honest -- and that's at the earliest.  I wish the public would just sit back and wait for me to come to them.  Don't call me, I'll have a servant call you. 

Peace out.  Call me!

Ha ha, just kidding.  Mostly kidding. 

D. duM.

9th September 2007


me in a beret
The field of my life's options narrows by the day.  Where will I go when this house crumbles into dust, as it does each night while I sleep -- fracturing at its very foundations, seams blooming into cobwebs and mites --, then waking to find it still solid and unassuming?  And whose obliging arms will meet me in that foreign, nameless land; whose eyes will lower to avoid mine as we embrace and face what we must do?  I haven't anywhere to go, not anywhere that exists in this realm. 

29th August 2007

Domestic Due Diligence

me in a beret
An awfully trying incident in the house this afternoon.  Shirley arrived at the front door shortly before two, carrying a brown wicker basket which brimmed to the very lip with muffins and scones of all varieties; the woman then proceeded into my kitchen and began to expound on the details of each confection -- every currant and cranberry, each grain of flour and sugar leapt fleeting from the tip of her tongue, her pearls of bakery knowledge seemingly endless.  While I found all this rather charming, as Shirley is a pleasant if not wholly likeable woman, her baker's bedside manner is not without flaw, and after nigh thirty minutes of olfactory assault I began to feel as though she meant to comment on my own skills in the kitchen.  

I, who had a tray of beef and kidney pasties in the oven, at that very moment!  I, who each year brings, under no compulsion, social or moral, three trays of fruit pies to the home for destitute children each Michelmas!  The very nerve of this creature, to cast doubt upon my own womanly properties.  Well, I have no remorse in telling you that I promptly cast her out, after another hour of idle chatter.  

And those orange scones, I will have you know, are hard as granite.  Well! 

21st August 2007

To introduce myself

me in a beret

My name is Daphne, and I live in Cornwall, England.  I write books, several of which have been turned into perfectly dreadful movies.  I enjoy riding horses, the theatre, romantic novels (though I think romance is dead), and sitting down with a good glass of sherry and a few friends.  I would love to meet friends and correspondents through this website, especially women friends.  

But I'm not one of them, if that's what you're thinking.  That's disgusting, and I have no idea what you're talking about.  Gertrude Lawrence and I are acquaintances and nothing more!  I have nothing further to say on the subject.   Will you be my friend? 

I think I shall go stare out over the waves on the beach until supper. 
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