T U E S D A Y, 1 9 S E P T
Had talks about careers from Mrs Simmonds and Miss Gould. I’m afraid Anya and me didn’t hear much, we were too involved with Polnareff. Today I wrote out the whole of the phone call for her – much more accurately than I did for my Diary. I think I must have made a pretty good impression for him to invite us at all.
Going home, Martha showed me some extracts from Lady Chatterley's Lover. They go so far that they lose their sensuality, and become utterly disgusting. Perhaps that was the point. It’s not fair to criticise the book when I’ve never read it, but it does sound pretty boring.
Went for a walk round the garden before supper. Feeling lonely; we're miles from everything here.
At 6.30 I turned on France Inter and who should be interviewed but Polnareff! Gérard said he was wearing “pantalons rouges” and a jumper “bleu de ciel’ – same as Friday?! Pol hardly said a thing because Adamo was on too and he did most of the talking. Pol's voice, it brings it all back, but he speaks so fast - I can scarcely keep up! Gérard asked him if he was really a sad person like he’s made out to be and he said he wasn't - "j’ai un metier que j’adore”.
Began on introduction to Andromache.
This is the book, Lawrence's last, that made him a household name: the story of gamekeeper Mellors' "courage of tenderness" and Connie Chatterley's sexual rebirth. Lawrence described the novel (published 1928) as "beautiful and tender and frail as the naked self is," and risked his own money on printing abroad. It was immediately censored in England, but published in 1960, ushering in "the gate through which the 60s swung."