Deck chairs, Beckett, snow, and cats

And how many of them have I managed to rearrange today?

So far, very few.

You don’t even need to rearrange them very much, as this short radio play by Samuel Beckett shows. I was reminded of it this morning when the always percipient Simon Barraclough invoked, on Facebook, the line:

white world, bitter cold, ghastly scene, old men, great trouble…

Well, great trouble is right. It being Beckett, and as Hugh Kenner reminds us:

Their great trouble is that they are each of them alone; out of all his intimate sense of his own identity, which no one can ever share, comes Bolton’s bitter ‘Please!’ across the gulf…

Well, we’ve all been there. Is this the truer the older we get, until we finally reach old age proper and are incapable of speaking to anyone at all…? Is that what all these misanthropic male modernists are telling us? Or can we just stay normal?

And a cat would be nice…

But for now, with the black and white world left outside – don’t be fooled by the title, I got no further than the bitter cold balcony today – it’s back to work. I’ll just start slowly, and rearrange a few at a time…

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