Conversations with My Gardener Page #2

with a lovely naked girl,

you just think of painting.

As long as you just look,

it's professional interest.

No, that's just it.

After the session,

you look with different eyes.

You see the lovely naked girl,

not the model.

Yes, I see.

In the past,

my wife would close her eyes.

But now they're open.

So the lettuce are up to you.

Lettuce is lettuce.

Not a bit. There are more varieties

than you can shake a stick at.

There's Webb, Cos, Iceberg, Endive...

Not Endive. You pick the rest.

So I'm in charge of lettuce.

Yes. And all of the fruit and veg,

everything.

You won't be disappointed, old son.

But I'll need a garden tap.

Best keep these in a safe place.

The workshop's locked.

Fine. You won't mix up

my tools with yours!

Just put them in here.

She's forgotten the bread.

- Who?

- The neighbour.

Maybe not. From the baker's

by the old bridge?

- Yes.

- From Raguet, no doubt.

You knew the son, Antoine.

Toinou Raguet.

A little fat lad that smelled of pee.

No. You have a good memory.

Because I haven't moved from here.

I've lived among the memories.

And Toinou Raguet?

The customers

didn't want him at the oven.

He went into medicine.

Now he's a nurse for loonies.

They don't care about the smell.

And the bread?

I'm coming to that.

The bread was his father.

Old Raguet dropped dead last night.

I talked to him yesterday.

He was just a little pale

from the flour on his face,

but no more.

He was found

nose down in the croissants.

- So no bread.

- No.

- Known a "Double Bill"

- Why?

He was always repeating.

"Morning, morning".

"Nice day, nice day."

He did drink though.

He'd say,

"Water and flour make glue."

"Glue."

And this morning

nose down in the croissants.

Excuse me.

Hello.

No. I was talking with my gardener.

With a friend, I mean.

You don't know him.

Yes, he's a specialist.

Specialist.

Three days a week.

Yes, very happy.

And you?

I'll write a cheque then.

Yes, I insist.

How much?

Oh! That much.

No, like I said. I insist.

Yes, all right.

I'm painting... half-heartedly.

I'm daubing.

Daubing a few landscapes.

Yes, I'm getting by.

No, I'm coping.

The neighbour comes in...

and does the housework,

the grub, the shopping.

What's the neighbour like?

You're being a pain!

It's hard.

Hard to live with her,

hard to leave her.

Is your wife jealous?

She has no reason to be.

- Have you been married long?

- Ha!

Coming up for 27 years.

Royan every year?

How do you do it?

Nice too.

Every year?

Yes. Off-season, mind.

It's cheaper.

All the same. Royan every year.

Nice every year.

We go back every year.

We've got our routine.

We arrive, leave the cases.

The owner recognises us,

it's booked each year,

it's clean and comfortable.

The wife's happy.

- You stay long?

- Two weeks.

But don't worry about the garden.

It's the high season.

Don't worry

the garders your kingdom.

Whether you're there or not.

But tell me...

you must know Nice, by now.

How do you rate it?

I'd say... it's lovely... it's...

it's blue...

and big all around.

Every morning the wife and I

plonk ourselves by the sea.

She puts oil all over herself

and I sit next to her.

- What do you do?

- Look at her.

- Is the Promenade des Anglais nice?

- Oh yes.

Oh yes. First we do it in one direction,

then in the other.

You see people,

I don't know if they're English!

They may be,

but as nobody talks...

it's very quiet,

just frail old folk.

So tanned they look like Indians.

Then we go back for meals.

You have to be on time.

But you can have

all the starters you want.

Then we have a nap.

Quiet.

We wake at 5.

Back to the promenade.

We stop and sit on the bench

to look at the sea.

It's nice.

It makes you want to go.

Best be getting on.

I'll bring bread

from the baker on the estate.

- A baguette?

- Perfect.

- Ok?

- Fine.

I'm coming down.

I bought your bread.

And croissants.

That's nice.

I'll take off my boots

or I'll make a mess.

I do at home apparently.

I leave mud cakes on the lino.

Nice slippers!

- I can't stand socks.

- Come in.

They burn my feet.

These are handier.

You can kick all you want,

the soil stays on the sole...

and falls off in the heat

of the kitchen. I get shot!

I'll give this a coat of paint.

Not before time.

- Can I wash my hands?

- Go ahead.

I beat the scythe on my anvil,

a piece of rail.

Pre-war Pont--Mousson.

There's nothing better!

The grocer's van came.

I got you some tea.

- This...

- Let's see.

Got any milk?

Only skimmed.

That'll do.

Tea with milk goes down best.

- Can I ask you a question?

Two, if you like.

You'll say it's not my affair

but, between us...

why bury yourself here?

- Bury?

In Paris you're someone.

But here, quite honestly,

ending up in this hole...

In Paris there are

plenty of "someone's".

Too many.

- As for this hole...

- Just an expression.

This hole is my roots,

where I grew up.

- You see?

- Of course. Who better?

And there's something else.

My father wanted me to take over

the family chemist's.

And?

The thing is, I

didn't want the chemist's.

I knew I wasrt cut out for

complaints and prescriptions.

And?

When it came to it,

I said no to pharmacy school.

I wanted to be an artist in Paris.

And?

My father said to me,

"Art isn't a trade.

It doesn't pay".

"You won't raise a family on that."

My mother couldn't stop crying.

They're good at tears.

I held out.

I didn't give in...

- and I left.

- And?

You've just exhausted

your quota of "Ands"

And...

My father died 3 years ago.

My mother straight after.

After the funeral I came here...

Iooked around the house...

from cellar to attic...

and in an old trunk I found...

portfolios full of water-colours.

Views of the house, the garden,

flowers, tress and undergrowth.

They were all...

fantastic.

He hid his light under a bushel.

I saw that he hadrt dared to say no.

He had no choice but to take over

the family business.

He kept the chemist's.

Yes.

Along with his artistic aspirations.

Oh! The heat on my tooth...

See the dentist.

No thanks!

He's a champion extractor.

If I listened to him

I'd have nothing but bought teeth.

If it doesn't move, pull it!

I had one here...

a big one with hooks...

He said, "I won't give you a jab,

railwaymen are tough."

It made him laugh.

But my arse was a foot off the chair.

He got it in the end.

It was the wrong one.

Give me his name so I can avoid him.

But it's paid by the insurance.

Good.

Railwaymers perks:

Free trips and full dental care.

Talking of which,

you're keeping me chatting...

and the boss won't like it

if the work isn't done.

- What are you eating?

- A kipper.

At this time?

Every day at this time

I eat a kipper.

As much protein as steak

and it's good for your arteries.

The Japanese eat fish,

they have fewer heart problems.

- You're a wee bit Japanese.

- Don't make fun.

I'm not, but look.

You drink tea; take your shoes

off outside and eat herring.

It peps me up, anyway.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes