Again, little or no knitting.

I was overjoyed, Mary mom, to learn that the Druid company did their Godot in Chicago, and that you stood and cheered. It seemed far too wonderful an experience to be limited to a single week at the Edinburgh Festival. Greek Helen and a friend are going tonight – the last night, I think. Maybe she can get everybody to their feet.

There’s a wonderful touch, special to Edinburgh. You will remember that a Boy comes on, at the end of the first act, with a message from Mr Godot. He’s not coming, but he will be here tomorrow. The same Boy appears at the end of the second act with the same message. But he doesn’t recognise Vladimir and Estragon. “That must have been my brother.”

Edinburgh has produced identical twins, the perfection of 13-year-old schoolboys. If you didn’t have a programme, there was nothing to worry about – the same Boy-actor both times, you would assume, as in all other productions. But if you do know, you’re left to wonder – have you seen two boys, or only one? The programme implies that both were involved, but perhaps they alternate between performances. There was only one for the curtain call. I think Beckett would like that.

The Sylvia Plath program was much as might have been expected, with contributions from old friends. It sort of took us through the Bell Jar. It was interesting to see Frieda Hughes, the daughter, with both Sylvia and Ted discernible in her lineaments. I didn’t know that her brother Nicholas, the younger of the children, was himself a suicide. I must have known, and forgotten. It was fairly recent – 2009.

Tonight we move on to “Fake or Fortune” which my husband and I used to enjoy. I am always surprised that so little is made of authenticating a picture by looking at it, as opposed to science. That’s how he did it.  Like recognising your mother’s handwriting on an envelope, in the days when people sent each other letters every week.