dpnice - Archived Blog Posts

[dpnice]

Life seems to be revolving in never ending slow motion. Each day a circle of work and somnolence with no expectations, an absence of any desire and an evident lack of any excitement.

So why, I constantly ask, am I so completely satisfied with such a pitiful existence? Each day seems filled with pleasures that are so simple that it seems incorrect to call them pleasures. My terrace has become a verdant overgrown sanctuary to which I retreat to communicate with my thoughts or drift into a comatose state before shaking myself back into action.

Perhaps it is the improvement in the weather which has filled my being with calm and happiness making every minute of the day a pleasure to be alive. Perhaps living here makes the difference in that the breath taking beauty surrounding me makes it impossible to sink into the depths of depression or dissatisfaction with one’s lot.

Every boring moment of the day seems counterbalanced by a moment of wonder; the exotic nature of the Daturu perfume; a minuscule bird in full song in the Carobier; two squirrels chasing each other in rapid spirals around a pine; the cat squirming to find a comfortable position on my lap.

Where ever my glance may fall it reveals some miraculous aspect of the natural world.

I suppose it is wrong to say my life is void of all desires it is just that the sexual ones are impossible to fulfil and with the financial situation at present anything involving money has been put into cold storage.

Yet even this seems to pose no problem, no frustrations. Sexual beauty is a daily constant on which I can count. Either with the young men seen around and about or with my beautiful Rodolphe over whom I can lust whilst serving the evening meal.

Life is good, boring but good!

 

[dpnice]

One of my small pleasures in life is when, exhausted from a hard day’s work, I climb down the stairs to my flat knowing that what is left of the evening is mine to relax and unwind.

By the time I have walked through the door my black tie has been removed and my shirt collar unbuttoned; kicking off my shoes I head straight for the kitchen for either a coffee or a glass of wine. Then after lighting a candle I collapse in a chair on the terrace where the cat joins me demanding that I fulfil my role of provider and commence to scratch him under the chin.

Should this ritual not continue for as long as he considers decent I get bitten as a reminder not to stop.

It is during this moment of calm that I go over the day noting in my head those things that I didn’t have time to complete and plan those that I will be doing the next day.

Then there is always the mental image of my beautiful Rodolphe bare-chested to fantasize over. Without fail with the return of the sunshine his shirts come off and I have to start controlling myself and prevent my eyes from wandering to places that they shouldn’t.

Oh my dental work starts tomorrow; time to start emptying my bank account to pay for it.

 

[dpnice]

I am totally and completely exhausted.

Thankfully madame leaves for a few days tomorrow as I do believe I am incapable of doing any more.

 

[dpnice]

When on earth will it ever stop? I just seem to be graduating from one list of tasks to another with just the time for a cigarette and a cup of coffee now and again.

Madame left rather early on Sunday as she wanted to vote in the European Elections before attacking the long route to their chateau in the Centre of France. This meant that I had sufficient time to tidy up and clean the villa so that it is ready for her return on Thursday. I have no free time that day as I have the other two cars to clean and as the cook is absent I have the evening meal to shop for and prepare.

After a short nap with the cat spread out between my thighs I leapt into action again to clean my flat. I am not a maniac with the housework but I don’t feel relaxed if it isn’t tidy and reasonably clean. I would like it to be impeccable all the time but even I know when to stop and accept that I have done enough. An evening of ironing, I only got half of it done, and I crawled into bed exhausted.

Today has been spent completely with shopping for the villa and for the boat. A month’s supply of cleaning materials for the villa and sufficient alcohol for two month’s on the boat. You would think that with 3 members of crew being paid full time at the moment that one of them could find the time to buy all the provisions and things necessary for the two months madame will be sailing around the Mediterranean. I delivered the booze directly to the boat from the supermarket so I could at least cross something off from my extensive list.

Joker, the cat, and I managed another nap together before I nipped into the local town to finish the rest of my shopping list and buy something to eat for this evening. I still haven’t eaten; I should have written that somewhere on today’s list of things to do.

Having spent a fortune today, using the villa bank account and my own credit card I was obliged to do my accounts this evening just to make certain I knew where all the money had gone. Also more importantly how much madame owes me.

Despite the gale force winds the weather is glorious. But the disadvantage is that my pot plants dry out daily and subsequently require daily watering. Should I really have bought so many?

So now I can cross blogging off from my list, sit down and eat something and then attack the rest of the ironing.

Unfortunately it is not finished yet as tomorrow will see me dashing into Nice to search out prices for all the items madame won’t have time to buy before the end of the month. Then there is a lock to replace on the gates, the anti-glisse to buy and lay under the rug in the entry and some re-potting to do.

I put Wednesday on my list written in capitals with the mention ‘DO NOTHING’

 

[dpnice]

Now why on earth am I in such good spirits?

Obviously madame’s repeated absence plays a major role in this feeling of well being. I suppose that during her absence I become my own master for a few days; in control of my own life so to speak.

Possibly the pride in completing everything I have to do, my excellent organisation and efficient application as applied to all my tasks and madame’s requests is a significant factor.

Perhaps the occasion to shed my butler’s bland uniform and dress in my own clothes for several days is a good influence on my self image. It is true that I have so many nice clothes and never the time to wear them.

Probably the prolonged spell of good weather has instilled a feeling of well being. Life just seems so much more of a pleasure in the heat of the sun. The long warm evenings sitting relaxing on my terrace, the fact that everything is in flower at this moment of the year and the depth of beauty of everything when bathed in sunshine.

But let’s be really honest and admit that the true reason must surely be that every time I leave the villa I get submerged by the myriads of young men revealing their muscled chests and healthy vitality. Where do they all go in winter when I really need something attractive to look at in order to cheer myself up?

The return of the sunny weather to the South of France immediately turns the streets into an open art gallery packed with living sculptures. Before you all classify me as an aging voyeur let me say that I prefer to consider myself as a connoisseur of male beauty. I am a frustrated art critic that is all, wishing I could possess the works of art I see but realistic enough to know it is only a dream.

 

[dpnice]

Hello my name is David and I haven't blogged in 14 days!



But I do intend to go on a binge when I have more free time after madame leaves on holiday.

 

[dpnice]

My monotonous and busy life has really not been condusive to keeping up with my blog this month.

Thankfully I am off on a really needed holiday tomorrow so I will see you all again at the end of the month.

David.

 

[dpnice]

The presence of madame at the villa seems a distant memory since her departure at the beginning of the month. Her absence provides me with the freedom to retrieve the kind of life that the majority of people experience daily. Time for oneself, evenings at home and most importantly the liberty to take a holiday. I must admit that the first days of freedom were spent rather lethargically and apart from cleaning up the place I did nothing of any interest. Subsequently my preparations for leaving for England and my two week holiday were all done at the last minute.

I often wonder if I would be so willing to sacrifice my own life if I wasn’t guaranteed the two months on my own that her time cruising on the Mediterranean provides me.

The state of things here is also concrete evidence that I have been absent for two weeks, but that is something I am happy to ignore until I start work again in August.

I have always thought that the final pleasure of a good holiday is coming home. As wonderful as places may be there is a certain relief in settling back in, slipping back into a comforting routine and shedding all the restrictions that one accepts when staying somewhere away from home.

I spent an quiet hour on my terrace on my return just appreciating the quiet, the pleasure of gazing out to sea, the gentle noise of the waves lapping on the rocks below the garden and the cat purring his content at having regained his preferred spot on my lap.

I obviously needed this holiday to emerge from my solitude and participate in society once again. To prove to myself that I was still valued as a human being, still appreciated as a friend and still capable of communicating intelligently with strangers. I have returned with good intentions, not to join the world again, but rather not to let life drift by comfortably; I think I may well be more enthusiastic and willing to make an effort to improve the content of my daily life.

But first of all there is that rather unpleasant aspect of returning from holiday – a suitcase full of dirty clothes requiring washing and ironing.

 

[dpnice]

Well England’s green and pleasant land lived up to its reputation even if each and every day was accompanied by torrential rain. I refuse to admit to the fact that we were lucky in that the majority of our outside visits suffered surmountable showers and at certain moments a few rays of sunshine. It would have been just magical to have seen the gardens and stately homes bathed in sunlight; I was unprepared for huddling inside a café surrounded by sodden people attempting to gain a little warmth from a bowl of hot soup; dinner would have been just delightful if eaten outside in the soft heat of a summer’s evening.

But then us stoic English know how to rise above such trivial things like abysmal weather and enwrapped in a waterproof poncho and trusty umbrella at hand the holiday was a pleasure from the first day to the last.

I had slightly forgotten the beauty and contrasts of the English countryside and this time I saw them all; a checker-board of pasture land stitched together with never ending hedges; fields of corn stretching as far as the eye could see; rolling hills, dotted here and there with ancient dwellings and quaint villages; rocky landscapes slashed with white tumbling mountain streams; vertiginous mountain crags set in moorland stretching out to the horizon.

And cows! How I have missed not seeing cows. To watch them standing silently alongside a gate whilst peacefully chewing the cud; their particular sweet sickly odour; to gaze into the depths of their unfathomable eyes.

And the pitch black darkness of the night! Here in Nice it is never night, as soon as daylight ends the whole place from the town centre to the most insignificant little road is illuminated.

The whole country seemed to be trying to show me what I was missing during the twenty odd years since I had fled its rain sodden shores; lying in ambush at every breathtaking panorama was the temptation to return.

The heart stopping beauty I see here every day in my French paradise had completely overwhelmed my memories of living in England and the pleasure it provided. Every new country I visit seems a worthy contestant in the competition for the most beautiful place in the world yet this was different. Perhaps it was the ‘coming home’ feeling, the pride of being English or just the fact that in England I wasn’t the stranger.

The beauty of my birthplace pulled at my heartstrings far harder than France has ever been capable of.

 

[dpnice]

Well if I manage to make any sense of this account it will at least prove, that after 20 odd years, I have not lost my command of the English language. Often when putting my thoughts down on paper (well typing on a computer screen rather) I have a word on the tip of my tongue but can only think of it in French; which is the reason why my well-thumbed dictionary sits closely beside my computer.

Anyway enough waffling!

John, my ex-partner with whom I have now been the closest of friends for nearly 40 yrs, telephoned this morning. We still keep extremely close contact even though living in different countries and telephone calls are usually quite regular and quite long.

Paul, another ex-partner who left me to marry the woman who was making the curtains for our new home, never spoke to me again from the day he tearfully announced the news. Yet he keeps in contact with John, with whom he had a brief affair before John introduced him to me during a long summer weekend. They were colleagues so have the stock market in common and still, as well as the telephone calls, see each other for dinners when they are both in London.

Paul was pardoned long ago but I still find that I miss his friendship and would have given anything to have kept the relationship that he and John now have. Naturally all the gossip and progress of his different life is regularly updated through my conversations with John, usually accompanied by a sprinkling of “cuntface” to describe Paul (a term of endearment rather than an insult).

So it seems that John has been invited to spend several days with Paul and his wife in Sweden where they own a second home. Now am I being obtuse in finding that a little strange? They have remained friends for over 20yrs now, ever since Paul and I separated, yet have never spent more than the duration of a restaurant meal in each other’s company.

Paul also replied, tentatively in the positive, to the proposition that he join John and me for dinner in London next year to celebrate my 60th birthday.

If anything I am more worried than bemused. Paul recently had an incident of memory loss so perhaps associated with the fact of getting older every year he feels the need to consolidate his life; to form closer bonds to the people he knows before it is too late.

John has, of course, accepted the invitation and I shall just have to wait patiently to hear all about it on his return.

Life does have strange twists and turns.

 

[dpnice]

With the departure of madame this morning peace and tranquillity reigns once more over the villa and subsequently in my life as well.

Though the rest of the day was spent clearing out the bedrooms and the kitchen, packing away the outside furniture and shoving all the house linen into the washing machine it was not unpleasant, rather calming and a means of unwinding after a difficult four days.

So by late afternoon I was back sitting on my terrace watching the flotilla of pleasure boats scurrying back to port. The silence was quite impressive, even the cicadas stopped their scratching for a while as if in harmony with my mood. Finally as dusk began to fall and the temperature became bearable all that was left was a lone individual fishing from the end of a boat floating in the middle of an immense expanse of blacken sea.

The beauty of such a moment is clearly one of my rare pleasures in life but one that makes all the disadvantages of my job insignificant and affirms that even alone life has things to offer.

 

[dpnice]

Not so much for the image of yours truly but rather for the elements that the photograph contains. It has everything that I hold dear; rushing, torrential water, ancient boulders covered with moss and quiet solitude.

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[dpnice]

I really do consider myself reasonably cultured and well educated; at 23yrs I had succeeded in getting my teacher’s certificate and graduated, after a final year, from Oxford University with a degree in the philosophy of education. So what am I, approaching 60yrs, doing cleaning someone else’s home?

At the time of my first ever meeting with madame this was not at all what I expected to be my responsibilities as a maître d’hôtel. I wasn’t even looking for a job when I was first persuaded to at least come and meet madame.

I suppose I had delusions of grandeur. Expectations of civilised dinners where the guests were amongst the rich and famous. Dinners where I would be discreetly positioned in a corner of the dining room prepared to meet each and every need of those privileged enough to be invited; madame kept in the corner of my vision in case she nodded discreetly to demand a service.

I understood there would not be a multitude of staff but I did expect that madame would delegate to me her orders and desires for me to bestow my words of wisdom with authority to each and every one of them.

A little light cleaning was to be expected, whilst silver, glassware and china were my property not to be touched by the menial hands of the other members of staff.

My days should be spent taking care of monsieur’s wardrobe and providing an impeccable service to fulfil their needs.

Madame is kind and generous; I know that I am appreciated, perhaps even loved to a certain extent but I am a snob, I have class and I know the correct way to do things. Unfortunately madame doesn’t live up to my expectations.

So why am I spending day after day cleaning? The salary, the security, the pleasant surroundings, the lack of stress and so many more advantages that I wouldn’t have had.

So any of you who consider me a refined older Englishman sedately running the luxury villa of a rich retired French couple let me say I am nothing more than a glorified, overpaid cleaning lady.

 

[dpnice]

Today has been suffocatingly hot. On stepping out onto my terrace this morning I experienced the sensation of walking into a brick wall; my flat, usually so cool, has been like a furnace all day.

Even with the evening deepening into night the temperature has not fallen. There is not even the slightest breath of a wind to create a ripple on the bay. Everything is so quiet and still I can hear the sounds travelling across the water from the other side.

The cat curled up on my lap increases my body heat so much that it has become impossible to let him take up his usual position, much to his annoyance I might add.

Walking in the shade, my usual solution to surviving the heat of summer, made not an iota of difference with the ambient heat of the surrounding air stifling me at every single step I took.

I even found myself longing for the rain and cold of England; well until I saw the first bare-chested beauty of the day.

The swarms of handsome, half naked men are playing hell with my hormones as well as my driving. The number of times I have found myself nearly driving up onto the pavement is ridiculous.

I really need to make the most of these last few days of solitude as before I know madame will have returned and life will have drifted back into its regular routine.

 

[dpnice]

I am certainly not a fanatic as far as lottery tickets are concerned but occasionally when I hear that there is going to be a super prize I go out and buy one. The pleasure I find is not so much the anticipation of winning but rather the amusement I get from imagining, in my idle moments, what I would do if I won.

Tonight’s winnings is around the 74 million euros mark, quite sufficient to see me into my old age.

But I am in a bit of a quandary tonight deciding what my future would be.

Do I move back to England and buy a nice house with a garden? I dream of having my own garden and have over the years designed it and chosen the plants a million times. It is something I have never had and doubt that, without winning a fortune, I ever will. I could buy a place close to my friends and subsequently start to live a full social life once again.

Or I could just stay here in Nice and buy myself a bigger apartment in the centre, big enough to have friends to stay whenever they wished. I miss not living in town; I think I am definitely a town dweller at heart. Possibly one of the major reasons for my isolation here is that I cannot just walk out of my front door to affront the crowd and activity of a major town. It takes just too much effort to get in the car, drive, park just to immerse myself in life for an hour or so.

Then I quite like the idea of moving up to Paris and living within walking distance of the Louvre. That might be really perfect as everything I love to do would be just there on the doorstep.

Well tomorrow reality will kick in when I check my numbers and find that I haven’t become a millionaire over night. Looks like I shall just be stuck living here surrounded by luxury, wealth, sunshine and handsome men.

It’s a hard life isn’t it.

 

[dpnice]

I was wondering if when people lose their tempers do they reveal their true personalities and do you learn what they really think about you. Or is it an occurrence that you should take as a means for them to express their anger rather than expressing what they think; and should one excuse them taking into account the circumstances leading up to the explosion?

The cook completely blew a fuse recently for a reason I have yet to come to understand. In one brief moment I heard more profanities spewed out about my race, personality and sexuality than I have heard in my whole life. Now do I give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he was extremely tired and worn down from working on the boat all summer?

Or do I hold a grudge?

Though I consider myself reasonably affable and willing to help out my colleagues; I am basically a nice, ordinary sort of person. Yet obviously I have always assumed that some people are not going to like me and that I can do nothing about that apart from being polite in my relations with them.

Now if I hold a grudge it means that I will no longer kindly cover for him in exceptional circumstances allowing him to spend more time with his family, nor will I be finding the extra time to do his work when he is absent thus ensuring that when he returns to work everything is clean and up to date.

Holding a grudge means establishing a polite working relation going no further which in fact suits me perfectly as he does bore me to death with his opinions.

A working relationship where I no longer have to bother being sociable and communicative is quite attractive; if all I have to be is polite and communicate in work related situations that would suit me down to the ground. The atmosphere would then be much calmer and as long as he doesn’t sulk or break down because I am being “nasty” things should be okay.

Of course, I don’t know whether I can hold a grudge as invariably I always forgive and forget and get on with life normally as though nothing has happened.

Being the ‘Nice guy from Nice’ is not always as obvious as it might seem.

 

[dpnice]

Isn’t it surprising how some days turn out to be a complete pleasure when you least expected them to. How an evening with nothing planned can turn into an exceptional moment of calm and tranquillity where being alone becomes a pleasure.

Since madame’s return work has been hectic to say the least; first with the chamber maid absent and then the cook off for a week’s recuperation. There comes a time when I have to say enough is enough and I need time to myself, not particularly to throw myself into a whirl of social activity but just to be on my own with nothing programmed.

Monday I stopped working and took refuge downstairs to catch up on all the outstanding personal things I had not had the time to do. This left me all rather relaxed and though we had guests for the evening I sailed sedately through everything necessary for the evening. It is a pleasure serving dinner on the patio; the view is spectacular and the atmosphere, with all the candles lit, quite magical. With the temperatures back to acceptable levels it became a pleasant evening’s work rather than a tedious chore, even if I was still up at 1hr in the morning clearing up.

Today I spent shopping for madame and taking the dog back and forwards to the vet; the poor thing has arthritis as well as Leichemanose. I found myself in my old neighbourhood in Nice with time to kill and it was very agreeable to wander around and stop at a local café for breakfast.

This evening was a joy for the solitary hermit that I have become. Dinner on a candle lit terrace with the background bustle of madame dining with the family on the patio just above. A half bottle of champagne, just sufficient to help one sink into a state of hazy well being. The evocative odour of incense to chase away the mosquitoes. The moon glistening in rippling bands across the bay and the cat spread out between my thighs.

This week also saw my income tax details for next year arrive through the post. It was like winning the lottery; no more tax to pay this year which is quite a considerable gain and a hefty reduction for next year’s payments.

So I am back in the red with the means to pay for my dental work and save for holidays. I am even going to be able to afford to take myself out to restaurants again.

Why on earth does it take over 50 years before you become capable of being at peace with the world and content with those simple pleasures it allows you?

 

[dpnice]

You can be certain that such a hiatus in my entries means that my mediocre little life has been meandering its uneventful way through life’s trials and tribulations.

With the opening of the hunting season I was waiting patiently for madame to announce their departure for a long weekend. What I wasn’t expecting was the added bonus of this being followed by a short break in Istanbul. So during her absence I have been able to clear jobs in the villa, thus fulfilling the need to feel conscientious and satisfied, whilst occupying myself with life’s little personal necessities.

With a little effort I have managed to force myself to leave the comfort of my home and drive into Nice to assure myself that the world is still revolving and that other people live on this earth apart from those I see daily.

With whole days to myself I have succeeded in catching up with some of the films I really didn’t want to miss seeing. But I have yet to take myself out to a restaurant or plan anything more interesting with which to occupy the time I have on my hands.

Life is just too comfortable here at the villa. It is calm and at the moment oh so quiet. I wonder if you can become agoraphobic through the pleasure gained by staying home rather than the fear of going out.

Oh by the way I really do miss the presence of belamy here on JUB.

 

[dpnice]

Seeing that this is my final evening on my own for at least a week I planned an early show at the cinema followed by a pleasant supper in a charming restaurant.

But I hadn’t taken into account that this was the last weekend before they close our zoo to build a luxury hotel and spa. Subsequently all of Nice and their neighbours had driven to our tiny peninsular to visit. The one road accessing the place and including all the inner roads were lined with cars parked on both sides turning the traffic conditions into a nightmare.

Like the good scout that I used to be I planned subsequently and left home an hour early knowing that when the zoo closed it was going to be pandemonium trying to get out of the place. Obviously, and isn’t it always the case, I met absolutely no problems and sailed through arriving in Nice with a good hour before the film only to find the restaurant closed.

With not really enough time to eat in a restaurant before the film and now not being certain where to eat afterwards I made the big mistake of thinking that a McDonalds might be a quick solution.
I understand that they are a really cheap meal but how do people eat those things. The fries were lukewarm, tasteless and with the texture of sawdust. Who, tell me do, wants a gallon of ice-cold, teeth numbing coke with their meal. The hamburger, well if it hadn’t been for the ketchup smoothing its decent down my oesophagus I would have choked on it as it was so dry.

The saving factor was the parade of young handsome men going to and fro in front of my table. One even stopped to kindly wish me ‘bon appetit’.

My confusion and embarrassment arises from the fact that I was planning to see the film about Julia Child and her book ‘Mastering the Art of French Cooking’.

 

[dpnice]

Honestly I really do like my job. Obviously it carries quite a few advantages with it but it also provides, surprisingly, quite a few simple pleasures.

The seemingly boring idea of going to the airport to collect madame is an enjoyable outing as I get to spend a half hour or so surrounded by good-looking gentlemen. I often find myself watching to see who is meeting whom and get a real emotional lift when I see the joy expressed in many of the encounters.

Monsieur doesn’t like being chauffeured so I get to sit in the back on the return trip free to look at the scenery to my heart’s content; something I can never do as I am always concentrating on the maniac French drivers when I am in my car.

This week madame is absent two successive evenings leaving me free to relax doing what I want. Those who don’t work evenings, finishing work at a normal time and then going home, won’t understand the pleasure of having an unexpected evening at home. I unfortunately am not completely free as I have to be here to see them off and then close up the villa for the night. But I should have sufficient time to rustle up a couple of quiet, pleasant dinners.

Then with the hunting season in full swing she is off again next week so I have the bonus of another long weekend. Mind you we do have all the family this one so work is not going to be easy on Saturday and Sunday.

Though we are “suffering” a wonderfully sunny late summer there is no longer sufficient sunshine on the patio for them to have lunch there. As the season progresses they eat in different parts of the garden which become gradually further and further away from the kitchen. Today I had two flights of steps to descend loaded down with plates and food. The weekend may well see them eating by the swimming pool; four flights of steps to manage to get there.

But the view as I struggle past wisteria and trailing plants, ducking under low branches and stepping over the dogs is breathtaking.

I may occasionally give the impression that I am a grumpy old queen, always complaining, but I do recognise that I have, possibly, a life of which many would be extremely envious.