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dpnice - Archived Blog Posts

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I am well but have absolutely no free time to amuse myself on JUB. We have guests and the little time I have free I am too tired to do anything but collapse into bed.

I will be back as soon as madame waves the guests goodbye - well after getting the place back in order.

Please, if anything world shattering happens on JUB will someone let me know? :D
 
Is it the fact that I am not working today and have all the time in the world to laze around doing all the simple things that one never has the time to do? Or just that I am able to occupy myself with myself rather than strive to satisfy madame all day long. Could it be the beautiful weather which has brought out all the plants in a mass of colour or indeed the hoards of young, bare-chested men roaming the streets?

Whatever the reason, today I am in an extremely good mood. Living on the Côte d’Azur is really pleasant and I can honestly say I am eternally grateful for the circumstances, as emotionally difficult as they were, that lead up to me installing myself in this paradise on earth.
 
I am back!

Ten days without an Internet connection; my worst nightmare, well after the one where I log into JUB and find that it has closed down. I am extremely peeved about it all as I have probably missed rumours and scandals that I would have enjoyed participating in.

Still I am re-connected and ready to glue myself to this fatal screen once again. You might wonder how I spent the last ten days without JUB to amuse me. After the initial withdrawal symptoms where one sits in front of the screen looking at the “page cannot be found” displayed before you and hoping above all hope that when you click on “Internet Explorer” by some magic it will appear I threw myself into work. Madame is extremely pleased as I managed to catch up on all the things I hadn’t had time to do. So now the villa is shining new, the silver, brass and crystal as well.

I notice that my in-box is overflowing with blog update notifications so obviously it will take me some time to catch up. Fortunately I have a couple of evenings free, madame is invited out to restaurants, so I shall be able to contemplate marathon sessions absorbed in JUB.

To those accustomed to my presence I honestly have missed you.
 
Describing a life as mundane has always seemed derogatory but why cannot such a life not be filled with many moments of simple pleasures thus transforming it into a life to be envied.

I have done absolutely nothing that could be describe as exciting or fulfilling today, yet it has been relaxed and on the whole quite pleasant.
Sorry I have not had any sexual encounters with young Arab boys so I am unable to stimulate you by recounting my misadventures. I am no longer feeling unsatisfied with my life or depressed over the absence of a romantic involvement with someone so I can not hope to solicit your sympathy over my state of mind. I am happy to rely on vivid memories to carry me through the blacker days.

So what does an aging, English queer living on the Côte d’Azur spend his free time doing?

A little food shopping this morning with time to waste chatting to the shop keepers. It is gratifying to be known by the inhabitants of your local town, knowing that some strangers are aware that you exist.

Bought some roses to brighten up the flat and then was tempted by some beautiful orchids. The florist then gave me the roses for free, a generous gesture but then I do spend a fortune on flowers for the patronne.

Spent time ironing but in front of the television watching “Un, dos, tres”. I have always had an interest for modern dance and the fact that the boys are always taking their shirts off does add a certain attraction to the series.

A quite dinner finished by Jamaican Bananas, a new recipe that I wanted to try out before cooking it for madame tomorrow. Now it is warm during the evenings I can eat out on my terrace and just let the time pass by. A glass of sherry to finish, a cigarette whilst the cat fights to climb up on my lap and then back to the computer and JUB.

No stress, no deadlines, no problems. No life some of you might want to say but if one is happy and open to those simple pleasures is it in fact necessary to be part of that huge struggling human race?
 
Summer has finally arrived and associated with it the heat and the inevitable perspiration if you do anything more energetic than just sitting quietly in the shade. So I have retreated to the dappled light on my terrace and spend my time in quiet contemplation surrounded by the luxuriant growth of the jungle I have planted. As with everything you always want more so given that I only need space for a small table and a single chair I have the insatiable desire to fill the whole terrace with plants.

The onset of summer is the signal for the renewal of my personal life. Madame departs for a two month cruise of the Mediterranean leaving me free to live and work at a more normal rhythm; working hours severely reduced to an absolute minimum, evenings free with the time to cook and eat correctly and no restrictions on when I can leave my gilded prison to take a glimpse of the outside world.

During her absence I am obliged to organise my vacations which, thanks to the Internet was simplicity in itself. A few days in Amsterdam in which I can amuse myself wandering along the canals and educate myself by visiting the museums. Nice does not provide its citizens with worthwhile museums nor cultural events unless you happen to be an opera fan. So it is only during my holidays and by visiting major cities that I have the occasion to loose myself in wonder before the masterpieces of European art.

Several days with friends staying here with me will give me the opportunity to visit all those places where one never goes. Why is it that tourists, generally, know and have visited more of a location than the yearly residents? After which I will spend a week in the home country visiting absent friends.

The one dilemma is how to organise myself. With madame absent the totality of the property must be cleaned, repaired and maintained, so in what manner do I attack my work schedule? Does one leap into action and with dedication and extreme effort complete everything in the first week? Or, secondly, does one apply oneself for a few hours a day spreading out the workload over a long period of time? Then the final possibility, leave it all to the last minute and spend a week working all hours of the day to finish before her return.
 
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Artistically the South of France does not produce the quantity of local artists that one finds in England, where you can always find a painting that you would happily buy. Here you have to have a particular taste, indeed a strange one, to decide to purchase any of the so called works of art in any of the local exhibitions.

But as is often the case, amongst all the trash one can occasionally discover the rare oeuvre tempting you to empty your bank account to have it adorning your home.

Cap-Ferrat is the small fishing village existing on the peninsular of St-Jean-Cap-Ferrat where is found some of the most expensive real estate in France. Naturally now it is completely geared towards the tourists with restaurants lining the harbour. Amongst these is a small art gallery for temporary exhibitions which I happened to drive past yesterday. Glancing to my left I saw what seemed to be several sculptures and immediately planned to return today to have a closer look.

Is it possible that this artist is gay? On display were 12 works depicting masculine figures; now I consider myself lucky if I find one such statue every two years so to find 12 in one place.

What attracted me the most to his work was the positions in which he had sculpted his models, forms which were immediately pleasing to the eye and screamed out to be touch, or even caressed.

So I have just emptied my bank account sacrificing my winter holiday to buy the one that impressed me the most and was not too highly priced that it was above my means.
 
In case anyone notices my absence and feels the desire to start a "Where is dpnice?" thread there is no need. I am off to Amsterdam for a few days, returning on Sunday.

I am all organised; Van Gogh, the Botanic Gardens, Vondelpark, a canal cruise and strolling leisurely along the shaded canals stopping off at cafés along the way.

Two friends have decided to join me so meals in the evening will certainly be more pleasant, though I am well accustomed to eating alone.

Hopefully the restaurants I have found on Internet will live up to their reputation.

Photographs promised on my return.
 
Amsterdam may well be considered as one of the gay capitols of the world but, though the streets are thronging with attractive young males, there certainly wasn’t much evidence of that. They, the gays that is, were absolutely not hanging around the canals admiring the architecture, watching the boats drifting under the bridges and appreciating the calm atmosphere whilst quietly reading a novel.

I wrote that just to make you aware that I didn’t spend any of my holidays lurking in some sleazy cinema or trying to stay awake at 2am in some techno vibrating club. This guy spent his time strolling up one side of a canal and back along the other just to be able to appreciate the buildings lining them. By the end of my time there, as long as I knew where the Rembrandt Museum or Central Station was, I was finding my way around easily.

It was one of the most pleasurable city visits that I have done so far and well worth a return trip, this time with friends that don’t fall into drugged stupors by calling into a coffee shop to buy and smoke a joint just before going out to dinner. Okay it only took an hour for his paranoia to subside so we were able, finally to appreciate great food in really pleasant restaurants.

The hotel situation was slightly strange with me sleeping in a no-star, basic amenities place, J*** cosseted in luxury and S****** treated as visiting royalty in his hotel classified as a palace. My room had four walls, a window and a bed. Who needs a wardrobe when you can hang your clothes on the television bracket? Add to that a decent shower and a complete absence of noise allowing for a good night’s sleep and you find yourself completely satisfied with the accommodation. Being in separate hotels did have the advantage of allowing me a little solitude at the start and finish of the day plus an extremely pleasant walk through the quiet streets.

For J*** and S****** a holiday involves a late start, followed by a leisurely search for somewhere to have coffee, then lunch and a slow slightly aimless walk, more coffee and to end the day dinner in an exceptional restaurant. Subsequently my time there before their arrival and after their departure was organised to the minute. Van Gogh museum, the botanic gardens, the park and tours of a couple of the houses converted into museums showing the style of living during the 17th and 18th centuries.

Van Gogh was incredible, apart from the million of other visitors trying to see the maximum number of paintings in the minimum amount of time. I think the average time spent before each work of art cannot be higher that 5 to 10 seconds, perhaps even less as some people don’t even look at them; this is the organised school visits I am talking about.

The weather was just perfect, sunny but fresh and in fact quite cold in the evenings, though we still sat outside for dinner. Those who know Amsterdam do say that in winter it is miserable and if it had rained, as was quite possible, it would have been miserable in summer as well.

Thanks to the numeric camera I took photographs of every single canal, bridge and building, taking careful note of each location, for as they say once you have seen one they all begin to look alike. Unfortunately on downloading them they didn’t stay in sequence and subsequently I have no idea which canal is depicted in which photograph. I conscientiously deleted those of no interest or shamefully bad quality and found myself with 82 remaining visual souvenirs of my trip. Have a look but put the slideshow speed at maximum to prevent boredom or fatigue setting in.



Photographs here
 
Finding me in the audience for a ballet is an extremely rare occurrence but seeing that I hadn’t anything worthwhile to do last night I reserved a ticket, grabbed a quick sandwich and dressed up in best linens and went. The fact that it was in the open air theatre, a small paradise set in a garden hidden in the centre of a fortified castle over looking the bay, played a major part in my decision making.

I left during the first interval.

It is comforting to have your opinions confirmed; I don’t like ballet and find it one of the most restrictive and unemotional forms of dance. I was unable to sit through another hour watching the glued on smile of the dancers, mind you the boys were exceptionally attractive but that wasn’t even sufficient to keep me there.

I don’t want to be too critical of the performance as they were the younger members of the Paris Ballet and they did do their best. But it was painful watching their technical imperfections even if the bodies dancing deserved to be licked all over by this sexually frustrated spectator.

I wonder if the fact that my introduction to dance was via a performance by the London Contemporary Dance Theatre has coloured my opinion of the fact that I find ballet an amalgam of poses linked together with different steps and jumps. How can you express any emotion with your arms stretched out in the air with the hands and fingers delicately pointing skywards – why are there never clenched fists in a ballet?

So why did I go I hear you ask; I had thought it might be a mixture of classical pieces alternating with some more contemporary choreography

As an extra reason my last experience of sitting in a theatre watching a ballet was exceptional – mind you it was the all male version of “Swan Lake”.
 
Not certain if all this is working now.

I have really missed this facility and especially keeping up to date with the other blogs.

Will my subscriptions still notify me about updates?

Will the new entries appear under people's avatars?

Will the "update" page be working?

Will I be able to leave comments on someone's blog?

So many unanswered questions.
 
I am off to Rome for four days tomorrow. Just finished packing, including my umbrella as they forecast rain and storms for the whole time I am there.

Just my luck.
 
Rome! The eternal city! An open page of the history of the civilised world! A city that many dream of visiting but few have the chance. I was one of the fortunate ones, a cultivated tourist I admit but still a tourist who had dreamed of Roman temples, the Vatican and baroque churches.

Yes I found, and visited all these but I am not too certain that Rome fulfilled my dreams. I am neither accustomed to nor appreciate discovering the remnants of a long past civilisation only to find it carpeted with plastic bottles and bags; since when was plastic an integral part of ancient Rome. The discarded beer bottles, by the hundred, seemed less innocuous, though a different shape would have made them more fitting to the site in which they had been thrown.

Don’t expect to even catch a glimpse of a Roman emperor’s ghost as the incessant noise of the traffic would have long driven him to prefer an eternal stay in hell.

I don’t want to discourage a visit to the Vatican but is it really worth it when it takes two hours, if you arrived early enough, queuing just to reach the entrance? Certainly make sure you see everything possible as you are not going to get another chance; not without another two hours in the line that is.

How cultured to be able to say that you have seen the Sistern Chapel. But don’t admit that you shared it with two hundred philistines who were unable to resist explaining every detail to their neighbour and thus provoking the incessant bellowing for “silence” of the Vatican guards. So much for contemplating in awe one of the artistic achievements of a genius.

My expectations on visiting a church have always been to find calm and peace and perhaps one day the presence of some deity or meaning to life that I have as of yet not discovered. To be blinded from every angle by the perpetual flash of innumerable numeric cameras is not at all conducive to the appreciation of man’s ability to glorify his God with the creative works of his mind and hands.

I took many photographs myself but somehow profaning a house of worship, whatever your faith, has never seemed the appropriate behaviour to me. When did our ‘holiday snaps’ replace the use of our eyes and emotions as a means of memory?

I now need to reflect a little on the wonders I saw and try to abstract from my impressions the ugliness with which they were tainted by the thousands of other people present.
 
I am not an intrepid voyager apt for adventuring into the unknown. I like to know where I am going, what I am going to see and more importantly how do I get there. Even so I do feel it is quite an achievement when I manage to find my way from airport to hotel all by my own skills of navigation. I know a taxi would do it for me but this way I can confess to being a little adventurous.

My holiday location was a small rundown, ancient neighbourhood; but even so quite quaint with narrow paved roads, broken steps leading from one square to another and a couple of fountains. It quickly, well as soon as I became familiar with where each road led, became the centre of my stay in Rome. It is where I drank my morning coffee and to where I retreated exhausted for a drink at the end of my day’s sightseeing.

Obviously the extremely attractive waiter working in the local bar had absolutely nothing to do with me choosing to install myself at one of his tables for a couple of hours each day.

After leaving my suitcase at my extremely cheap hotel, no amenities apart from those essential for sleeping and personal hygiene, my first task was to orientate myself and find the restaurants I would require for four days. This is more important than it sounds as when travelling alone one needs to know where one is going to eat. Plus the fact that I had chosen the worst, read cheapest, hotel in Rome because I prefer to spend my money in good restaurants eating wonderful food.

I am gay so my criteria for a good restaurant are not exactly the same as the Michelin Guide. Food and excellent service rate highly naturally but then follow perhaps the most important aspects. There must be a terrace with sufficient tables so that I can sit by myself and be free to watch all the handsome men walking past. At least one waiter must attain my preferred desires as a sexual partner as I will spend much of the meal fantasizing about him. The location is important; I like to look out on a possible opera set when eating, thus a piazza with a central fountain and balconies adorning each building is essential.



By the evening I am settled in, I know my way to and from the hotel, the streets and restaurants are now familiar and I have pathetically used my hopeless Italian to order a coffee. I am now ready to explore Rome, wandering away from my safe little neighbourhood in ever widening circles to discover all that I have already seen and researched on Internet; hoping that it will all live up to my expectations.


 
Deciding to introduce myself to the Coliseum by night hoping to appreciate it being illuminated in relative calm I was horrified to encounter the thousands of other people with the same idea. Though even that multitude didn’t prepare me for what I would have to face the next day. The crowds were as huge as the Coliseum was immense, thankfully it’s size is such that it can absorb the quantity of tourists – well it was built to seat around 50 000 Romans lusting after blood.

Though in ruins it’s grandeur remains and with a little imagination and the help of a few plans and artist impressions one can easily see what a architectural wonder it was.

I do wonder how many of the visitors took a moment to think of the fact that it was originally built with the objective of killing and maiming people and perhaps spare a thought for the many who died in the name of amusing the crowds. It is incoherent that such splendour was built for such a cruel reason.

It does take your breath away and leaves it’s mark on you. Then progressing naturally to the Roman Forum and the Palatine in your programme you find the coliseum dominating every view from every corner of these ancient ruins.

The impression that one is left with, after that of the quantity of other visitors, is that of enormous size. The temples, the columns and arches and the statues, everything is of gigantic dimensions. Oh to have stood in front of them when they were still intact and the stone not yet worn by time.

The Palatine had little to keep your interest apart from providing impressionable viewpoints of the Forum below. So my weary feet were directed in the direction of the Capitol and it’s two museums housing the majority of sculptures I wished to see.
 
Sorry for that rather long absence; perhaps my addiction to my daily dose of JUB has less of a hold on me than it once did.

Or perhaps, in reality, it was due to being submerged by work, 15 hours a day, and too exhausted when I crawled downstairs to my flat to do anything but fall asleep.

The cook had a death in the family and, obviously was away for a week, thus I found myself having to cope with producing all the daily meals. This seems to be happening more frequently than it used to. It is not that I can’t cook up wonderful concoctions but, I have to do it whilst trying to cover all my own tasks as well. No one asks the cook to wash the three cars whilst he is preparing meals for six; so why, I ask myself, am I expected to.

I am too perfect and too conscientious that is my problem.

Madame left to go hunting on Friday morning leaving me the whole day to put her villa back in order and make out a list of all the things that had been left undone and must be done rapidly. So I have the weekend to myself leaving me just enough time to catch up on all the things I didn’t have time or energy to do last week. Seven days of laundry, catching up on my correspondence, cleaning my car and my flat and trying to unwind a little.

No chance of going out on the town as I am too busy but perhaps out for lunch on Sunday.
 
Some days are good and others bad but some are days that seem to have decided to really piss you off and make life as complicated as possible.

Monday was one such day.

I had planned an early start as my employers were returning that evening and I had a lot of finishing work to do. I awoke to torrential rain, when it rains here in the South of France it never seems to be a gentle sprinkling it is always the beginning of a second deluge. Okay that meant I couldn’t do any of the planned jobs outside.

Second problem, one of the dogs can’t put his paw to the ground and thus unable to walk so a trip to the vet is organised immediately. Now you can’t park in front of the surgery, the dog weighs 33 kilos, I am skinny and weak and it is pissing down with rain. We arrived soaking wet with me stinking of wet dog. On placing her on the ground miraculously she walks, tentatively but walking nonetheless. Bitch was all I could think of saying.

Arriving back at work with pain killers and a very happy dog having had a car ride; (my new car which is now covered with long white hairs and smells extremely doggy) I find the family room slowly filling with water. Of course, none of the other staff had even thought to go and check even though it was impossible not to notice that it was raining hard enough to suggest the end of the world was nigh.

Hi-fi speakers ruined, silk curtains absorbing water like litmus paper and Persian rugs acting like sponges all occupied me for the rest of the morning.

So my list is still there with nothing done.

But to every cloud a silver lining. Their car broke down and thus their return was delayed until very, very late giving me the evening free.

As they are off to Corsica for two days tomorrow the smile is back on my face and I am telling myself that life isn’t too bad really.
 
I am not too happy with the mundane routine into which I have slipped over the past months.

My solitude doesn’t bother me; I am still content with that decision. The job is still completely acceptable, neither requiring little effort, intellectual thought nor producing stress. Financially I am not badly off.

So what exactly is wrong?

I assume it is the absence of all activity, interest, excitement and emotions. Working for a family leaves me with little free time in which to occupy myself with my own life; once you take out the time required for the daily tasks necessary my available time for anything else is quite reduced. But even so it seems to evaporate before me leaving me unsatisfied and wondering where it all went.

I really think that afternoon naps which become extended into full scale sleep-ins are going to have to go. I am going to have to plan some things to do each week, something simple and easy to do like just going out for a coffee. Sorting out a reading list would not be a bad idea, especially as JUB has several threads on the subject.

Thank goodness “Perfume” has just been released in France so I shall be off to the cinema tomorrow, which will be a good start to new resolutions.

The feeling that I am intellectually worn out and empty is also probably one of the reason for which I hardly ever post these days. Nothing to say!

Well if I don’t make the effort obviously no one will do it for me. Naturally if I was to let my friends back into my life there would be a greater stimulus to do things. But my attraction to solitude is too deeply ingrained now to do that.

But honestly is there any reason why just because you are on your own that life can’t be a fulfilling one?
 
Life is quite mediocre but I really shouldn’t be complaining about it as the efforts that I put into improving it are absolutely minimal.

Still my bosses left for a two week holiday today leaving me on my own to do as I feel fit. Lots of free time to recuperate as most of this month I have had to work on my days off. That is the real advantage of working for my French family; they are absent a reasonable amount of time over the year.

So friends from England coming out for a couple of days meaning that I must pull my finger out and finish the spare room; menus to organise and visits to plan.

When they return, the bosses that is, I have five weeks work before they leave again so holidays need planning. I would really like to go to St Petersburg but I am worried that I haven’t really enough time to organise that this time. Visas and learning a little Russian!

So where should I go for a few days end of December?
 
So I managed to get my proverbial finger out of my proverbial arse.

Since Wednesday I have been going from one job to another in the attempt to complete everything and have the spare room ready to receive guest.

Obviously I didn’t get everything done but at least I am overflowing with a great sense of achievement over those things I have finished.

Still haven’t hemmed the curtains as I can’t decide whether to have them just touching the floor or not. Still got bedside cabinets to paint, but at least they are built. The bed is lacking cushions but that is something I can rustle up whilst my guests are sleeping in late in the mornings.

Perhaps a mundane few days but at least the list in my filofax is considerably shorter.

Now I shall be able to relax, enjoy them being here, go to restaurants, cook meals in and more important actually communicate with a real live human being.
 
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