After my trip to Versailles to visit the home of Nancy Mitford, I became enamoured with the idea of having my own, live in cook, houseboy, and all round general great chap: a PA/valet type person.
Reading Nancy's letters from the latter part of her life made me realize that my life was lackig a PA/valet. On my return I began to interview for a man to run the less glamourous aspects of my life.
After going through all the candidates, I eventually settled on a man who, having failed dreadfully as a husband has assured me he is determined to make a grand success of himself as a valet, or Lady's Gentleman I would like to call him. I'm having his cards printed now. He has a three month trial
His new role has freed up more hours in the day for me to write, which is no doubt what led to my neck and shoulder jamming up with tension. As I ushered in another birthday yesterday (they seem to be coming thick and fast lately: year in, year out), I had to face my greatest fear. Fear Of The Old Woman I Will One Day Become.
I was better this morning, but after a few hours at my desk I soon began to hunch and ache again, which sent me diving under the duvet with my laptop.
I think I'm over the whole desk pretence at last; all that ergonomic nonsense really doesn't apply to a girl who spends every hour of her day banging away at a laptop. Being an author is not a glamourous pastime but it has perks, one of which is I am free to write anywhere I please which we all know is bed.
My Lady's Gentleman has ensconced himself on a comfy chair opposite: he's favourite pose during our marriage. He's not proving much chop as a PA. Plus ça change, plus c'est la meme chose,
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