Spring has sprung here in Paris. A classically glorious time for lovers - man and beast - for optimism, for renewed purpose, darlings. Frankly, I cast orf the winter gloom almost before it had begun on the realisation - on my 134th birthday last October - that time was Of The Essence.
As many of you know I've been married to my seventh husband, Georges, for forty years and things have been, shall we say, a little more desert than oasis for the past two decades. A woman does come to understand how burning passion within cannot be left to ebb peacefully into death like an old sleeping dog, how one should grasp the mettle whilst one still has control of one's digits and, indeed, the mental cohesion to know what to do with said mettle once grasped.
And so I have, dears! I have harnessed the Internet Beast, have branched out, socially speaking, to find myself not one Lover, but two! Hallelujah, God bless Cyberspace and all who sail her murky waters. So much easier than having to suffer another of dear Hugo's match-making balls.
I shall tell you more about the Fortunate Two in due course, but for now it should suffice to offer a word of warning: yes, darlings, the internet is a wonderful invention for those weary of tromping the high street, but when shopping for Lovers one must remember here in Cyberspace ebay and Fortnum & Mason sit cheek by jowl in a fashion which would never be tolerated in Real Life. Be warned, my dears.
Personally I struck lucky in finding James and Sebastian. Both utterly charming men and absolutely besotted with yours truly. The decision to take two Lovers, I should point out, is not borne of greed but SENSIBILITY. One Lover is dangerous. This I know only too well as my heart was stolen by Le Comte some eight decades ago and I have been but a shell of myself since. But the heart is a strong organ and I have to say it does repair in part - one with The Will To Live does not rest upon her chaise longue indefinitely. One pulls up one's stockings and one GETS ON. Yes, a solitary Lover is dangerous. Two is far more sensible, dears. It is impossible to fall in love with multiple men simultaneously - a universal Truth.
Alas, I must end this here for now. Georges, for some strange reason, appears to have been struck himself by spring's springing and verily doth the sap rise which, given the addition of not one but two Lovers, does now present me with a rather tiresome problem.
Mais, as we say here in France, à l’impossible nul n’est tenu..!