A summer in the garden.

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I’ve spent summers in all of the Mediterranean, and however beautiful it is, none of them compared to a summer in my parents’ garden, not even the sea, although, who am I kidding here, the sea, I do miss, but having breakfast in a hotel, lying on a beach or at a pool, next to people draping their labeled belongings around themselves like an Egyptian pharaoh in his tomb, clinging to their bank accounts, their status is on display 24/7, all year, over-symbolized, logomania in extremis, but no heaven lies ahead here, deadly sinners, all of them, it’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for logomaniacs to enter the kingdom of God, yes, I’m a Catholic, no thanks, that’s not for me, at least not this year. My Hermès beach towels are off duty, I couldn’t relax anyway, I have to trim something in that garden left to my mother’s devices, planned as an urban jungle, too many trees, too much ivy, too much of everything, lush, overly lush, beautifully lush, hydrangeas emerging from unindentifiable green masses, roses emerge everywhere from ivy, so richly blooming they look like a bouquet, but before I trim something, I’ll look out for some shade, under an apple tree, or the walnut tree, or whatever tree appears inviting…

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Royal Tea.

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Spring offers amazing opportunities. To fall in love, to visit Paris, and, most importantly, to have tea in the garden which is so much better for your complexion than having it in front of a fireplace, or if you don’t have a fireplace (which I don’t), next to a couple of Diptyque candles and nearly getting suffocated by the contrasting scents of Feu de Bois and Tubéreuse, and suffocation is not very becoming, you’re quite green, believe you me. Anyway, this year I’ll probably spend even more time en plein air as my friend Katja from Luxembourg was mucking out her house and garden before moving to another place, meaning we are going to have tea on her Belle Époque-ish garden furniture that turned a spot under the cherry tree into a Savannah backyard. I have to order some more of Fortnum & Mason’s Royal Blend. You really can’t have Earl Grey at this table. Way too unimportant a title. Unless he’s going to be promoted to Duke Grey any time soon, we must fall out.

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