Monday 12th July 2010

Last night I was sent to put the rubbish out. Even on the Côte d’Azur this has to be done. It meant going outside the villa. Devastating. Virgil has unique beaten steel gates that open automatically. Beyond it’s all wrong. There are other houses in sludge apricot, clashing with the plumbago. They’ve got brand new white shutters in Rivieraflon or whatever. There’s a B and Q feel and random vegetation, no pure species in restrained silver, grey or green. I dashed back in to the Virgil demesne, begging and begging the automatic gate to close, longing to be enfolded once again a honed, detailed environment created by a world-class architect. I told Virgil all about it. He said: ‘I know. And they’re rich too.’