11 - INTERMEZZO, Between Hotels in the 1970s

Money, money, money .... but not much for me!

      People have sometimes been sceptical of my claim to modest means, and it is certain that I have, on occasion, chosen some rather costly places to spend the night.    Many would call it living above one’s means, and that may be true.  I think of it more as living frugally when necessary in order to live it up when the right opportunity presents itself.

Among my many vices as a young man was a rather common illness that manifested itself basically in a total inability to handle money.  Until I was thirty, my finances were just about always in a catastrophic state. 

French banks were terrible for my malady, because for whatever peculiar reason, they tended to allow great overdrafts without getting too concerned.  In my case, just as I was entering my fourth decade, my overdraft exceeded my salary.  That meant in essence that I was already stone broke the day my salary was deposited.  It went on for a long time, and as I had never really known any other way of dealing with money, I never expected to get myself out of this permanent financial rut.

But I did.  In fact, I had what might be the equivalent of a born-again experience.  Someone gave me some life-changing advice, and the extraordinary thing was that I listened.  I can’t remember for sure, but it must have been my bank manager, in which case I owe him an immense debt of gratitude

First, I was told to write down meticulously everything I spent during the month, not to leave a single penny unaccounted for.  I did this, and was astounded to suddenly realize how much money I was spending on magazines that I wasn’t reading, taxis far slower than public transport, not to mention cigarettes and various and sundry extravagances, none of which were giving me the slightest pleasure. 

Then came the clinker, my spiritual awakening:  if I could ever figure out a way to pay off my debts, I could conceivably count on the money I was squandering on rubbish to spend in the future on all sorts of wonderful things that I had heretofore been unable to afford.

I am simplifying a little, but once I reimbursed --little by little-- my wonderfully patient bank manager, I started thinking about what would really give me pleasure, and  I have never looked back, and have never actually been completely broke again.

It didn’t hurt that this coincided with a reasonably good office job at UNESCO.  By now I had stopped drinking, and that certainly didn’t hurt financially either.  


I remember when I quit smoking in 1978 (during my first trip to Taormina), I started a piggy bank in which I religiously deposited my “cigarette money” every day, with the enthusiastic resolution to spend it at some future point on something much more pleasurable.

When I started the art business in 1979 as a possibly money-making hobby to offset a less than stimulating clerical job, I made myself a promise that if ever there were any profits, I would only use them for the kind of luxuries I could otherwise not afford.  And that is what I’ve always done.  These once-unaffordable pleasures more often than not turned into hotels and restaurants.

So if you’d like to buy a charming, inexpensive watercolour from another era, go straight to "My Paris Fine Art Gallery," and know that the proceeds will most likely find their way into the coffers of some grand hotel.  Or perhaps another lunch at the Ritz when it ever reopens.    

Mid-Seventies me (photo Martin Woods)

-o-

      

INTERLUDE, Hotel restaurants in the 1980’s  

Busy Sunday lunchtime at the Hotel Negresco's Chantecler Restaurant, Nice

      I gravitated to hotel restaurants when I was alone, because they were obviously the places most accommodating and accustomed to single diners.  As I had a clear taste for both fine food and travel, and as I have lived much of my life with no immediate family, I decided early on that there was no reason to deprive myself of some of the things that gave me the most pleasure, just because I didn’t always have someone to share them with.

   Even so, it was not always so easy to enter some of those palatial, formal dining rooms all by myself.  In the beginning there were times when I felt all eyes upon me, and sometimes they really were.

Windsor

  In the same way that some actors are said to pretend the audience is naked in an effort to overcome stage fright, I invented a game with myself, whereby in the privacy of my mind, I became a kind of latter day Duke of Windsor (I would pretend the Duchess had been delayed).    For most people it wouldn’t have been necessary, but I lacked the self confidence for the single lifestyle I sometimes chose for myself, and my make-believe games seemed to work.

(I now wonder what games the real Windsor played to "be" the Duke of Windsor!)

Poster from the novel's film version

Some years ago I came across a particularly pertinent observation in the very entertaining French novel by Maurice Drouon, “Les Grandes Familles.”  It was something to the effect that no one --no matter how old or how successful-- ever feels totally within himself that he has become an adult.

Until I read that (and I was probably reaching the mid-century mark at the time), I had somehow thought that most people DID feel the confidence of their age, and that I was one of the odd ones who continued to feel the same insecurity of their childhood. 

I suddenly understood and accepted that I was not alone, that no one was really immune to multiple insecurities.  It was when I understood this that I no longer needed the games.

End of evening at the Hotel Shangri-la's l'Abeille restaurant, Paris

Your input is welcomed:  hotel-musings@hotmail.fr

Next Friday:  One last trip to the Timeo ... with Duncan