This morning I was meandering the grounds, because let’s face it, I’m Madeline and I MEANDER. I ran into Christophe clipping the kitchen herb wall like he was Pollock with shears. This is what happens when you grow up in Marseille, with a mom that herds cats and shoots heroin while feeding the stray chickens in the neighborhood. Bless her heart. He sculpted fifteen giraffes out of my boxwood hedge last year.

I can’t really complain when Christophe spends four hours a day rearranging urns and talking about “contrast”, because when I ask for a two-ton stone fountain leading to the orangerie, only a guy from Marseille can do it. And his tattoos are impressive.

Unfortunately, he has a thing for Giselle, so this whole arrangement could quickly turn into a nightmare with a boiled bunny on the stove. We’ll see.

Bisous, loves. -M.