Some people perk up with testosterone treatment – others just need a thank you
There has been a lot of shuttling back and forth to Paris since February when we opened our bureau in the city. On many of my stays, I have lodged at the small four-star Hôtel Pulitzer, a short walk from our office. They make a good omelette. I like the rooms. They have me, however, because the staff are nice. At breakfast on Tuesday, it was the same gentleman in charge as usual. He smiled and said, “Hello Mr Tuck, you’re back!” But my favourite part has become the welcome notes that they leave in my room. In the beginning these were a simple “I hope you enjoy your stay” style of greeting but this week there was a note thanking me for my loyalty across the year and explaining why this commitment matters to a hotel. “Guests like you are a gem” it stated (or perhaps I misread the handwriting and it actually said “guests like you are a germ”? I hope not). And someone has noticed where I work – and perhaps even read this column – because another recent note sent best wishes to Macy, the fox terrier. They even congratulated me when I won an award (no, it wasn’t for flower arranging or the nicest plums at the county fair). This week I decided to turn the tables and, on a Monocle card, wrote a thank-you-for-the-thankyous, which I left at reception. Let’s see how competitive this gets.
At dinner with friends last week, I commented to someone who I know very well that he was looking great, annoyingly fresh-faced and youthful all of a sudden. “It’s my testosterone replacement treatment,” he beamed. “It has been a transformation. I feel happier. I’ve got so much energy,” he added with an almost Tigger-ish bounce. Tell me more, I replied, thinking that this sounded like a no-brainer. He then began to detail the self-injection routine that he now follows and, as someone who has a needle phobia, my interest was already becoming flaccid when he added that every few months he would also need to have a pint of blood extracted to prevent it thickening in his veins. And as for prize plums, these might shrivel. That seemed quite a lot to contemplate for the chance of better skin and the potential of more bed ballet with one’s partner. But he was evangelical, even offered to introduce me to the folk at his clinic. But I think I’ll stick to my moisturiser in the morning routine and then a good book at night. Not every evening needs to include a Nutcracker performance.
It would be remiss of me not to remind you that it’s The Monocle Christmas Market in London this weekend. An event, held at our offices in Marylebone, that has become an annual tradition for many of our readers and listeners. There’s Santa, there are reindeer, there are stalls displaying covetable gifts and there’s some booze too. Come along – it would be nice to see you.
Oh, and thank you for reading this column. I mean it.
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