Moustachiod Old Gits in Tennis Shock?
Part of the fitness routine that I endure to keep my Adonis like figure in peak condition involves walking. Not a stroll, but a full-on power walk up hills and down dales through the beautiful Valmasque Forest. That nice lady decorator who lives in the same house as I, often accompanies me, and I, despite many who would disagree, am gentlemanly enough to let her lead the way through the tiny paths that we like to walk, otherwise it would be me having to break through the spiders webs that appear overnight.
Last night the plan was to go for the first square bashing in ages, although that is not strictly true as we lunched in the square with some old friends over from Blighty. I felt that having been away from the square for so long, I needed to be broken in gently. The occasion was the forthcoming birthday of possibly the oldest man in Christendom, the wingco. But as things do here, the venue was changed to the Valbonnaise, a family run and fun restaurant at the top of Valbonne.
Unwisely,we stopped by for an a sharpener with the wingco in the way and things began to go downhill from there. He has a prodigious appetite for red wine and stupidly I decided to try to keep pace with him. The excited talk about tactics in our first ever tennis tournament, plus the thirst I had built of over 3 days on the temperance wagon were partially to blame, but the proximity of the wingco’s birthday, which is today may also have had something to do with it, anyway suffice to say that there is a dent in the European wine lake this morning. Actually you can’t have a dent in a lake so I guess I should say lowering in the level, and that phrase seems to sum up a number of other elements of last night.
Luckily our children all had visitors and with the place trashed a few weeks ago by teenage rampages we were reluctantly able to reject the offer of cognac on the wingco’s terrace to survey and attempt damage limitation at our house. What a wise decision, some dozen or so supercharged teenagers were about to destroy the last vestiges of any relationship with our neighbours until we arrived home to party poop as only a parent knows how.
Another crap picture today, of I believe a cana. I must get out more.
And so to the tactics for tennis today. From what I recall, I think we have decide to play power tennis. The wingco and I are entered into the tournament as in our customary name of the Moustchiod old Gits, and we are hoping that serving big and going for winners from the off is the best tactic. We are hoping that the opposition fail to realise until too late that neither of us have ever had a tennis lesson in our lives and play tennis a bit like we play cricket. Our problem will be if we come up against two 19-year-old prodigies, it could be over very quickly.
Tomorrow golf with the Landlubbers at my favourite local course St Donat, accompanied by Dave The fade, Mick German Shooting Trousers Pedley, Steve sheepish Weston et al. A full report will follow tomorrow
Chris France
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Th explanations of the origin of ‘on the wagon’ focus on actual wagons that were used to transport people, for example, condemned prisoners who had taken their last drink in this life and were transported to the gallows by wagon. I hope that you and Robert are not going into your tennis match like lambs to the slaughter !
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