Uri Geller Spoon Shock

Before I report on the tennis, it came to my notice yesterday that the nice lady decorator found a broken knife in her handbag yesterday morning (just after I has published yesterdays episode of a day in the life of the idle rich of Valbonne).  She is overcome with guilt and remorse, which frankly is very unusual, and is further concerned that she cannot remember how or why it got there.  I looked at her sternly and told her about the dangers of drinking and was generally able to take the moral high ground and admonish her for her errant ways.  What she does not know is that  I remembered immediately why it was there and it was nothing to do with her.  Years ago, I contemplated making a record with Uri Geller. Having made records with Sam Fox and Rolf Harris, it seemed a natural progression.  I went to Mr Geller’s fabulous house in Sonning Common and a deal was struck, although we never released the record, it was too bad even for us. Anyway, before setting off for that meeting, that nice lady decorator had given me one of our very heavyweight silver spoons together with instructions to see if I could get Uri to bend it. Astonishingly he did so by just stroking the under part of it before handing it back to me whilst it continued to bend on its own in my hand.  I was demonstrating to the assembled throng at the Valbonnaise the night before last just how hard I had tried before meeting Mr Geller to bend our heavyweight spoon, when the knife I was using for the demonstration snapped, and to hide the evidence, I slipped the broken knife into her bag.  It seemed the right thing to do, I am off the hook, she is full of guilt, so now I have a number of brownie points stored up, a very comfortable place to be, so all was well with the world yesterday morning.

And then to the tennis tournament, at one stage, before a traditional gits lunch, we had a 100% success rate in tennis tounaments having trounced our first opponents. However with two hours to go before our second round match, and with restaurant open, the sun out and a beer thirst up, we celebrated our famous victory rather too well.  The second match began well, 4-1 up in a jiffy before he beer took its toll and we decided that we had played enough tennis and generously allowed the opposition victory.  As the wingco explained to me later, we had made our point, and looking at the proper players we would have met in the next round, would have been in for a thrashing, so better to retire gracefully.