Baileys famine shock
It required a trip to the Queens Legs pub in Valbonne to discover that the Irish interpretation of the French for foreplay is quatre jouet. This is the vital information that emanated from a chance meeting with cigar scrounging Irishman John O Sullivan and his delicious wife Jude whom we met in the pub before adjourning to he Valbonnaise for a late supper.
I asked our convivial host at the Valbonnaise to write down what he thought was the most fitting description in French of foreplay, and this is what I received.
Quite why the conversation had turned in this direction I do not recall, although with Jude around perhaps that is a clue
Jude O Sullivan has a renowned thirst for Baileys. Most restaurateurs in Valbonne understand this an ensure they have a good supply of this nasty concoction in stock at all times. However I hear that due to the well documented strikes at present, the van load of baileys scheduled for delivery to the Valbonnaise to try to keep pace with her consumption was blockaded, and there was nothing left after her last visit. After the wailing and gnashing of teeth had subsided, she suddenly remember the emergency magnum in her handbag, so after before she could say “make mine a large one” calm and smiles returned and the lucky proprietor was able to escape without feeling the lash of her Irish tongue. Actually, that’s a nice concept, I wouldn’t mind feeling the lash or her tongue but that is a story for another day.
Earlier in the day I had cruised along The Croisette in Cannes with the top of the merc down in the warm autumn sunshine, admiring the many beauties sunbathing in the sands. Two quick meetings with two mighty estate agents, job done and back home by midday with another days toil compressed into the customary 2 hours. I know, you must all be wondering how I do it. I think careful planning, diligence over detail and organisational genius are at the heart of it, I just wish I hadn’t forgotten my blackberry, the address of one of my appointments and my house keys.
Today my first golf with the Landlubbers group for some time. That means several weeks have elapse since I have been able mercilessly to able to pillory Steve Weston about his admitted love of sheep. Frankly I had exhausted all the jokes I could think of, but after a couple of weeks there are a couple of themes that have occurred to me so tune in tomorrow for an update. I must remember to take sandwiches with me today, I have some cold lamb in the fridge…..
Dave the Fade emails from Australia to tell me the Australian press are getting worried about The Ashes and that they have no confidence in their captain following their 2 0 drubbing against the Indians. I admit that I am daring to hope the series will be better for us than the 5 0 slaughter we received on the last 2 tours down under.
Dave is in Australia for some intensive work on his fade. He really wants to develop a draw (which to non golfers is where the ball once hit swerves in the opposite direction to the fade), but I hear his golf coach told him the best way for him to do that was to play left handed.
Chris France
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Talk about Baileys spurs me to mention a somewhat surreal situation which arose this morning, when I was at a wine tasting near Stellenbosch, which as some of you will know is where the world’s best wines come from. Bar none.
The young chap who was presenting the tasting offered a spittoon along with the comment : “Some of you probably swallow but others will wish to spit.” I am quite sure the double entendre was meant, and the chap sitting opposite me and I both supressed a chuckle, whilst a young lady in the group said : “I always swallow!”
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Love this, may have to nick it for the blog!
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