70 Turds, Banjo to blame

December 13, 2010

tags: Australia, Cote D Azur, Currencies Direct, Ex Pats Golf, Living In France, Moving To France, The Ashes 2010

The Australians have called up into their cricket squad an unknown spinner called Michael Beer, so please allow me to indulge myself with a couple of jokes at their expense, if he any good it will be the first time they could claim to have a good Australian Beer, and if he is only slightly successful one could call that small Beer.

The third Ashes Test starts in Perth in Australia on Thursday, so once again I shall be up ridiculously early (that nice lady decorator refers to it as “at the crack of sparrows fart” in the elegant and eloquent ladylike style that she has made her own). But with her having taken her decorating skills back to the UK until Friday I shall have two blissful uninterrupted days of cricketing joy without having to wrestle her for the remote control of the TV. I may have to pull rank on my daughter but she is nowhere near as scary.

Today’s picture is of Le Provencal Golf Course in nearby Sophia Antipolis which is known as the Silicon Valley of France, but I have been disappointed about the lack of obvious boob jobs that I have failed to witness. There was Maria but I have reason to believe that she is all real, if you get my drift. To be named Silicon Valley I would expect to be treated to wonderful sights wherever I looked, and although it is a lovely sight to see the snow covered Southern Alps in the distance whilst playing golf, it is far less rewarding, well for me anyway, than the prospect of gazing upon Pamela Anderson lookalikes everywhere. I suppose you could say that I had to put up with snow capped hillocks instead.

The snow capped mountains viewed from Le Provencal Golf Course in Sophia Antipolis

Whilst that nice lady decorator is away, I will be in sole charge of the various wildlife that inhabits this household, most of it very welcome, well all of it welcome with one glaring exception. Banjo the monstrous, malevolent, moldering cocker spaniel who is allowed by his owner to get away with murder on the pretext that he had a difficult early life (he came from a rescue home) whilst his guardian is present. To put this in context, its a bit like Adolf Hitler being given counselling and biscuits because he was only responsible for millions of deaths and appalling suffering and it wasn’t really his fault that he didn’t like Jews or gypsies or anyone except Germans. But with his protection programme coordinator absent for a few days, the phrase “extraordinary rendition” seems to have some resonance, that and “revenge is sweet”.

Talking of Banjo always evokes images of mountain ranges of turds surrounding my hammock and today is the birthday of one of my friends, Peter Lynn, who claims to be 63 and a few months (try 120). He amuses himself by calling it his seventy turd birthday, so in celebration his wife produced a cake with a ring of 70 malteasers, to represent 70 turds…

Chris France

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