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Lemoncello compulsory

February 9, 2011

Years ago, I wanted to I became a professional fisherman, but discovered I couldn’t live on my net income. When I first moved down to the cote d’Azur, when the euro was 1.50 to the pound, I managed to get a good job working for a swimming pool maintenance company, but in the end I found the work was just too draining, and then I found retirement, which was perfect, except I couldn’t afford it.

Spring snow is all around us, icy in the morning, with perfect skiing conditions around 11am, then too slushy in the afternoon for safety, so what can a man do at lunchtime when he sees conditions deteriorating? I think you may have guessed it, lunch is the operative word. I am lucky in that I have several like-minded people around me, most of whom are as cautious as I, wisely wary of slightly dangerous conditions after lunch, and not just due to the intake of lemoncello, the lemon based liqueur omnipresent here in Limone. In fact it should be called Limone Cello.

This is a bit of a nightmare, no restaurants in sight. Very different from Soho..

Limone is at its peak just as lunch commences. However lunch cannot normally be considered until each of the skiing party has imbibed at least one bombardino on the slopes during the morning, a heady concoction of coffee, cream and some obscure local liqueur (more obscure than lemon cello) the name of which escapes me, unless I find out what it is before this column posts, No backsliding is allowed, it is the law of France, (Chris France that is) even although we are in Italy.

Now I don’t want you chaps back in the UK to fret about us, or to consider that I might be having a good time. I am not. This is the same as work for me, a pernicious grind (better than being a staff member at Starbucks, I suppose), and at all times looking for the networking opportunity that might lead me to a new customer for Currencies Direct . Some will know that I would prefer to be back on the daily happy train and tube ride into Soho, despite the rain and having nowhere to sit, to enjoy a day of dealing with those fun rap artists who on occasions jocularly suggested that I should help with their pharmaceutical needs.

We are staying in a small private dwelling half way up the slopes that seems to be designed specifically to cut down on the apres ski activities normally at the heart of a skiing trip, as it takes a skidoo to take us to our accommodation and the mustachioed Italian who is in charge seems to have a less than ambivalent attitude to drunken foreign visitors, I wonder why? I have always found myself to be even more amusing than normal after taking on more than my share of Barolo, but somehow these foreigners don’t seem to understand our humour.

Another tough day of work completed, but am I downhearted? Find out tomorrow.

Chris France
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