Syphilis pills cause drop off in wine intake

The best laid plans failed to pan out as I had intended. After the epic lunch on Tuesday, when that nice lady decorator retired hurt early, I had manfully tried to keep the party going for our guests (who were all happy to thrash my wine store to within an inch of its life, with the noble exception of Bill Colegrave who has currently eschewed alcohol on the basis that “the syphilis pills have not yet done their job”. This is in quotation marks in order to emphasise that it was an actual quote). I had planned to lay out for a day of quiet contemplation, whilst remaining mostly in a horizontal position. Any suggestion that this was in fact “sleeping it off” was to have been met with a ferocious response from my lawyers, Messrs Killan Eat.

However, as I intimated above, that nice lady decorator awoke early after her early night, and with sun beaming into the bedroom, I was forced to attempt a vertical position (if you will pardon the expression), and taken for a walk. As you may imagine this was as popular with me as walking the plank, but after some discussion and argument, she made a unilateral decision, and the metaphorical plank hove into view. In fact one of the views is shown below.

Theole Sur Mer yesterday

That nice lady decorator decided that she wanted not to walk in the same area, so I was bundled into the car along with one nice and one nasty dog, heading for I knew not where. Eventually I was awoken and turfed out of the car, made to stand erect (so to speak) and marched down a very long steep path to the sea. This part of the walk was rather nice, and the terrain around Theole Sur Mer, where I later discovered I had been taken was rather red (like my eyes).

Beautiful coves, the reddest sandstone, the Mediterranean lapping at the shore, I had just reached a level state of feeling one again at one with the world, and was beginning to shake off the manacles of yesterday when suddenly I realised that it was intended that we walk all the way back up the path we had descended some 30 minutes before. My cry of “taxi” was dismissed with that normal non-discussable stare with which I am often confronted, and the yomp up the mountain commenced.

I think it is fair to say that idea of a drink last evening has never been so low on my list of priorities and so a quiet night in at last. At present no more social activity is scheduled until tomorrow when we shall either go skiing at Greoliere Les Neiges if the weather is good or go to church in Valbonne at Cafe Latin to make sure that Mr (Neil) Humphries is free (he usually is, having wisely avoided what is known by most of us as “getting a job”) and what he is wearing for the spring season. My guess is that violet or purple will feature somewhere.

Of course with the 6 nations rugby this week including a enthralling battle between England and France, doubtless I shall be with some like-minded fellows at 6pm on Saturday to hear the singing of the Marseilles, before watching England trample all over the French hopes for rugby glory in glorious high definition. If for any reason this goes wrong then I shall feel compelled to go over Menton on Sunday and sit at the grave of the founder of the game of rugby, William Webb Ellis who is buried there overlooking the sea.