Wolff in sheeps clothing?

After yesterdays piece about Brian Blessed and the Palm Pilot, I get a message from Lin Wolff at the English Book Centre in Valbonne reporting that on Irish television she heard a woman saying if it fitted into her palm, you can keep it. I had no idea that Irish Television could be so high brow and illuminating, and the question must be asked, why would someone living in the south of France with Sky TV at her disposal choose to view Irish TV? Her husband, Marc Wollf, has already received serious ribbing in this column for not yet having High Definition TV, despite his glittering career in the film world where his credits include all the Harry Potter films and all recent James Bond in a ridiculously long list of cinematic offerings on which he has worked (and is currently working on the new Johnny English film with Rowan Atkinson), so perhaps it so something to do with low picture quality that attracts Lin to Irish TV?

It got me thinking about what type of programme you might find there? Perhaps an in-depth look at peat bogs? or “Irish Wolffhounds”, (sorry Lin and Marc, that was too good a joke to leave out!) or what about “Irish Intellectuals”? perhaps not enough material for a series but, if padded, one might be able to get half an hour’s TV out of it?

My picture today is of an old shop in Valbonne, dunno why, I just liked it! very Provencal.

A typical Provencal shop front in Valbonne

I have decided to commit to playing golf on Saturday at Grande Bastide with the landlubbers solely on the basis of an absolute assurance from Steve Weston, our esteemed reserve organiser, that the weather will be sunny. If Dave the Fade (away having more treatment on his fade; this time he’s trying chemotherapy) was in charge then I could rely on his assurance, but Steve is different, when one looks him in the eye there is something that makes me consider him as perhaps having an unreliable streak. It is based, I suppose, on his past admitted animalistic preferences. However, he has been very diffident about this fetish recently and I suspect that he now regrets his previous candour, so it would be unfair of me to reveal its exact nature (however if you use my new search icon below and input “Steve Weston and Sheep”, you may get an idea of my thinking).

Last night, as often happens, the self-imposed week long embargo on wine and alcohol in general was broken as Singapore resident, Jo Caston, was in town for just a couple of days, and that nice lady decorator could not resist seeing her. Of course, as usual, my attendance was required in order to pay. Starting at Cafe des Arcades in Valbonne, by the time these two had filtered down to the wine bar, those northern vowels were audible from Cannes. I should explain that Jo is from Lancashire, and that nice lady decorator spent a large number of her uninformative years up north in Wakefield and near Leeds. Therefore there is an accent problem which she develops whenever she is in the presence of anyone with any kind of northern Accent. I have tried to beat it out of her over the years, but as soon as she gets with another with a latent northern drawl, it returns with a vengeance. Add alcohol, and the result is not pretty to behold. Coronation Street meets Valbonne is such a mismatch, its like Rudolf Nureyev turning his hand to sheet metal welding, nothing good can come of it.