Mushy peas or guacamole? its hard to tell

When the northerner amongst us asked whether she should order more of those mushy peas when referring to the guacamole, I knew that I was entering a material rich environment.

At La Kavanou midweek, the event was a fast breaking (as in breaking a fast) escape to Valbonne’s only proper wine bar due to the flying visit of token Lancastrian Jo Caston. The sheer variety and for me, reportability, of comments and asides was so fetid with material for this column that inspiration will hardly be required today.

The mushy pea comment was in respect of one of the tapas that must be served at La Kavanou to respect their peculiar Cave Aux Vins licence which the owner Karin, is trying to upgrade as we speak. One of the tapas is guacamole, and this started opening the taps of potential blog material.

Next, when describing an old friend who has now returned to England (and I really cannot name him) Jo described him as being able to “laugh people into bed” but went on to express the personal opinion that nothing was that funny.

I am not sure how the subject came up, but dogging was discussed. I think my feigned naiveté spurred Jo and her friends who included Suzanne from La Tasse de Couleur, the do it yourself pottery cafe in Biot, on to very descriptive heights. When the particular venue where this pastime allegedly takes place was mentioned, I casually suggested that I also took my dogs walking in that area, and could they let me know when the next dogging session was scheduled as I would like to meet some other dog owners locally.

There are occasions when that feigned naïvety can work wonders for amusement levels. Subsequently I was lucky enough to be regaled by three girls all trying to out do each other with their knowledge of and descriptions of the practice. Notably, they were not joined by that nice lady decorator who knew exactly what I was up to and refused to be drawn into it. Suffice to say that I learned a great deal more about it, and the expression “giving the dog for a bone” will be forever tainted for me from now on.

From that promising start, discussions turned to cottaging which, I explained, I did know about; I expressed the pinion that the practice of buying an old cottage and doing it up to sell for a profit was becoming more difficult in the current housing market.

Oh for the blondes amongst us. I cannot name names here, but for argument’s sake I shall call her Lindsey. By now the others had twigged what I was up to and had gone quiet but she who should not be named kept going on about the finer details of cottaging in graphic detail until I could no longer hold onto my shocked and appalled expression, whereupon she began to realise the truth.

I made some notes at the time but upon re-reading them yesterday morning I cannot for the life of me work out the connection between double fisting, peanut butter and Mr Ed, the horse. I do remember what a monkey bath is though; it’s where the bath water is too hot and you go “oh ah ey ah” as you get in.

Doing a spot of dogging this morning

My picture today was taken on my early morning walk in the Valmasque, along the Brague, after which some business in Antibes where lunch was taken at the Indian Cheemati, and very good it was too. My only complaint, 5.50 Euros for a small Kingfisher (the beer not the bird), that’s nearly £5 at today’s exchange rates Then with the last of the winter rain setting in yesterday afternoon I failed ignominiously to attend the free book give away at the English Book Centre, perhaps fundamentally I dislike the idea of giving books away, now that I am approaching a career as an author.