Ash for cash?

The letter C apparently does not exist in the Icelandic language. So intoned the beautiful Gudrun from Re-Max estate agents in Cannes at lunch at Cafe Latin in Valbonne last week, so according to her, when Iceland ran out of cash last year, all they had left was ash, so they sent as much as they could. She is wisely anxious to become affiliated to Currencies Direct, a very wise course of action for anyone involved in selling or renting property, so I expect the flood of new affiliation requests to grow even more in the coming weeks

Any suggestion that the weather in the Cote d’Azur was appalling or that it rains incessantly is clearly a huge misunderstanding. Nothing could be further from the truth, it was 21 degrees yesterday with clear blue skies and the top was down on the Merc for the first time this year, but this type of weather creates a different problem. The lawn will need mowing. I need to murder some daisies as my picture below shows. Unfortunately, the doubtful dog, Banjo, hates the lawnmower more than he does pizza delivery bikes and wheelbarrows. This will be less of a problem when I have a sit on mower, which I am promised soon, as I am having it specially adapted “road kill” option fitted, in order to be able to run over miscreant animals. I wonder who will be first?

Lawns are supposed to be green, so what are these infernal daisies doing? I am looking forward to getting my sit-on mower, for the next time they raise their heads.

Sadly I was unable to make lunch at the Auberge St Donat yesterday or able to accept a late invitation to play tennis for two reasons, I must prepare for my trip to London on Monday, I already had a lunch scheduled and I have a very sore head still from the rather late night at the Kashmir in Valbonne. Actually that is three reasons. What possessed me to stay in the restaurant drinking more with Roger the rabbit and his city friends, I do not know. Thus today has been an introspective day, awaiting the return of the whirlwind from the UK last evening.

Tomorrow is of course another opportunity to see a big game played by men with funny shaped balls. Ireland versus England will be the climax of the 6 Nations rugby tournament, which I shall be witnessing live at The Queens Head at 6pm today, and I issue this open invitation to come down and join me in gratefully accepting the 20 Euros that John O Sullivan will hand over to me when England wins. I know that his wife, the amply endowed Amazon beauty, will be hoping for a different result, as she counts money only in terms of bottles of Baileys, so tomorrow her husband is at serious risk of losing 2 bottles. Of course, given previous form in this area, I shall have to ensure there is no backsliding on the stakes as has happened before when I attempted to extract payment of a bet, him applying (his version?) Irish law about no bet being binding unless made without a drink in your hand.

Then to rub it in a bit further, we shall all be attending the International Club Of The Riviera’s St Patrick’s Day Celebrations at the Scandinavian Terrace in Cannes in Sunday. This will raise my spirit is enough for me to be able to face a trip to London next week for 3 days. I feel my presence is required in the city to steady nerves in these political and radiation charged times.

I must also confer with old pal John Otway about what shape his combined entertainment with renowned stand up comedian Steve Frost will take later in the year, and I must also consult my lawyers, Novak and Good about an irksome legal matter, and to renew our dog insurance.

Chris France