Tennis blind leading the blind

So the jewelry party began. Of course, I was not there to begin with as I had pressing previous engagements which I had managed to arrange at short notice.

These involved a long-standing commitment to playing tennis, and then thereafter, despite my protestations, being dragged, most unwillingly as my regular readers will know is not the case, to lunch at the Le Provencal in Plascassier.

The tennis was most enjoyable, except for the fact that fellow MOG (Moustachiod Old Git) the wingco, and often tennis partner failed to tell me until we are on the court that he is now partially sighted, having been given a different kind of laser beam treatment to the one often meted out to me by that nice lady decorator. Thus, although I cannot recall the result, I do remember that our opponents were most unsporting in hitting the ball to him on some occasions. I recall that we won a set, but believe the game never came to a conclusion as lunch beckoned.

This was a last-minute change from the normal post tennis luncheon venue, as one if our party (and I hesitate here to fail to mention Paul Thornton Allan), considered the Auberge Provencal to be somewhat beneath him.

The tennis four was joined by several other reprobates, in the form of local estate agent Cubby Wolf, who rather fittingly ordered the shark for lunch, and the afore-mentioned Mr Thornton Allen, who was in such a casual mood that he felt it was acceptable to be sporting a cravat.

Those of you amongst us will understand that this is a move down market for him. It was not just the cravat of course that makes Mr T A old-fashioned, him being the only one amongst us in his 7th decade, he considers that certain standards should be upheld at lunch, such as having a choice of what to eat. This is not the way of things at Auberge St Donat which has a fixed menu.

So lunch was taken at the Auberge Provencal in Plascassier, and with jewelry party avoidance uppermost in my mind, I attempted to drag proceedings out for as long as possible. Much of import was discussed, including whether David Cameron’s Big Society was the name for an obesity association.

My picture today is some wild flowers that have sprung up in my garden which I have captured before the mower captures them.

Lawn mower bait

After lunch, I managed to sneak past the “ladies that shop”, thronging around the Miglio jewelry items, for a well deserved siesta, before being dragged from my bed in the late afternoon by that nice lady decorator to administer rose to the shopping hoards that had descended upon us.

I am rather suspicious as that nice lady decorator, who was supposed to be staging the party to earn some money (a novel enough concept in any event, hitherto she has been pretty good at spending it rather than earning it), seems to sporting a number of new items of bling. My enquiries as to how much was earned and when I would be receiving it have so far not been greeted with a verifiable answer. What I have received are bills for wine, a terrace a charming tent like apparition.
I do hope I am not once again to be exposed to the concept of what is mine is ours and what is hers is her own..

Today, I must reinvigorate the wheels of industry (probably in order to help funding for the above) with a pre tennis meeting with Greg Harris at Cote d’Azur villa rentals. I will eschew strong drink, at least until sun downer time…

Chris France