Pooper scooper lawnmower

Never a truer word spoken in jest. A night without a drink on Thursday night meant that distraction was required. This caused that nice lady decorator to watch yet another episode of Midsummer Murders on TV. Apparently it was the one that she had not already seen, which rather than distracting me, drives me to distraction. I have said before that it must be one of the most deadly places to live as there is at least one murder each week in this pretty English village. I escaped into my kennel to do some work, returning just in time for one of the policemen to say “I am thinking of changing jobs, it seems that there is a call for a funeral director around here”. How true.

I had hoped to get to Church at Cafe Latin yesterday for this weeks fashion tips from Mr Humphreys and check he is still free (of gainful employment) but architects meetings and Currencies Direct business to attend to in Cannes precluded worship on this occasion.

Then suddenly, I was in Cannes, the sun was out and the beach beckoned. So I know you will understand that it was necessary for me to respond to that nice lady decorators call for lunch, this time at the Miramar beach, from where I took the picture below. The food was very good, my slightly seared tuna in Thai sauce being particularly good, whilst that nice lady decorator tucked into a chicken Caesar salad, but the cheapest rose at 27 Euros? sorry, we wont be doing that again.

Miramar beach restaurant in Cannes on Friday

Last night a disparate rake of delinquents, all old enough to know better, gathered at The Queens Legs for beer followed by curry at The Kashmir, the new Indian restaurant in Valbonne. I admit to having been one of those who is certainly old enough but clearly not wise enough to have avoided such a motley throng. We even had some Irish in our midst, obviously joining in with the English joy of their recent triumph in the 6 Nations rugby tournament.

The Kashmir had wisely ordered a dozen cases of Baileys once they knew that Jude O’Sullivan was in the party, which meant she could leave the super market trolley full of emergency supplies behind. However, I am sure she had at least one emergency magnum in her bag, if only to cover the time taken to get from the pub to the restaurant.

Amongst the “facts” discussed was that one of our miscreants has a fear of belly button fluff; This is such an embarrassing admission for a grown up that I fear I cannot reveal the identity of this poor deluded fool, but if you see Tony “I invented the internet” Coombs looking rather worriedly at his midrift then please do not be too surprised. This lead to a discussion about the scientific name for belly button fluff, and according to Tony Coombs, it is called bellibuttonia. A simple internet search reveals the truth, Umbiphilia, not to be mistaken for the fear of umbrellas.

The mad inventor of invention claims, tells the assembled multitude that he is working (in his mind) on an improved version of the automatic grazing lawnmower featured in this column last weekend. I identified a design fault in that if, or rather when, the horrid horse-sized cocker spaniel Banjo leaves his huge roundabout sized excretions on the lawn, the Mark 1 version just goes around it. Tony’s version will (in his mind alone I fear) combine a pooper scooper mechanism. Nurse, its time for that straight jacket.

Chris France

mark 2 of the grazing lawnmower, input from readers required, steve and bill would not have jobs without me,

Umbiphilia!!!!

Condom, village in france selling chinese versions,