Two ball, up for grabs?

Today I was hoping to confirm that a secret relationship between two of my golfing compatriots was still a secret shared only be the entire Landlubbers golf group, of which they are part, however it appears that there will be two very important parties to this secret arrangement who will not be in the line up for Sundays round of golf at Chateau Begude.

My normal probity prohibits me from mentioning their names, but in a completely unconnected way, I shall sorely miss Dave “Tripe” Goddard and the comely wench Maria from our normal golfing crowd this weekend.

Some may consider the fact that both of these stalwart regulars will be absent for the same weekend a little suspicious, indeed, there was a fleeting moment when I considered that very concept, and I know that this possibility may be running through your minds as well, but I quickly came to the conclusion that it is just one of those amazing coincidences that life throws up.

And talking of throwing up, Dave the Tripe’s (tripe? that’s enough to make anyone throw up) rambling suggestion relating, I think to a two ball, and that somehow I may find my balls in my throat (how I laughed!) or Maria’s, that I may need new ones altogether could have been open to misinterpretation if one did not know these two dear souls so very well.

I needed a rest from the cement ridden hell that became my Saturday. That nice lady decorator decided that the much vaunted new terrace required a small extension. Stupidly I agreed saying that I liked Marcus the builder, and it would be nice to have him around again to complete the work. To my horror, that is not what she meant. My worst fears materialised when I was sent on an errand to collect stones, the cement mixer was uncovered and I was handed some gloves. A brief attempt at the “shrapnel defence” was seen through in an instant, and so my tired old body was set to work.

This was whilst I was still in full possession of all the down sides that one takes on board when drinking beer and eating curry the night before. I had been with, amongst others, “Professor” Tony Coombs, which he now calls himself, self-proclaimed “inventor of the internet” who sought to justify his design ideas for a pooper scooper grazing lawnmower in a comment on this column yesterday, but when drafting a response I remembered a lot of things that he does not remember after last Saturdays excellent luncheon in Biot. I wish to draw a discreet veil over these events, but the wine bar in Valbonne, Cafe Des Arcades, The Queens Legs and that rather dodgy Russian dancing club in Mougins may all have been involved, I recall everything, but it’s just that he cannot remember…

My picture today is of what I thought was a very interesting stone I found in the Valmasque forest. I know, I need to get out more.

I swear it was not there yesterday.

I have a note on my phone, from which emanated from I know not where about a village in France in the Pyrenees called Condom, where they are apparently importing condoms from China and stamping them with the village name and reselling them as authentic Condom condoms. I did a little internet research and found the village, and was interested to find several sections in which I was interested. Take Condom recruitment for instance. I also felt duty bound to click on the quick access button but was a little disappointed when looking at the “work in progress” section.

Only 1 person spotted the April Fool about film rights for this column. Perhaps you all believe it is so well written it is not a surprise… I will leave you now, but it would upset regular reader Josef is there was not at least one plug for Currencies Direct.

Chris France