Prolonged Dwindling

The Sunday Times covered the story of a woman who did not want to die of  old age so she committed suicide, to avoid what she called was “prolonged dwindling”.  This seems to me the perfect phrase to describe the state of a number of my friends. Amongst those for whom this epithet could, in my humble opinion, have been created is Steve Weston, golf organiser for the REGS. After his sheepish outburst over the weekend, and my reprinting of the photograph that he himself sent me last summer of his favourite sheep , I received an email from him  saying “she is a pretty girl, you don’t have her email do you?”

Now I may be wrong, but to my knowledge, even that most dangerous of sheep ” A clever sheep” as the Monty Python team once included in one of their sketches,  has not yet mastered  the use of a computer terminal and I imagine as a result she may not actually have an email address. I was tempted to lead him a false trail; sheepish@muttondressedaslamb.com, or perhaps dolly@lonelysheep.com, but as the dwindling was clearly accelerating by the minute, I took pity on him and decided tell him the truth. Her email is legoverlamb@loversheep.com.

A comment from Lin Wolff at the English Book Centre in Valbonne was concerned about my descriptions of some ladies as “well endowed”. She wanted balance in the column, which of course is not really a concept I understand, asking for men to be described as well endowed when they are, so I am happy to confirm that just about all the old gits I know are well endowed, with enormous stomach width.

My picture today is of a very well endowed cross bloke from the Knights Templar Festival in Biot a week or so ago,

Wonderfully well endowed Knight of the night...

I am suffering a bit this morning, not from drink you understand, but from soreness caused by excessive sunbathing yesterday. This is especially for my coterie of readers back in the UK who I know will be upset for me, and will be wanting me to experience some of their normal spring weather, something I am keen to avoid at almost any cost.

Talking of the UK, that nice lady decorator has fabricated some flimsy  excuse to be in London later this month on the day of the Royal Wedding. The idea of standing on the streets waving a flag of St George in rain lashed London in a gale is not exactly what I had in mind for that weekend, so I have politely declined the offer to join her, and her lack of argument about my decision coupled with the palpable removal of anxiety when I declined has led me to believe that perhaps she did not want me to be there with her. Perhaps my comments such as “there is nothing in this world that I would rather not do that go to London to see the Royal Wedding” had given her clue as to my feelings?

Today, I am possibly being taken to lunch by some of the yummy mummy’s from Mougins School who will no doubt be well endowed (you see Lin?balance) but that will be of no import to me. I am told that the reason is that they want to pick my brain about the forthcoming Mougins School Gala in May, and to ask for sponsorship from Currencies Direct, but want really to believe that there may be an ulterior motive.  I am happy to accept their largesse whilst they have a pick at my very well endowed mental carcass, after which they will probably need a shovel as well.

Chris France