I can’t stand it with a bandit

Three days away from alcohol. That was the aim, and I got over half way there. It is better to try and fail than never to try. I don’t know who said that, or indeed if I have paraphrased it, but the underlying message is clear. Nothing ventured, drink gained.

The Mougins School yummy Mummy’s did not make contact, so either they are playing hard to get, or much more likely they woke up to the fact that they may have been funding lunch for an old lush that would prove of no benefit to them. So I thought I would go and collect the sit on mower promised to me by the wingco. Stupidly, I had failed to factor in that by arriving just before lunch, I would be under enormous pressure to have lunch with the old formerly myopic rock and roller. As Adam in the bible or the koran or something would have told you, temptation is wily animal and regular readers will be in no doubt as to my strength in this department and I knew instinctively that I would give in without so much as a whimper if lunch was mooted, and so it came to pass that I took lunch at the Auberge St Donat at Plascassier with the wingco. My picture today was to have been of him directing the latest shipment of wine into the restaurant, in readiness for his next visit, but it would not load, so instead here is a picture of some wild asparagus we picked on the morning constitutional.

Wild asparagus from the Valmasque

As an affiliate for Currencies Direct, the wingco refused point-blank to discuss business over lunch, so we talked as usual about music and literature. As the only literature with which I am familiar is largely contained either in the kids Beano comic or is available only on the top shelf of slightly dubious establishments, the discussions mainly revolved around music. The wingco has a very wide-ranging and deep knowledge of many strands of music, I just make money out of it. “Ever the Philistine” he said, but I do not collect stamps and have no idea how may have come to that conclusion.

However, in an unguarded moment, I did mention that I must spend time yesterday afternoon editing my book. “What book?” Asked the wingco, and I could see the gaping hole opening up in front of me. Regular readers will know that the wingco is less than enamoured with this column; “Ghastly” is his generally held view, so I normally avoid the subject of my own literary output. Indeed he is of the opinion that I also ignore literary taste when writing, so the idea of a book of my “ghastly ramblings” as he would put it, is enough to get that moustache bristling. I managed to change the subject before the volcano erupted, and steered the conversation on to something far less controversial, such as the situation in Libya.

Suffice to say that a good lunch was had, and once again we were the last of the 200 plus diners to leave, having hoovered up many an unfinished bottle of red wine as is the tradition. Sadly the mower, which was the object of my original journey, remains marooned in a field surrounded by building material and I do not expect to take delivery any time soon, certainly not this summer.

By the time you are reading this, I shall be well on my way to victory in my golf quarter-final knock out for the REGS against that renowned bandit Brian Robertson. Suffice to say that if I do not win it will be once again due to the uncertainties of the handicap system.  I can’t stand it with a bandit…

Chris France