No mars bars or pepperoni pizzas

Last night we went to Cannes for the Marianne Faithfull concert at Le Palais Des Festivals, the modern carbuncle and venue for the Cannes Film Festival in Cannes, where that nice lady decorator cavorted up the red carpet exclaiming “no paparazzi” to the assembled group of break dancers and skateboard oiks.  I think she was saying that she had finished with pepperoni pizzas for good.

The concert itself  was a strangely muted affair, but an interesting event. She had a great band but played a lot of material with which I was unfamiliar, but “Broken English” “As Tears Go By” and “The Ballad of Lucy Jordon” were at least nostalgic, however not a mars bar in sight and no mention either of those antics with Mick Jagger for which she is justly infamous. I took this picture when she came over to get my autograph.

Marianne was nothing like I had imagined, more like a rather naughty granny, with the odd flash of that Catherine Tate granny character, than a faded 60’s icon, even lighting up a cigarette half way through a tissue encrusted, phlegm and flu-laden set, but she can still belt it out. No loss of power in that voice.

 

I thought it was all going to go wrong earlier on as we got into Cannes a little before the show, and despite my persuasion to the contrary, that nice lady decorator dragged me in to the Majestic Barriere Hotel bar, where she promptly ordered a glass of champagne. I had a small beer, aware of the prices they like to charge, and I was right, a small beer and a coupe de champagne cost 30 Euros (about £25 at today’s exchange rate) , a snip at half the price.

It seemed to go to her head because she described the rather wonderful champagne glass she had been given, as like those used for Bamby shame. This created for me a chain of thought that was not immediately welcome. What kind of shame could there be attached to a cartoon deer? I thought I may have to ask acting REGS golf organiser and self-proclaimed sheep lover and deer friend, Steve Watson for help, (to venison an opinion?). After all he seems at least to understand the concept of shame and animals in the same sentence. Phrases like “on the horns of a dilemma” took on a new and disturbing alternative meaning, however evidently it was just a spoonerism, she meant Babycham, that sparkling perry drink  so my fears were allayed, for the time being.

My mower has packed up and I blame Banjo, the disaster dog, whose place in his household would be in immediate jeopardy should that nice lady decorator fail to be his custodian. The mangy mutt has never liked the lawnmower and I think his continual guerrilla attacks on it have worn it down, to the point where it gave up, and I am afraid to say, it may be heading in the direction of that great pasture in the sky, by way of the council dump.

Today, preparations will continue for the visit of that poor unfortunate family from Yorkshire tomorrow that I mentioned yesterday, even now they will probably be on their dog sled or ox cart on the first leg of their trip from Yorkshire to Nice. They must be so excited, even if, as usually happens, their desperation for sunshine ensures they bring some inclement UK weather with them. It will be ironic, as April so far has been sunny and dry every day, but I can just feel the storm clouds gathering, however, even warm rain will probably be  a treat for them.

Chris France

Chris France