ROYWAG is launched

This is not a drill, this is for real. Royal Wedding mania has started. It is time to pack up and leave, this is an incident on a par with Fukushima. My comments on my determination to avoid the royal wedding at all costs have clearly found resonance amongst the local male population. Comments, phone calls and emails have all been received today from a plethora of desperate, royal nuptials avoiding, masses, thus I think it time to assemble ROYWAG, the Royal Wedding Avoidance Group.

Amongst those I would like to co-opt onto the committee is my Jewish friend the self proclaimed “circus sized” Peter Lynn, who was the first, some two minutes after yesterdays column was published, who wished to “enlarge my circle” as he put it. I have assumed he meant to avoid next Fridays lurid spectacle, but my first thought is that he had been reading to much in this column recently of the public schoolboy antics I have been er..covering.

The outline plan is two fold; to expand to as many as possible the planned 9 holes of golf in the morning at Le Provencal, or for non players to congregate at “church” at Cafe Latin, then to for all to assemble for lunch at The Auberge St Donat at 12.00, the exact moment the wretched event is due to start.

This movement could give life to merchandising or slogan writing opportunities; in golfing terms “don’t take the driver” (a rather poor taste warning for the son of Princess Diana you may think?) or what about “you can set my doors to manual anytime” for Kate? As I think Jack said to the bean stalk, “this could grow and grow”.

A splendid barbecue yesterday afternoon  with Roly and Leslie, at their sumptuous villa near Valbonne.  So sumptuous was it,  that after spending nearly 6 million Euros buying it, they have decided to knock it down and build something else! They are wonderful hosts, only falling down at the hurdle of whom to invite. Much as I like Jude and Johnny O Sullivan, that’s the end of the sentence. I could not think of a way to finish it off. I took a picture of one of the beautiful outside eating areas behind the pool, which looked fab to me, before they knock it down;

Scruffy. Lets knock it down.

There is no better way to spend a bank holiday afternoon than at a fantastic villa with great company, great food and a cigar to finish off, I think I was in heaven this afternoon, indeed that illusion was only shattered late in the afternoon by that nice lady decorator asking me rather too loudly of I was still awake. As it turned out I wasn’t, but I entered full wakefulness swiftly after her question was relayed to me at a volume that was undoubtedly a breach of safety decibel limits.

A barbecue was reward enough for the traffic jams our hosts had caused recently due to a new fire hydrant. As I mentioned earlier, my cigar stealing pal John O Sullivan was also there. John, their is a tabac in Valbonne selling good cigars, I am emailing you a map, do the decent thing. His lovely wife Jude was described at lunch as a “Siren”. Of course, my interpretation of this description was a reference to her good looks, not her voice. I know she will believe me.

And so that’s it. No more social occasions in the foreseeable. I shall be living the life of a hermit this week until Friday, and I cannot say how much I am looking forward to it.  I shall of course, use the time wisely to complete the book and promote the services of Currencies Direct. You knew there had to be a plug somewhere!

Chris France