Golf victory celebrated

As the putt rolled in for the birdie at the first, I knew it was going to be my day. A fine win at golf followed where my mustachioed old git partner the wingco and I took down the metaphorical pants of Pete Bennett of Blue water Yachting and Paul Thornton Allan and administered a thorough good hiding, the sort of thrashing beloved of many public schoolboys. Pete then went home to polish his sword and put on his medals and stand to attention because of a minor royal marrying the daughter of an air hostess, a trolley dolly. Just don’t know what all the fuss is about, especially as I have managed to avoid the TV for the last 24 hours.

At golf I am accused of republican leanings, but with a political stance just to the right of Attila The Hun, this is a long way from the mark. I like a bit of a party and dressing up, indeed nothing gives me more pleasure than putting on the kilt, but that is another story, but this furore is just ridiculous, a German and Greek family, who no power and a lot of money living in a big house are entitled to enjoy a nice wedding, but it has nothing to do with everyday life, bah humbug.

To take my mind off it, here is a picture I took this morning of what I believe must be a triffid;

What is this bizarre plant?

The up side was a nice lunch courtesy of the Thornton Allan’s, which I tried to ensure that I only arrived some time after the ending of the silly pageant. It was very good of them to stage such a big bash just because I, and fellow MOG won the golf, but really, they did not need to go to so much effort. However, even I had no idea that the wedding TV coverage would be so extensive and go on all day. I suggested we change the channel a couple of times, as even a deadly boring programme about archaeology or some other unutterably boring subject would have been more entertaining (for me) but as you can imagine, I seemed to be in a minority of one.

So, like a moth to a flame the big event was so omnipresent it became impossible to avoid. Fascinating in the same way as a motorway pile up, you hate what your are seeing but your eyes are drawn to it. Who was it that told Fergie’s kids to wear those hats? Maybe they were doing it for a bet? I have seen some appalling sights in my time but these were a catastrophe. One of them looked like some kind of ornate orange wash stand with reached down to the poor creatures nose, and they got to sit behind the queen, she must have been so pleased.

The point was made correctly, that there is only one country in the world with the depth of history and the experience and utter dedication to pomp and ceremony to stage such an event which frankly, could easily have gone wrong. During the procession I suspect that the mobile phone network was being blocked within a hundred metres or so, just to ensure no loonies tried to set off a bomb on the route, or tried almost as bad, to send me pictures from the procession. Sadly though, eventually the pictures taken from the procession arrived from that nice lady decorator who was in the crowds waving her flag of St George, before wisely retiring to a nearby pub to take sustenance in the form of London Pride.

Today I will play cricket for the Riviera Cricket Club up at St Vallier above Grasse close to Cabris.  A full report tomorrow.

Chris France