20th aneurysm?

I guess in was inevitable, I have seen a few Bin Laden jokes, jars of fish food in his image, an old sandal floating on the sea, but my favorite recently was in the same vein was from a friend who is making explosive prayer mats, he says prophets are going through the roof.

And talking of explosive, last nights tennis at the Vignale was an explosive affair. Modesty forbids me to reveal who won, but suffice to say, one half of the usual MOG (moustachiod old git) pairing, the junior partner, and the writer of an infamous blog about the daily lives of the idle rich in Valbonne, of which anyone reading this will be aware, remains unbeaten this year, whilst the senior partner, the wingco,  has suddenly realised how much he is being carried by his much younger and fitter subordinate.

The reason for the breakup of this established tennis partnership was the failure of our leader, Greg Harris from Cote d’Azur Villas to turn up. He cited injury as his excuse, but frankly a small boil on his posterior or whatever flimsy pretext he had invented could not hide the truth. As his stand in for the night, Noel “Larry Gatsby” Coward, showing just how a middle aged American should be dressed for tennis, resplendent in long white trousers, cravat, monocle and no doubt original 1936 Fred Perry tennis racket said; “clearly his wife needed some thumb exercise and he was under it”. This is of course as shameful as it is probably true, and will elicit a brown envelope from the committee should it ever happen again.

The post tennis dinner was taken outside at Caprichio, a nice relaxed restaurant up the hill at Chateauneuf where the drinks bill was double the food bill, a bitter blow given today’s pound versus Euro exchange rate.

Notably absent from this august gathering was the wingco, no doubt smarting from his defeat. That it is rather ungentlemanly to play tennis and then fail to attend dinner is in no doubt. His excuse, that he had guests arriving for dinner at home, betrays either a lack of basic planning skills or a contempt for his fellow players and must be viewed as a bad show. This is particularly true as these “guests” were not mentioned until after his defeat, but any suggestion that he failed to attend the tennis dinner simply because he lost is as scurrilous as it is probably true.

Sadly, discussion turned to the privations of getting old, with one member of our party, Peter Misted (there may be an L missing here), my successful partner for the night, getting misty eyed about the old days, when he could finish urinating before the timer controlling the light in the gentleman’s toilet went out. There was also discussion about a 20th anniversary being misheard by one of our party who asked who had been the victim of a 20th aneurysm. I have however promised both chaps anonymity as long as they both sign up for the free services of Currencies Direct. Boys, you know it makes sense.

My picture today was taken last week in Portofino, where we stopped on our way to Venice in order for that nice lady decorator to terrorise the local hotel staff community as I reported the last weekend. I think a period of time may be in order before we return.

Portofino, an Italian gem

Today I must finish distributing posters for Le Tour De Finance event next Thursday, when free aperitif’s will be served between 5 30 and 8 30. That should be enough to fill the place with thirsty ex pats, but there are also a range of financial experts on hand to answer any queries you may have about financial well-being whilst living in France.

Chris France