Gin and tonic paunch fears

Within the first two sentences of a conversation with a lovely visitor I had just met from “up north” at Peachy Butterfield’s barbecue, I was regaled with a story about her picking up dogs shit, putting it in a bin at nearly head height, and then  getting stuck on the rim of the bin, where she nearly over balanced due to what she herself described as big boobs, nearly toppling over into the bin. Actually I lie, she did not so much tipple over as get suspended on the rim.

I think this amply  illustrates the warmth and down to earth nature of these simple folk from the north of England.  Whilst finesse and style escapes them completely, their general good nature cannot be faulted, indeed I encourage this openness as much as possible. I guess that if they actually spent time thinking about where they lived for much of the year then they would become depressed, so part of this bonhomie is a natural defence against the catastrophic landscape they inhabit.

The barbecue in Mougins was a lovely affair, really warm people and really warm weather, sufficiently warm for that nice lady decorator to strip off and dive in the pool after we arrived home. Earlier we had been treated to lamb and sausages, although I cannot be certain what was in the sausages, they were very tasty, so I decided not to ask for fear of receiving an answer I did not want. It did occur to me that there might not be very much pork in them, and that gives me a chance to use one of my favourite pictures again, as I was unaccountably reminded of it.

Pig taking owner for a walk

Other examples of northern wit to which we were treated were such gems as; “If the world had an arse hole, Widnes would be it”.  The  sentiments tally with my own entirely, in fact but for the inappropriate language, I could have written that myself. There was a mountain of food, which Peachy managed to climb and conquer, as is his want, in fact such is his girth that he told me that whenever he flies with Easyjet, he has to buy Speedy Boarding, the priority system allowing one to get on the free seating plane first,  so that he can dash onto the plane and get his  seat in row 11, the emergency exit row, which has a little more leg room than the other rows, or in his case a little more stomach room. He does this because it is the only row in which his fold down table does not rest on his paunch, so that if he fails in his quest, the 3 or 4 large gins and tonic that he habitually consumes on the flight are in danger of falling off the tray should he feel the need to burp.

But enough of the antics of gruff northerners. By way of complete contrast, I shall spend the early part of this evening at the Miramar beach Restaurant in Cannes with the Internations group, where I shall be once again presenting to the assembled throng the tantalising possibility of saving money on their foreign exchange transfers by opening an account at Currencies Direct, whilst entertaining the guests with a glass of champagne.

Thereafter, tomorrow, I have no plans! What a relief, I can choose to do nothing, unless of course that nice lady decorator has once again failed to inform me of a vital social occasion which we cannot miss, in which case, as usual, choice is not a word I am often able to use.

Chris France