Freedom of the press – ironing

I believe that nice lady decorator thinks that the expression “freedom of the press” means I should do some ironing. She said to me this morning “you never write anything bad about me in your column, do you?” I was able to reassure her that this is indeed the case, after all good and bad are subjective terms right? There is a degree of freedom of the press which I enjoy, but not to its fullest extent on my weekly Happy Mondays blog for Angloinfo, published each Monday. Yesterday’s version has yet to be edited by the thought police that apply a vicious anti entrepreneurial ethos to anything they publish which has not been paid for by advertisers, despite the fact that I write the feature each week for the single reason to promote the services of Currencies Direct and this blog from my comfy chair. (Actually that’s 2 reasons, “fear, surprise and a ruthless dedication to the pope – I’ll come in again”  with thanks to Monty Python fans, others will have no idea of what I speak). Thus I must be devious when inserting the link, as an obvious link is edited immediately. I think this weeks issue does the job though, at least for the time being.

So not a drop of drink passed my lips last night, the first day this month, which considering it is the 31st of the month amply illustrates how I have been led astray by that nice lady decorator. However, as I must be in Cannes this morning to meet the wonderful Icelandic whirlwind that is Gudrun, owner of Remax-Cannes, the biggest estate agency brand name in the world, if she decided our meeting will involve lunch, then she  takes no prisoners, lunch it will be. My picture today was taken in Cannes at the weekend when we forced some poor unsuspecting French cafe on the sea front at Cannes La Bocca, to cook us eggs and bacon, the very important first part of the hangover cure, before we managed to spend 42 Euros on 2 Bloody Mary’s at the Majestic Barriere beach restaurant a little later. The combination worked a treat, and in a way that a continental breakfast does not.

Just like Brighton beach, if you have a vivid imagination and can imagine stones instead of sand

Word reaches me of a near disaster this week, when one of my daughters classmate took his family speedboat and half his class out to the Islands off Cannes, on a school day in the middle of the final run up to the exam period. Luckily we were tipped off by a teacher concerned that my daughter was not at her art lesson. That nice lady decorator “invited” her rather abruptly to get off the boat and get home immediately. Later the boat stalled and was washed up against the rocks outside Cannes harbour. No one was hurt, but someone is getting a big bill for the boat.  How life has changed, The worst trouble I got into as a kid was for blowing up spiders nest with fireworks. Dangerous, but not quite as dangerous as wrecking a boat in brisk seas.

Various social occasions are being lined up for later in the week as I speak, with Thursday being a French Bank Holiday, and with the customary “pont” (the bridge effectively taking Friday as a working day out of the equation), I cannot imagine that my determination to avoid strong drink will last past tonight.

A very sad occasion occurs on Wednesday with the funeral of much-loved golfing pal Dave The Fade in Nice. He will be sorely missed; perhaps this will be his greatest fade of all.

Chris France