Captain Hook armless?

I had not planned to go out. Then I remembered that it was supposed to be chess night at La Kavanou, the rather special wine bar in Valbonne and as I am unbeaten (except for one minor drunken aberration) at chess this year, I decided to pop down. To my consternation, news of my chess prowess has clearly spread far and wide because by the time I got there, there was not a chess player to be seen.

My normal chess foe, Bill Colegrave, is 3-1 down in our on-line series and in deep danger in the subsequent match, despite having been Russian chess master Gary Kasparov’s publisher, and his claim to be able to call Gary for advice. Perhaps his chess would have been better had he deigned to read his prodigy’s books? Anyway, what could have been a disappointment turned into a convivial few glasses of wine with a chap I know only as Biggles. True, I did not need his gory explanation of exactly what happened to his leg or the operation to fix it, with graphic description of the exact course of events, or to hear how he was called out recently to a sinking yacht, sinking because the toilets which had decided to let water in rather than expelling it, but he is a compelling character, and the world would be a less interesting, but perhaps saner, place if he was not around.

On the way back, I was caught in a thundery showere so took shelter in the Cafe des Arcades long enough to see Jude O Sullivan pretending her Baileys was a coke. Tall story in a tall glass.

Some of my readers have questioned whether or why I paid 42 Euros for two Bloody Mary’s at the weekend, so my picture today is living proof of the purchase.

A bloody snip

Earlier in the day I had decided to take the train for my meeting in Cannes to explain the virtues, to a collection of up market estate agents, of the value that they could offer their customers of opening an account at Currencies Direct. That the train was cancelled and I had to drive mattered not a jot. A large throng of soon to be enlightened souls had gathered to hear me speak, more than can be counted on two hands, assuming Captain Hook was amongst the congregation, but I like to think that it is quality that counts not quantity. But seriously, the chaps in Cannes that I met today are quite capable to keep me in the manner to which I would like to become accustomed.

Earlier still, I had delivered to my old Jewish typo guru, Peter Lynn, the final manuscript of my book, printed in double spacing, for him to check for typos. I had weighed it up; should I contract security experts Brinks Matt to move this clearly massively valuable manuscript from Valbonne to Mougins? Or should I say nothing to anyone and just hope I did not get mugged by terrorists acting for the literary elite, desperate to get an early look at its contents.

Eventually, after a quote from said security company. I decided on the more secretive approach, but will fight anyone who suggests that this decision was in any way influenced by financial factors.

Pete was understandably thrilled by the prospect. Comments such as “you are going to owe me big time for this” and ” lunch at Lou Fassum is the very minimum I shall expect to repair your quirky grammar” should be taken in the context they were uttered, in other words in reverence for the classy prose deposited on his desk for his enlightenment and enjoyment.

Today will be a sad one as we the Regs and the Landlubbers say a final farewell to our golf hero and former leader Dave the Fade in Nice this afternoon after he failed to make the final cut.

Chris France