Tennis shoes punished

According to that nice lady decorator, my tennis shoes smell. They were a bargain at 5  Euros from Decathlon, but I have always suspected that their claim to have “leather pieces” as it said in French, may have been the tiniest piece of exaggeration. They are however very comfortable, and also this year like my good self, unbeaten at tennis, so in my opinion, not widely held in this household, they should be revered and cossetted. Indeed I was considering having a plynth made so that they could take pride of place in the hall.

Imagine then my astonishment then that said shoes, with such a pedigree and having achieved so much on the world of tennis, when I discovered that they had been put outside to endure several thunderstorms over a 3 day period due to the aforementioned allegedly noxious odour emanating there from. After I had poured out over an inch of water from them, some 5 minutes before I was due to leave, I was then forced to find some plastic bags in which to place my feet so as to play tennis last evening as my picture today shows.

Great shoes, shame about the legs

I remonstrated with that nice lady decorator. I rather like the aroma, something of a combination of freshly mown grass with a touch of good old earth I like to think, however I was in a minority of one, even my children deserting my side on this one, and amongst the descriptions I can print were Rancid Polecat and Rotting Cabbage.

Still, the plastic did its bit, my unbeaten tennis credentials are safe (although it did not look good when we were 3-0 down and lost the first set) so all was well in the end, and they are now pegged out on the line recovering from their watery ordeal.

With the thunder gone for the time being and the sun warm again, we headed to Valbonne square for lunch. I was hoping to meet some poor unfortunates who have yet to sign up with Currencies Direct. Things went downhill (or uphill?0 from them as we adjourned to from the square into the web to try out the prosthetic we bought recently from Italy. It was very cheap when we bought it at about 4 Europe a bottle, but the time you factor in the 140 Euros for the car being towed away and rescued from the Italian Gestapo, it became a tad less of a bargain. This was not noticed by the attendant throng though, and luckily I was able to imbibe sufficiently to nullify the pain, until this morning that is, when the pain seems very real again, and seems to have taken on a different complexion.

As the outdoor luncheon party in the Var was postponed today due to the possibility of thunderstorms, I attempted to gatecrash the REGS golf tournament at St Donat without success, however I shall go down this afternoon to join them for a drink in a final farewell to Dave the Fade, our ex leader, who passed away last week.

Tomorrow, I am expecting lunch with the wingco. So I shall have to dig out my crash helmet and goggles and prepare my palate for red wine in massive quality and minor quality. I shall adopt my rock and roll position and expect to be regaled with him singing the blues, as he was at the tennis club earlier in the week, when he suggested that an improvised blues number in the style of the sadly deceased British boxing icon Sir Henry Coopper might be a welcome addition to my repertoire currently available on Itunes. So far, I have yet to accept such a kind offer.

Chris France