Dampness at that age to be expected

It was of course completely necessary, indeed imperative to celebrate my great golfing win yesterday with several glasses of rose over a late lunch in the web. Equally, it was then necessary to siesta by way of preparation for the evening, because yesterday, I received the dreaded call “Is the pav open?”. This is Rupert Scott’s code when he breezes into town for “are we up for some eating drinking and partying”. There are those amongst my readership who will guess the answer to that rather quickly, and so it came to pass, a few drinks in the web then up to Valbonne for drinks at La Kavanou with Rupert and his serenely beautiful wife Sophie and our house guests The Savins.

Some thought it to be an unusual way in which to exhibits ones recent gains, but personally I felt it was completely normal to spend the evening with the 10 Euro note golf winnings stuck to my forehead as we headed into Valbonne. However, before we stepped into the door of La Kavanou, that nice lady decorator made some unspecified threats about what she called childish behaviour, and weakly I was forced to unstick said bank-note from its prominent position and put in rather damply in my pocket. When I said something of the to her about having to place the rather moist about my person, she made some vague and malevolent suggestion about old chaps and incontinence and having to expect damp patches that I did not quite catch.

The natural summer progression is becoming well established, An aperitif in the wine bar and then into Valbonne Square for some square bashing (v. To abuse food and drink), on this occasion joined by Rupert and Sophie Scott. In the wine bar, I came across Tony “I invented the internet” Coombs and vivacious wife Pat. I told him I could have used his services yesterday when my wireless router was blown up by lightning, and which I hope shall be repaired this morning. He probably invented the wireless router as well, but for all his claimed inventions which have no doubt made his as rich as Steve Jobs, he lives a meagre existence, playing cards with his wife last night, nursing a half bottle of a modest Provencal rose and sharing a glass. I would have thought though that he could have splashed out on two straws. Such are the eccentricities of the super rich.

I tell him I am besieged with complaints about the late posting yesterday. I blame Tony Coombs for people’s disappointment. If he had kept his invention of the internet to himself, no one would have been upset, but on the other hand, my daily column, writ large in the lives of the growing army of happy followers of this column would not exist and so they would all be bereft.

Later, we bump into Suzanne from Le Tasse De Coleur in Biot who is accompanied by Calvin, the pink pilot. Pink, because he likes to wear pink, as he was last night.

A summer of love? probably not

Thereafter the hard-core adjourned to the web for a nightcap, before we bedded down in our log cabin chalet pictured above. This summer retreat, as I like to call it, is another creation by that nice lady decorator, although she did buy it in kit form and it took her 7 days to build last year. I wonder if Noah had a kit for his ark? It is fully equipped bedroom, but without the benefits of water or toilet facilities.  I like to think of it as a summer love palace. She does not.

So with reparations of the internet now far advanced, I will be able to continue in my quest today for Currencies Direct

Chris France