Fathers day blow out

So I waved off our house guests at the airport. It was about time. Was it W C Fields who said “house guests are like fish, after 3 days they begin to smell”? Also, the two 10 Euro notes that I had won at golf were getting a big soggy having been stuck to my forehead for several days and looked like  requiring a good deal of Savlon later yesterday morning to repair the very obvious ravages of victory.

A good walk was required thereafter to throw off some of the ill effects of being savaged by the Savins, so that nice lady decorator set off with me in tow for an adventure in the Valmasque forest. It was important that she came as I really hate walking through spiders webs and it is my duty to allow her to go first and ensure that the path is clear. What I had not bargained for though was that we would go deep into the something approaching  jungle and, wearing shorts, get lacerated by various prickly horrors on the trip.

No more social occasions are in the diary before Thursday, and that particular event is more work that social  occasion as I shall be playing nine holes of golf with the International Club Of The Riviera at the Victoria Golf Course, followed by lunch. Obviously this is a networking opportunity in connection with my work with Currencies Direct, so this should not be considered in any way a fun event, no siree, this is work. Similarly on Friday, I shall be a guest of Credit Du Nord at their golf day at Grande Bastide, and will fight anyone who suggests that this is anything other than the daily grind of work, undertaken rather unwillingly in the pursuit of enough money to live on. The fact that I shall need a cap and sun cream should not be taken as any sort of admission that I shall doing anything but networking thoroughly and making the best business sense of the surroundings with which I am confronted.

The sun sets over the Savins

So we sat with a small glass of wine and watched the sun go down as my picture today above captures, but whilst quietly contemplating a few days of quiet and solitude, I suddenly came to and realised that I had overheard that nice lady decorator on the phone last night relating to her friends some of the activities of the last week. One expression which caught my ears which was used when she was thinking about having a drink last evening and battling her conscience was; “my brain is having a bit of a word with my liver”. Can you guess how the discussion went, how the dialogue developed and which organ won?
As the evening panned out, so did a proposed barbecue at ours on the coming Sunday, as that nice lady decorator decided that after 6 days on the juice, she wanted to have another social occasion to look forward to.

It is of course Fathers Day in the UK on this coming Sunday, so I had noted in my diary certain special bedroom treats that a father should receive rather more than once a year, but I overheard her saying ” of course we don’t celebrate Fathers Day”. I seem to remember that Mothers Day was celebrated once each for every continent plus a few more for good measure, in fact it seems to have been celebrated almost every week, and sometimes twice a week for the last three months, so this was perhaps something that may be described as a blow or more likely a lack of a blow, a seeming indication of a potential denial of that most basic male human rights. I wonder if the Human Rights Act can be invoked to avoid such obvious human rights abuses?

Chris France