Love balls and speedos

Speedos, now there is an interesting discussion point. I suggested in a recent angloinfo blog that speedos, those tight-fitting old-fashioned swimming costumes much enjoyed by old French and Italian men with their “love balls” all rather unnecessarily on show and a truncheon like effect that we could all do without, were a touch perverse. I suggested that they were something akin to the plague, but am distressed to find some support for the wearing of these ridiculous items. Personally, I am more in the Baron Sacha Cohen manquini style camp (operative word?), well I would be if that nice lady decorator would let me.

Talk of swimming costumes reminds me of a picture I took recently in Portofino, just across the border in Italy during the trip where that nice lady decorator terrorised the hotel staff late in the evening after the usual several flagons of wine. Many luminaries have visited this pretty port and had their photos taken, but few would have been captioned like this tribute to the wonderfully endowed (this just for Lin at The English Book Centre in Valbonne) Jayne Mansfield, pictured on holiday in the 1950’s;

The subtitled Italian reads" The San Fruttuoso wonderful walk is the setting for her uncontainable size"

The picture of her was nowhere near as good as the caption, although I see what they mean about uncontrollable size.

After a  diligent morning working on my golf swing ready for the first of two golf events that I am required to attend in my networking role for Currencies Direct, I spent a desultory afternoon in the web, without a drink,  finalising my French tax forms, which are now late. Do they not understand that a great deal of calculation is required in order to be certain that as many expenses as possible are properly claimable against tax?

Thereafter to tennis where  I remain undefeated for a 6th straight month. It is merely splitting hairs to say that we did not play at all in March or April, this is tittle-tattle from the mouths of the green-eyed amongst my associates who are understandably doing their best to ensure that I falter before too long.

Unaccountably, discussion over dinner to celebrate my unbeaten status this year, well I was in a minority of one celebrating this particular milestone, there was a discussion about who was taking low dose aspirin. How this subject moved on to a new initiative from the French Health Service I do not recall, but apparently according to Greg Harris from Cote d’Azur Villa rentals all of us in the French system will shortly be sent 3 bags and will be invited to defecate into one of  these once a day for three days, so that we can all be screened for potential or real illnesses. Much schoolboy hilarity followed, and I am ashamed to say that I was involved. I may return to this theme tomorrow.

Today, the first of the golf events this week. It will take place at The Victoria 9 hole golf course on the edge of Valbonne, a trifle unsophisticated a venue compared with its more illustrious counterparts, but, as I have already said, I am not there to enjoy the golf, merely to identify and collect up any customers that I can for Currencies Direct. Usual rules will apply, if I have done well, there will be a full report, should I play badly then little will be said. It’s not that I am a poor loser, no, well actually, now I come to think of it, yes it is, I am.

Then on Friday, with scarcely time to take breath, an 8.30 shotgun start at Grand Bastide for the Credit Du Nord “Trophee Golf, “2eme Edition” as they put it. The term “shotgun start” has always confused me. Who gets shot, or is someone getting married? There are times when I would like to marry my driver (golf club not chauffeur) but that is another matter.

Chris France