George Michael Deep Purple shock

I am calling the police. Someone has stolen my new Aviator sunglasses that I acquired last Sunday. It is an outrage, I left them on the sideboard for half an hour whilst I popped out, and when I came back they had gone, if only I had been wearing them.

I have made preliminary enquiries and it appears that the only person who has been on my estate during my absence was Tony “I invented the internet” Coombs. As he has recently mislaid a pair remarkably similar, indeed identical to mine, the finger of suspicion must necessarily be pointed in his direction.

Last night some time off from my tireless pursuit of customers for Currencies Direct, and into the deepest depths of Provence, well Magagnosc to dine with Justice of the Peace and Magistrate extraordinary Mr Humphrey’s, as he was free. Well, I say dine, but the invitation was for drinks and nibbles. This seemed like a far more interesting scenario than just dinner as I assumed that Neal would be serving the drinks and that the lovely Helen Humphreys would involve herself with the nibbling bit, but it seems she did not share this particular brand of my culinary enthusiasm.

I see in the papers today that some time singer and clothes designer Usher wants to see Kate Middleton in his underwear. This reminds me of how I once thought a good number of years ago. My father was a travelling salesman, and he always joked that he was travelling in ladies underwear, but I have no idea why I have just thought of that in the same column about a visit to Mr Humphrey’s palatial mountain top estate, as there can clearly be no connection.

Our driver, Paul Thornton Allan of The Big Picture was admonished at first for failing to wear the chauffeurs cap and generally for giving a bit too much lip. At one stage his tip was in doubt, but he rescued it eventually. The tip was “don’t take me in the car again unless you actually have to”.

One subject amply illustrated the heights that the highbrow nature of discussions reached during the evening. It involved the suggestion that women apparently choose deodorant based on how phallic they perceive the packaging to be, this was the contention floated by Phil Jeremy, former male model and extreme runner extraordinary. He suggested that on this basis bigger was better.

My picture today is of lavender by my pool, which is almost purple in colour. Stay with me, there is a reason. There is a purple and lavender theme running through the next paragraph.

Lavender by my pool, almost purple don't you think?

But more extraordinary to me was the revelation from Mr Humphrey that his wife had agreed that he should be able to choose three people with whom he has a standing permission (sic) to sleep with without it affecting his marriage, should the opportunity ever present itself. The three are Liz Hurley ( a choice which seemed to divide men and women, the men much in favour, the women aghast), Shania Twain, a decent choice and the third?….wait for it; George Michael. Regular readers with deep insight, and with knowledge of Mr Humphreys love of mauves and purple , indeed he was wearing something deep purple last night, and I don’t mean Ritchie Blackmore, will be unsurprised by this revelation or my picture today. However, his protests that he did not want to sleep with “a fence” (a receiver of swollen goods) fell on stony ground.

Finally, as I was leaving, I was asked if I knew Vic Burns? Apparently it does if does if you stick it up your arse.

Chris France