Incriminating picture shock

The phrase “done up like a kipper” comes to mind. Yesterday I was sent a picture of someone by someone else. It was a cruel attempt to incriminate a fine upstanding member of our community, who has featured in this column before, but on this occasion I am unable to identify him. It is of course possible that identification may result if someone recognises his under garments, or the girls perpetrating this ghastly act.

Even I have felt the need to doctor this picture in order to protect the guilty

When this is viewed by the miscreant and regular reader at the centre of the photo, he may well conclude that this must have come from man mountain, the man who can drink his own body weight in Crewe Chardonnay, Peachy Butterfield, whom must be the subject of equally disgraceful photographs himself, so if anyone would like to send me anything incriminating, then please feel free. The naked politician, for instance, may have more reason than most to put Mr Butterfield in the frame (so to speak), indeed in one way this column does seek to frame people. By this, I mean of course that each day I try to find a suitable (or better still and unsuitable) picture for this column, so to have a stock of photos from which to choose each day would be very welcome. I look forward with interest to receiving some offensive items shortly.

Yesterday I travelled over to Villefranche sur Mer to conduct very important business for Currencies Direct, to rescue some other poor unfortunates from the less than tender grasp of their bank, having identified a saving of nearly £160 on a 10,000 Euro transfer. Their tears of joy were touching to behold, such are the rewards of my missionary work. This can be your destiny as well, simply click on this link to take the first steps of emancipation from your bank.

Straight from this missionary position, I returned to reign victorious again at  doubles tennis with the wingco and Greg Harris from Cote d’Azur villas who was suffering from the effects of having spent much of the afternoon on his roof in thirty degree heat and who was partnered again by Peter “Misty” Milstead. Misty must be cursing his luck that he currently does not appear to be sporting a large moustache, the pre-requisite for being a member of the very successful, indeed almost omnipotent MOGS (The Moustacioed Old Gits). Indeed , our victory was so crushing that the wingco and I had enough time afterwards for a set of singles tennis. Modesty forbids me to reveal the result of that particular contest, but my claim not to have been beaten at tennis any form of the game this year still holds true.

Some of us, well three of us went to dinner, one notable backslider pleaded a previous engagement, so we missed Misty, who was perhaps trying to avoid the continuing pressure from me to sign up to Currencies Direct. Dinner was taken at the Auberge St Donat in Plascassier, newly open in the evening now for the summer where the tennis was discussed in depth by me. Strangely, my enthusiasm for talking about the game was not shared by my dinner companions.

Today is expected to be quiet, as I am beginning to prepare for a big lunch on Friday, designed to avoid the furore that will accompany another royal wedding in Monaco, where Price Albert has booked The eagles and Jean Michel Jarre to perform in the Principality. Not being a Monogasque resident, and not having received my invitation in the post, I shall be boycotting the whole shebang. Sulky? me? Yes.

Chris France