Do you like to watch Queens?

I should have been more concerned when Paul Thornton Allan of The Big Picture said “I like to watch queens”.  It may well be that he was referring to tennis and the tournament that takes place at Queens in England, but it is not something that I would be pleased I had said. My concern is based upon a possible misconception. Hitherto, with his beard and unkempt artist look, I had come to accept Paul as a ladies man, but this chance comment, and it’s possible consequences have raised in me the slimmest of doubts about his sexual orientation…This was at the social occasion earlier in the week before a rather annoying person ruined my day yesterday by continuing to wear a bank-note belonging to me on his forehead, at least those were the reports I was receiving. I will not be disheartened and there is a return tennis match on Friday  planned where doubtless any ambiguity as to who is the superior partnership will be settled once and for all.

Tonight to the riches of the Cap D’Antibes, to a gathering with Jo Caston and long-suffering pilot husband, where I shall remain vigilant in case there were any poor souls who have yet to be converted to the joys of opening an account with Currencies Direct.  Jo is a dear sweet bubbly girl who lives a lot of her life in Hong Kong, but retains a house on the edge of the Cap, one of the most exclusive areas of real estate in the world.  Sadly she also retains and is the unfortunate bearer of a northern accent. This requires constant interpretation of her dialect into the Queens English, interspersed with “doyerwhat?” as she is quite unable to understand English when it is spoken properly.

I am expecting “trouble up t’mill” type of food to be served, fish n chips, mushy peas, tripe and black pudding, assorted road kill, you know the type of thing but I am looking forward to it, as long as my interpreter can keep up with the vernacular. I do so like communing with those unfortunates denied a proper existence by their birthright, for they are the salt of the earth.

Yesterday was spent in more planning, indeed the hammock ropes are sufficiently stretched to show the degree of hard work that has gone into the logistical planning for the summer. Whilst I am hard at work planning, it is somewhat gratifying to know that the nice lady decorator is also earning her keep by decorating and cleaning in equal measure in readiness for our first and only rental customers for this summer, who have rented the house for three weeks starting Saturday. Because of the obscene amount of money we seem to be able to get away with charging for summer rentals, that nice lady decorator takes the view that the house should be as clean and tidy and freshly painted wherever possible, and I agree with her, as long as agreeing can be done from the supine position I like to adopt whilst in planning mode in my hammock. This year though, I think she has gone too far. I mean coats of arms hanging out of the windows seems a bit over the top, or is it just the Moroccan carpets getting a shake out?

anyone reminded of the classic Rolling Stones logo? no, me neither

So a quiet evening was the result, with just a few beers in the web, the decision was made not to drop into Cannes for the beach electro party, and very wise decision it was, probably.

Chris France