Beating with a frying pan?

It was apparently a beautiful day yesterday but I did not notice.  As one gets older recovery time seems to take longer, and after Mondays epic lunch, I have been in full recovery mode, slumped on the sofa watching  the test match. I spoke to Rupert Scott briefly, just to ask him when he was going back to the UK because I cannot take any more. I did venture out once, to retrieve our golf clubs which were still on the terrace of the Chateau Begude golf club restaurant.

Today’s picture was taken at the golf before that lunch, looking down towards the 6th hole, with the wingco doing his very best to ruin the shot. At least when playing he did not lose his head, as has happened to two occasions in the past when I have been playing golf with him, both the heads of the 5 iron and 7 iron departing the shafts in spectacular fashion and at least one occasion menacing other golfers.

The wingco demonstrates his more intelligent look, whilst sporting a very old-fashioned golf set

Today it is my duty once again to play golf, this time with The International Club of the Riviera, this time at the Provencal, followed, almost inevitably by lunch at the same venue. This is not for pleasure, but is part of my work requirement for Currencies Direct.

So far, I have not received the call with the date of my nude modelling assignment with Marina Kulik. I wanted to ask her about naked spooning or even naked forking, both subjects that have been the subject of some discussion recently in this column. I wanted to know where I could buy one of each, as I want to ensure I am properly equipped when the time comes. That nice lady decorator feels certain that I will embarrass myself with uncontrollable male member movements (if you get my meaning)  during the sitting and if there are attractive women eyeing me up carefully, she may have a point, so I suggested that before the actual event, perhaps there was a kind service she could carry out for me, but the snort of derision that emanated from her suggested that this was not going to be a “happy ending” in quite the way I had hoped, so perhaps I should be prepared to make my own arrangements, as it were.

The Reverend Jeff, a regular reader of this column and a very old friend, is holidaying in the area, and has threatened to allow me to thrash him at golf and tennis again however, he has failed to call me and I think he is running scared. He once told me he could beat me with a frying pan, which, if this is any sort of reflection on his sexual proclivities, may give you reason to understand why I call him the Reverend. That, and he is a determined god botherer. He claims that his frying pan comment  was referring to tennis, but I still have my doubts, and given his very un-Christian treatment of a number of young girls in our youth, he must still be going to confession or self flagellation classes, or whatever is his way of atoning for his sins, as they were manifold.

As usual, when you own a house the fabulous south of France, you find that during the summer months you have a number of friends who seem to be in the area.  You hear not a word from them when the weather is cold, but as soon as the swimming pool comes back into use, suddenly there is a massive and constant influx of people who mysteriously remember your invitation to visit. the influx has begun and will continue until late August…

Chris France