Freedom to express ones self to be curtailed?

This may be the last time I am able to express freely my observations of the habits and foibles of that nice lady decorator, as she seems determined now to subscribe to this column. It is easily done if you are at all computer literate, as there is a subscribe button at the bottom of the page if you are seeing this from a desktop computer. Of course she is anything but computer literate, so there is still some hope that you will get unimpeded and uncensored reporting, as although she has many virtues, patience and awareness of how computer technology works are not amongst them. I blame  the snitches amongst my readership for her proposed monitoring of my output, leaking selected and almost always out of context comments to her, for her sudden determination to find out what I am writing.

Talking of comments, I hear from my new dear beautiful Australian friend Carol (aka Cathie) who claims to be sharpening her pencil for my forthcoming nude modelling assignment. It is very good to see some Australians immersing themselves in culture, as for most of their race, culture is only found on the top of out of date yoghurt. Please feel free to add your comments below, as I am sure she will.

Back to that nice lady decorator. She has expressed an interest (admittedly after a few drinks) to join Marina Kulick’s painting classes near Valbonne. I had to point out to her that she did a lot of painting as part of her decorating duties, and our house could do with being painted, but it seems this is a different kind of painting. Marina asked if the reason was that she wanted the opportunity to study my naked form, but the snort of derision was accompanied by the assertion that she could see that at any time, it was not a sight to behold, and she certainly did not consider it worth paying for. I know she doesn’t mean it.

After guiding the mighty English cricket team destroy the world’s number one test playing nation, India, to take their place at the top of the world rankings in their place, followed by a nightmare and failed trip to Carrefour to try to locate some Pimms for my daughters birthday,I felt I deserved an evening sun downer and so it came to pass.

When eating in restaurants, it is one of my requirements that the waiter iron the tablecloths before seating me, and my picture today pays testament to the quiet care and attention to which I am accustomed in France. Can you imagine this happening at Macdonalds?

The new I-ron ensuring a comfortable table for lunch.

By the time you read this I will probably be on the golf course at The Grande Bastide being baked in the sun for the REGS golf tournament, where I see I am drawn to play with the luscious Maria Carr. I usually receive a complaint from Lin at the English Book centre in Valbonne if I describe girls as well endowed, so well stacked or voluminous in the chest department will have to suffice. I am expecting to see my resident self-confessed sheep loving friend Steve Weston for then first time in ages, and am expecting to be able to collect some gossip or innuendo to fill this column in the coming days. However, obviously my main reason for attending is to ensure that my existing Currencies Direct customers remain delighted with the service and to mop up one or two other clients who have so far managed to avoid my tender mercies.

Chris France