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Hairdresser living on the hedge

August 19, 2011

That nice lady decorator has a problem with hairdressers. So far, according to her, I have not had a good haircut since 1976, when I could almost tread on my hair. There is a similarity nowadays, the only difference being that in the 1970’s the hair was still attached to my head and growing towards the floor rather than falling out onto it. It is our misfortune then, to have as a next door neighbour a retired hairdresser, who likes to uphold the old traditions of a nice short back and sides and furthermore likes to apply the same principle to his hedges. He is always beautifully groomed, as is his garden, but a more boring fellow and a more boring garden would be hard to find.

He has just had his large laurel hedge which surrounds his property trimmed for the third time in three months and for some reason this irritates that nice lady decorator, who spends much of her day grumbling and cursing him for what is, after all, his notaire-given right to do what he wants with his property.

He now wants us to pay 120 euros for trimming a hedge that we can hardly see, but apparently we jointly own, but I have told him I like it free and natural and I would like it left as it was. This is too much for Mr Hairdresser who has had the hedge attended to, I trust without any contribution required of me.

My picture today may prove the perfect antidote to anyone interested in cutting a hedge and making it bland, why not insert a sheep into it, bottom first? This might prove attractive to my old sheep fancy friend Steve Weston, especially if he ever felt like living on the hedge.

Sheep looking like it had been pulled through a hedge backwards

I chose Chateau Begude carefully as the venue for golf with wet suit Nigel yesterday. His impetuous nature, his deep-seated love of danger, of pushing the boundaries to the limit and beyond, which has seen him climbing Kilimanjaro, cycling from London to Paris in five days on a mountain bike and building Medina Palms, a spectacular 48 house development on Kenya’s Turtle Beach with little experience of what that may entail, set him out as a man who dislikes convention. So a golf course like Chateau Begude, where almost every shot requires thought and precision, and where a big hitter will almost always get into trouble, was an ideal venue at which to relieve him of ten euros in the customary golf wager. And so it came to pass. I am not saying that he is inaccurate, but we visited parts of the golf course yesterday that I had not previously known existed, indeed I suspect had never seen a human face before.

Today, I have been invited to play doubles tennis with the venerable older folk of Valbonne. That wonderful reformed hippy, Anthony Bay, has kindly asked me to fill in tomorrow, and as he is one of my targets to be a customer of Currencies Direct, I have accepted, despite the current extra hot weather. This I suspect will be followed (as danger follows wet suit Nigel) by lunch at the Auberge St Donat, where I have not been since Wednesday, so I am already beginning to miss it.

A working lunch on Saturday will then be followed by nothing. An attempt will be made a have a few quiet days as that nice lady decorator has professed to being somewhat jaded and needs a period of time to recharge that batteries. I give in 24 hours.

Chris France

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