No D in Culture

In a comment yesterday, Cathie the Culture believes that I am committing a crime against her nation (Australia) by failing to put n d on the end of Culture when referring to her. Of course she should be completely in touch with criminality, which as it is at the root of the Australian psyche as the nation itself is founded on the bedrock of convicted criminals who were sent there from England in earlier times.

What she fails to record as a crime and is much more alarming is the wearing of silly hats, another example of which I feature today, ostensibly to keep out the cold. In my opinion the pictures used yesterday and today represent evidence of a crime against humanity. Today’s sartorial criminal is one Iain Kershaw, consort to renowned local journalist Karen Hockney, both of whom were guests at the same dinner party with Tony “I invented the Internet” Coombs and his lovely wife at the weekend. He is another who mentioned Clint Eastwood in his defence, but he is fooling no one except himself.

Definitely one of the Three Amigos

Initial determination to have a night off evaporated as soon as the spontaneous early evening invitation to drink some rose and people-watch at the Mundells village house in Valbonne was received. His lovely wife Zillah described her husband as someone who was “work averse”, and “the master of work evasion” which seems to me to be a perfectly sensible state of mind unless you are lucky enough like me to have Currencies Direct and Medina Palms amongst ones working portfolio, in which case it hardly seems like work. I can only surmise that he must have done some work at some time as he seems to own a good chunk of Valbonne, has a yacht and property in UK, but how he can afford all these things from the sale of sweeping machines is a mystery to me.

Discussion turned to fellow tennis compatriot the wingco, who is always going on about my not having attended a proper school, but the information I received last night is that he was not a not a boarder and is very sensitive about that fact. I can hardly wait until I next see him in order to probe into this sensitive area, if you will pardon the expression.

Anyway, early evening drinks turned into slightly later evening drinks, by which time it was agreed that the time was ripe for a bit of square bashing (v. to abuse food and drink in Valbonne Square) thus completely defeating our intention to have a night off the juice and go to bed early. Indeed when I awoke this morning I noticed that the large mirror was opposite the end of my bed (not above it as I had once memorably suggested, a suggestion rejected some vehemence I seem to recall) was at a crazy angle. I took this up with that nice lady decorator who said that it was her fault (a very rare occasion for her to admit guilt) as she had bumped into it last night after several vats of rose, but worse, she thought she had put it straight before retiring.

Valbonne Square has become almost pleasant again now that a good chunk of the infernal tourists have departed back to the UK for the continual autumnal weather they have been experiencing all summer, and once again we were the last to leave in the early hours.

Today will certainly be a day of rest and recouperation, at least if I get my way, but if a late invitation appears out of nowhere. Then I suspect things might change.

Chris France