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A commuter speaks

September 10, 2011

Once again I found myself on the commuter train into Cannes. As a soon to be famous published (albeit by myself) author, I already feel aggrieved that I have to work, as it is clearly below me in my new status but when I consider the nature of the work, I am uplifted, as uplifted as anyone who is able to purchase a house on the Medina Palms development. The other uplifting influence is the good I can do as an ambassador for Currencies Direct, saving people money on their foreign exchange needs, even down to figures as low as £250.

Anyway, after the slog into work along the sea front at Le Cannet to the Remax-Cannes grand opening and the subsequent and it seems compulsory eating of the food provided and the drink supplied, leading to happy fulfilled customers, I returned exhausted in time to go to Peter and Julie Bennet’s Blue Water party. The planned visit to Cannes Boat will have to wait until today, after Englands inevitable victory in the World Cup Rugby against Argentina of course.

At the weekend, well Sunday to be precise, we are invited to the Butterfields, Peachy and Suzanne for road kill surprise, black pudding, tripe and pigeon sandwiches, at least that is what we think lunch will entail. Peachy is an enigma. As we all know, light travels faster than sound, which is why he appears bright until you hear him speak. I do hope his ferrets have not suffered during the cruel English summer, doubtless I shall find out on Sunday. One thing I have learned where Peachy is concerned is never argue with an idiot, he will drag you down to his level the beat you with experience.

My picture today is of the Valmasque woods on the Mougins side, where the crisp Provencal late summer light throws dappled images onto the terrain below (I am an author now, so am allowed these little literary flights of fancy, as it is expected of us writers).

The Valmasque forest in Mougins

It started with my son telling that nice lady decorator that he was going to use his push bike to get to a local venue for the skinny dipping tour, the night before last and the last night of revelry for him before he heads off to Guildford College until Xmas. She told him he wasn’t to take the bike as it was dark and therefore dangerous, but I, in the full knowledge that what I was doing, i.e. contradicting that nice lady decorator, was just as dangerous, if not more so, stood my ground, quaking. I don’t know what came over me but it seems I was emboldened by alcohol and a row ensued. I do not think I helped my corner by suggesting that if I agreed with her, we would both be wrong.

So today Cannes Yacht show beckons, maybe, after an early start to rid myself of sprog 2 until December. That nice lady decorator is considerably more wobbly about the sprogs departure than their alleged father, far from entering the celebratory mode that I entered as soon as sprog 1 left, she is actually going to miss them. I would only miss them if the sights were inaccurate.

Other then the rugby, and a couple of airport runs to despatch various guests and family members to the airport, I may stay in tomorrow evening and take it easy. Obviously I have no choice in the matter, as all decisions of this nature are taken by my social secretary who rules with an iron fist, so you will have to wait until tomorrow for more

Chris France

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