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Fridge refuses to shine

November 10, 2011

Progress is being made! My book “Summer In The Cote d’Azur” is now available by mail order from me. It will soon be available on Amazon and I began to dream of the riches and fame that will inevitably follow, then I woke up.

I am still feeling the effects of the weekend and Monday despite not a drop passing my lips on Tuesday. That was made more possible by staying in my bed for most of the daylight hours, and managing not to read the texted invitation to join Stephen, Matt and Simon Frost for lunch at Auberge St Donat, which was a very fine decision.

In the carnage that has enveloped me over the past few days, I have managed to forget about the ubiquitous notes I make on my blackberry when I hear something weird or stupid. So yesterday, whilst on the train from Gatwick to Victoria, I had a look back at the notes I had made and there are some gems.

Last Saturday, before the true horror of alcoholic events depleted reason and memory to minuscule levels, I popped in for an early evening glass of wine with the Cornish Tsunami himself, Matt Frost who was busily trying to tidy the place up before the arrival of his brothers. Perhaps surprisingly for these huge man mountains, they are very well educated and very well read< but then common sense does not automatically go hand in hand with intelligence. consider this; I caught Matt polishing his fridge and cursing that the grey metallic surface of it was not very bright, certainly a lot duller than when he had purchased it new. It was at that moment that I spotted a small imperfection on the surface which looked like a hole, and discovered that it was indeed a small hole… the protective plastic coating the fridge had arrived in when it was bought. Yes, he had been diligently polishing the plastic coating. After I had stopped laughing, which admittedly was some time later, I asked how long ago he had purchased it. The answer; 6 years! Bright indeed!

There was another story about him building a home-made guillotine in his garden to chop the vegetables on Bastille Day, which did not impress his French guests in quite the way he had hoped, but he has had enough stick for one day, so I will not mention it.

My picture today is another taken at the launch of that book with that nice lady decorator giving John Otway some advice about his performance.

No, you should do it this way

Last night to parents evening after a couple of pints of London Pride to settle the nerves. After receiving the customary telling off from the teachers because of the poor attention to detail and general lack of respect exhibited by sprog 2, clearly the-off spring of a certain nice lady decorator, we adjourned to feed the wolves or children as that nice lady decorator prefers to call them.

I say wolves because it seems to be a teenage trait, perhaps even a higher form of nature for a teenager who has been away from home for some time to be hungry and thirsty as soon as parents arrive, and to develop tastes hitherto undiscovered, especially if they are expensive. I am a struggling author for christ’s sakes (this last bit especially for the reverend Jeff who had another poem published in the Daily Mail yesterday), unless all my followers buy the book, and here I must raise a note of concern; some people managed to avoid purchasing said item at the lunch on Monday. I know where you live and am prepared to name names and reveal indiscretions of those who fail to heed this warning. The Wingco however is excused.

Chris France

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