A smashing time

I popped into the Queens Legs in Valbonne last night for a pint of Guinness with that nice lady decorator and when I came out I saw a gendarme issuing a parking ticket. I asked him if he could take pity on an old man but he would not listen, so as anyone would do, I questioned his parentage, then threw a few more  insults whereupon he issued another ticket for bald tyres. He was just getting quite nasty when my bus arrived. You have to find your amusement in different ways as you get older.

Earlier in the day, in late afternoon I was sitting quietly in the lounge cursing the intermittent internet connection,whilst  diligently completing the registration of another soon to be satisfied customer of Currencies Direct when suddenly there was an ear splitting crash and just about every glass in the house smashed to the floor.

That nice lady decorator has been working on a new glass cupboard for a couple of days,repainting it and generally repairing it to ensure it was fully functional, but it appears that the glass shelf supports were not as strong as she had hoped and the whole edifice succumbed to gravity in a spectacular fashion. It was vital that she was there in the room when it happened and that I was nowhere near the cupboard, otherwise there is no doubt in my mind about who would have received the blame.  Despite the fact that I was there when it happened but on the other side of the room and could not possibly have had anything to do it, I have still caught a glimpse of that look that implies I must be in some way to blame. I could not resist taking this picture just after it happened, but please don’t tell her.

See any glasses that match?

Actually it is a godsend on one level as before this tumultuous event, we had such a mish mash of unmatched glasses in the drinks cupboard, left over from sets from which one or more had been broken, that now she will be able to go and buy some that match, or more likely I shall be delegated to go and restock our glass cabinet on her behalf.

I mentioned a dodgy internet connection, but help will soon be at hand. Tony “I invented the Internet” Coombs is due to come round this evening with his lovely wife Pat, so before he gets as much as a glass of wine I will get him to fix his infernal invention. Actually it may be more like a tumbler of wine or even a cup unless I am forced to go shopping this morning before tennis, which has been rearranged for 11am due to constant backsliding by several of our party on the scheduled 6pm kick off.

The amply endowed (sorry Lin) and smouldering Maria Louisa Santos Carr sends me a message via Facebook correcting my report about who won the ladies grouping of the REGS golf tournament at St Donat last weekend. It seems it was she, rather than former Miss England Pauline Bull as I had reported yesterday who was victorious, but when one has two such dazzling ladies in close proximity one tends to forget ones own name on occasions. I use the word smouldering as it also reminds me of Dave “Tripe” Goddard, leader of the Landlubbers, the REGS off shoot golfing group, with whom I must state she has absolutely no connection, but when I think of him smouldering it is more in terms of a smoky peat fire which most people from Yorkshire still use for heat.

Chris France