ET lives?

Last night then my annual brush with religion, I went to church, the proper lovely old building in Valbonne as opposed to my more usual form of “church” at Cafe Latin on a Friday morning where a number of the locals go to worship coffee and the virtues of Currencies Direct on a Friday morning, that’s today, and where I expect to be this morning.

The occasion was of course the annual Carol Service staged by the International Riviera Singers, supported by the Mougins School choir, at a proper church where they do all that hallelujah stuff, singing about our Lord, and I don’t think they mean Voldermart. Continuing the stream of consciousness, could that be a good collective name for an American chain store? Voldermart, anything you need for the mystic man in your life? But I digress.

As many of you know I do not have a religious bone in my body and as I have not heard from my old god bothering pal the Reverend Jeff for some time this seems as good a time as any to air my views on religion at Christmas; I am always up for a good sing-song, and the Valbonne Carol Service is a great event for that, particularly as they serve free vin chaud to the congregation afterwards, although I think they should serve it before hand to get the atmosphere really charged up. The village church is cosy and packed (I would venture to suggest that the only time it is full is for weddings, funerals and the Carol Service which incidentally is repeated tonight, entry 10 Euros, 8pm kick off) and it is quite a social event. I took a photo of the interior whilst people were gathering without being struck down by a thunderbolt.

Is it me or can I see the ghostly form of ET? look at the picture on a small screen and you may see what I mean

Many of the attendees including myself would not be seen dead in a church, and I mean that literally. When I head off to infinity and beyond, the last place I want my passing to be celebrated would be at a church, No, I intend to leave strict instructions for a large party to be held, with loads of drinks and where black apparel is banned. The reason for avoiding church events, apart of course from my status as a confirmed non believer, is the normally po-faced serious of it all, and the fact that Darwin proved them all wrong with his proof of evolution being at the root of life rather than the old tall story about Adam and Eve.

Anyway it was a jolly gathering to sing some traditional Christmas Carols with a few mates and then after a couple of vin chaud courtesy of god, to wander up to The Queens Legs for a couple of pints of Guinness and to catch up on the Christmas spirit which to be frank was quite hard to capture in the heat of Africa last week. Suzanne Butterfield and her man mountain husband Peachy Butterfield were propping up that bar alongside Simon and Sarah Howes and a mystery was solved.  Simon is renowned for stocking Chateau Gloria as his house wine and when we were all singing the long refrain of “Glorrrria” at the pause at the end of that word, I could have sworn I heard a cork popping from a bottle. It appears that I was not imagining it and indeed Peachy was enjoying himself by catching Simon’s eye and sticking his finger in his cheek and making a cork popping noise at the end of the line. This was until Suzanne put an end to his childish (but very funny) antics.

Chris France