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More on an orange theme

December 15, 2011

It is not often when one gets a bit of information that is so juicy one cannot wait to write about it. Many of my regular readers will know that my local style guru is a certain Mr Humphreys, a Justice of the Peace, a magistrate who can bang his gavel with the best of them and whom, like his namesake in the popular TV series “Are You Being Served”, is usually free.

I was at a Christmas lunch at La Pomme Rouge in Valbonne yesterday, courtesy of Lin Wolff of the English Book Centre when fellow guest, Matt Frost (on this occasion allowed out without his minder, Viv, who is in the UK) from French Mortgage Xpress revealed that he had witnessed my sartorial hero, Neil (Mr) Humphries, languishing in a “washeteria” in Pre Du Lac, near Chateauneuf, being served as it were. It seems that once recognised, Mr Humphreys panicked and demanded that his presence at a do-it-yourself washing emporium would not be revealed to me, his most devoted disciple. I cannot understand why he would be so determined to deny me knowledge of his need of washing facilities outside the home. Perhaps he thinks I may reveal this fact to the more than several hundred followers of this column? Nothing could be further from the truth, I would never, on principle, report a fact that might in some way belittle one of my hero’s, so I want to assure him that his guilty secret is safe with me, I would never knowingly disclose such a clearly sensitive fact. I would also give no credence to other claims that were made at the same time involving his use curlers, or indeed exactly how they were being used.

Lunch was a convivial occasion with Prosecco and a very decent Malbec to wash down my duck aux agrumes, which is orange apparently and gave me the most tenuous of links to the picture I took at a restaurant in Watamu in Kenya last week. Well, it also has a bit of orange in it.

Cat lovers, look away now

Luncheon conversation ebbed and flowed, and I learned a thing or two by listening to my superiors. Nancy Wilson, the only Irish person I have ever met who claims she cannot drink, taught me that sharks sting, at least I have witnesses who can testify as to what she said. I don’t quite know what she was driving at but I suspect she had muddled up sharks with jellyfish, a mistake I could perhaps have forgiven her had she has partaken more fully of the prosecco. Actually, now that I come to think about it she is probably technically correct. If one was bitten by a shark it may well sting somewhat.

One other theme that was explored was the possibility of a muslim bathing costume, which I realise is a difficult concept to grasp (not that I would ever want to grasp a muslim women, I am far to much of a coward for that) and what it might be called. A burquini seemed to hit the nail on the head.

After lunch it was imperative that I track down Cubby Wolf from Riviera Realty and extract payment for sale number 106 of my book, wherafter I was dragged kicking and screaming into the offices of French Mortgage Xpress in Valbonne, my newest Currencies Direct affiliate for a coffee and a cognac, masquerading as Glenfiddich.

Later the airport beckoned as the storms in the UK were insufficient to delay the return of that nice lady decorator, which I am told is a godsend and indeed it is, cooking has never been my strong suit.

Don’t forget I shall be at the English book Centre in Valbonne on Friday, market day, between 11 and 12 signing copies of my book.

Chris France

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