Bing Crosby, Sarkozy shock?

On Saturday night we made a last minute decision to drop in to the Queens Legs in Valbonne.  That nice lady decorator suddenly developed a hankering for a pint of Guinness, so I was dragged along, mainly it must be said to pay, and also to pay respect to that nice lady decorator’s sudden craving of almost pregnancy scale proportions. Obviously when it comes to thoughts about pregnancy at my age then I……think I will finish this sentence there. Had I not, then sentence may have been the operative word.

Christmas is a weird time of year, when sights you would not normally see, or would immediately report to the police are common place. Where, for instance, and in what circumstances other than at Christmas time would one be happy to have ones young child bounce up and down on the knee of a weird old man with a long beard, a red shiny suit and a long beard? Especially if he was offering sweets for some indeterminate reason?

In that context, I invite you to examine the picture I took in the Queens Legs of a figure languishing behind the bar. I am told that it is supposed to be a representation of old dead crooner Bing Crosby in a Father Christmas outfit, and indeed when pressed it did sing a rather poor version of White Christmas, but one has to consider the appalling possibility which sprang into my mind. Could this really be the a caricature of the current President of France, the scourge of the British economy, our very own President Sarkozy? and why is he holding a ski pole? Perhaps it was one Guinness too far.

Is Bing Crosby's secret lovechild really the President of France?

Yesterday, the sprogs instigated a lunch for their friends and the parents of their friends at our expense and at our house. This effectively means that we were invited to a lunch at our house, at which we were expected to cook and  to provide sustenance of both a solid and a liquid kind and to which what seemed like every teenager in Valbonne decided they had been invited. Amongst the token parents who were in evidence were Simon and Sarah Howes who brought as a gift a traditional poinsettia which was slightly bigger than our house and which probably required a crane to deliver to our home. I forgave them as they also brought 3 bottles of Chateau Gloria, two of which fell by the wayside during the afternoon. the other I have secreted for entirely selfish reasons and will be opened when I am not surrounded by teenage vultures that want to try it.

Also present were Tony “I invented the internet” Coombs now a happy Currencies Direct customer and his loving wife Pat. I asked him what he expected to invent over Christmas but he had not yet decided. He has however decided to take two weeks off over the festive period, something that he has never done before. Bearing in mind his claimed importance in administering the internet I asked what would happen to it over Christmas if he was not at his post ensuring that his invention was functioning correctly. He dropped a bombshell by revealing that the internet will close down on Christmas Eve and remain closed until 6th January for routine maintenance. I think you can tell by this slurred statement that the combined effects of Chateau Gloria, a Grand Cru St Emilion a Sautern and perhaps even a Bailey’s had begun to magnify his megalomania.

All’s well that ends well though, and it ended well before bedtime, but well after dark.

Chris France