Christmas Eve in Valbonne

Who the hell was it that gave that french bloke a microphone? Once again we felt it necessary to enjoy the unseasonably warm sunshine and take lunch in Valbonne Square, which was lovely except for the French guy who had found a microphone from somewhere and proceeded to cast a cloud of noise and feedback over proceedings. This was no digital cloud, this was a noisy cloud or rather a noisy clot.

Lunch extended into the evening, as is not unusual amongst the ex pat community of the south of France. Unfortunately, the Wingco, whose time keeping, or rather lack of it, is renowned locally, managed to miss lunch and post lunch drinks completely. He telephoned to find out where everyone was at about 7pm just after we had left and as the Cafe Des Arcades was closing, he having been unaccountably been delayed for lunch I think by traffic, despite his current abode being some 30 meters from Valbonne Square where the gathering was had taken place and where no cars are allowed. I totally understand the reasons why he could be some five hours late for lunch given traffic conditions locally, but then I am notoriously easy going.

We had been enjoying a festive lunch with Melissa Graves, her husband Nigel, their Welsh gardener Iuean and some parents, but the parents of whom was not immediately clear. Over lunch Melissa told me that she always enjoyed this column, especially as she always used to get the blog just before tuning in to the Jeremy Kyle show on the BBC, but she found this column just as addictive. I was not certain how to take this comment as I hate the Jeremy Kyle show with a fierce loathing, but to be bracketed with a very successful programme by probably the best known broadcaster in the world was in some ways a double-edged sword.

There was a small problem when sale no 119 of my book was about to complete to the parents in question at lunch as a result of the brilliant sales pitch about my book and Currencies Direct I had made to the older Graves, but the penultimate step towards break even was impeded by the young Mellissa who absolutely forbade me from completing the sale for reasons I cannot reveal until after Christmas. All I can say is that it seems that Father Christmas may be bringing a very special present for some lucky visiting parents this morning. I took this picture of the lights over Valbonne Square as I dealt with my disappointment.

Valbonne Square at night

With Christmas Eve traditional in France a time for families and a family dinner, most places close down on Christmas Eve, so we adjourned to ours with our children who were similarly forced home and had to endure the company of their parents for the evening, so an uneasy peace descended and most of us were in bed by 10pm.

Tired out from recent celebrations, I went bed to dream but for some reason I dreamed of the lovely Maryse, wife of the Wingco, and what she told us recently about playing around with notorious Liverpudlian footballing icon Kevin Keegan at the height of his Reverend Jeff curly-perm like days. When I interjected to clear up any misunderstand about what “playing around” might mean, I was fixed with a manly stare by the Wingco which I thought I should perhaps read as a warning. It transpires that according to Maryse that she played a round of golf with the mega permed one, but as she claims never to have had a golf lesson, I have my suspicions.
Chris France