Fire breathing moths

Any suggestion that I had ever in the past described the Apple Ipad as a nonsense piece of brilliant marketing for a new fad that was absolutely useless, and was a triumph for hype over value (a concept that many suggest would amply demonstrate my self orchestrated promotion of my first book “Summer In The Cote d’Azur”) is entirely without foundation. The Ipad is of course the most wonderful invention ever known to man and Steve Jobs its creator should be ordained as  a saint immediately at this very festive and religious time of year.

If I have inadvertently in the past ever conveyed any opinion to the contrary then this was clearly either a mistake or has been misinterpreted by my readership. Hence the very generous and completely unexpected gift of that self same item, that vital piece of technology from that nice lady decorator to me for Christmas was some kind of recognition that as a thrusting entrepreneur living in a difficult economic environment in a foreign country I must keep abreast of the latest technology which is so  important to the development of my responsibilities for Currencies Direct and Medina Palms.

With two Ipads now in the family, and with that nice lady decorator now receiving and reading this column every day she can now be certain that there will never be a disparaging remark about her and my undying love for her as my life partner and best friend, plus her vivacious outgoing personality and her great figure and classic good looks will be trumpeted regularly and certainly until she becomes bored with reading this daily drivel. I give it a week.

The weather has remained stunning, allowing us to partake of champagne in the web before lunch, my son and I both resplendent in our Kenyan lounging trousers, gifts for Christmas which marks a radical and welcome change from the woolly pullovers of dubious design which have been visited upon as in years past. Cognac for me sums up the Christmas spirit, accompanied by some of Cuba’s finest, a Montechristo No 2 the king of cigars followed by a descent into sleepy contentment, although waking up to find the lounging trousers covered in brandy and ash holes was a little less welcome. My father used to blame ash holes in his shirt as damage caused by fire-breathing moths. I think I shall do the same.

In the run up to Christmas during a dinner at the Valbonnaise, the friendly family run great fun great value but still too brightly lit restaurant for people of a certain age, I took this picture of their festive lighting which shows that they have taken notice of my criticisms.

Christmas lights at the Valbonnaise

Christmas at home in Valbonne with the family was the usual drinking and eating affair which I love. That nice lady decorator tucked into an eye-wateringly expensive  Mersault which even I, a very fussy white wine drinker was allowed a sip, whilst a red, a magnum of Grand Cru St Estephe marked out my area of special responsibility. The sprogs were blissfully unaware of the quality of that nice lady decorators’ preferred tipple and I am sure they were both happy with a rather nasty chardonnay, with a bouquet reminiscent of cats piss and a taste of old cats fur, which pretty much sums up my feelings on most chardonnay generally.

The traditional walk on Boxing Day awaits, but the French mostly go back to work today, the 26th not being a designated bank holiday. Being English and cherry picking the traditions of both countries for my own personal benefit, I shall be at rest today, except for bringing this not to be missed column.

Merry Christmas!

Chris France