Fed up with Christmas?

As predicted, as soon as some Brits jet in to the Cote d Azur and the beautiful weather we have been experiencing for almost a month suffered a slight hiccup. Yes, there were some clouds in the sky yesterday, even a little rain, a very unwelcome departure from the sunshine festival we have been experiencing. Mr Clipboard and has family have arrived, however it seems that after a blip yesterday, normal sunny conditions will return in time for tennis this morning when the MOGS (Moustachiod Old Gits) in the shape of myself and the Wingco will once again stamp their authority on the tennis court, before adjourning for lunch at Auberge St Donat in Plascassier.

We are nearing the end of the first phase of hostilities festivities with Christmas behind us and on the madness surrounding New Years Eve to come and I was sent this picture recently by a regular reader of this column which seems to sum up Christmas by this time in the proceedings. He insisted I did not reveal its source and used it only after 29th of December when the festively festooned miscreant had left to return to the UK as he was less than keen to be identified, so I promised Peter Lynn that I would not mention where this came from or whose step-son was the culprit. Nothing I have written here should be misconstrued as a potential clue to unmask the subject of this photo, My New Years Resolution concerning inappropriate use of information has not yet come into force.

One up to Santa!

Just as I had sat down to enjoy a quiet night in, the phone rang and Mr Clipboard and lovely wife Ashley were at the other end claiming that their boiler had broken down, they were cold and wondered if they might pop in for a glass of wine and a warm. I am nothing if not warm-hearted, and overcome by the festive season and the need to extend goodwill to all men, even Mr Clipboard, I welcomed them in to feed and water them. Later, as news of my largesse extended, some other poor unfortunates arrived hotfoot from windy and wet Britain. The Thornton Allans had been spending Christmas in Cornwall (why?) and were in need of some decent wine. Thus my whole quiet evening was thrown into disarray, and not for the first time. Given the short notice I made the mistake of not hiding several bottles of a grand cru St Emilion that I had put aside for New Years Eve, and the eagle-eyed Mr Clipboard spotted them during an inspection of the kitchen facilities and set about them with the thirst of a man who has been in the desert for too long. By desert of course I mean the UK where he resides, happily he assures me through gritted teeth.

The tennis lunch return leg will take place today, which is another reason why I wanted a quiet night in last night, as lunch today is likely to be lively at the very least. Having just looked out of the window I see bright sunshine, but it also windy, a touch of the mistral if I am not mistaken. This of course will make tennis, which always takes place outside down here, a tad interesting, especially for a renowned lobber like me. Judging the wind strength for all my high shots will put me at a disadvantage, but I am still convinced that the MOGS (the moustachiod Old Gits) will stride victorious from the Vignale clay at precisely 12.45 (according to Mr Clipboard). eight for lunch at the Auberge St Donat in the Christmas season, it could get bloody.

Chris France