Flight of fancy?

Lunch with some of the usual suspects, Master Bully Mariner Mundell, the Wingco and young Greg Harris the eclectic dancer from Cote d’Azur Villas at the Auberge St Donat followed a very pleasant game of tennis with the same personnel in the continuing warm winter sunshine. As the MOGS (the Moustachiod Old Gits as myself and the Wingco are often known) have been so dominant in recent months, it was decided to split up the weaker players, but as much as I tried to remove the gathering certainty as to who was the weakest player, I am afraid to say that young Greg ended up on the losing side.

The loser at lunch however was once again the Master who continued to defend his recent involvement in bullying. His claim was that as I had on a previous occasion managed to thwart the bully boys in late October by claiming that I wanted to keep my beard at least until the book launch, I had by default given an implied licence to allow it to be hacked off at a later stage.

This is clear nonsense, it is like a failed rapist claiming that as he had been fought off and not reported, the victim was implying she was game for a shag at a later stage. He should be ashamed of himself. He also had the audacity to suggest he saved me from injury by holding me a tight head lock whilst Mr Clipboard became Mr Clipbeard and performed the “annoying facial hair” surgery. He suggested that I should be grateful and seemed sincere. I have seldom witnessed a clearer case of self delusion, but as he is a Currencies Direct customer of course I forgive him.

Anthony Bay in full flight, as it were

Absent today was Anthony “dock Of The” Bay, pictured above joining in with the general abuse of my book. When I mentioned to the others that Anthony now has this splendid new epithet for this column, one of the public schoolboys dredged up an “amusing” take of the old Percy Sledge classic “Sitting on the dick of the boy”. Once a public schoolboy always a public schoolboy it seems. Old habits die hard (if you get my drift).

So today, by the time you read this, I shall already be winging my way northwards, away from the sunshine and into the arms of the deep English midwinter. The idea of course is to bring a little sunshine into the winter lives of my countrymen, this time by way of attending The France Show armed with copies of my book which I will gladly give to people along with my signature and dedication of their choice in return for the measly sum of £10. Three days of intense media pressure awaits me so I must be strong. My suitcase is full of books, and if that nice lady decorator gets her way, the suitcase will be empty and will require replenishment with clothes for our return on Sunday. It is probably the first time we have been in agreement about the hopes for the number of sales I hope to achieve. I am not sure whether to be pleased or not.

This evening I shall be in search of a pint of London Pride after picking up that poster for the book sale tomorrow, which I have not seen only on photographs. That nice lady decorator is determined that she will drink no beer, such is her determination to hone her figure into the usual fine shape after the usual Christmas excesses, but I have wagered £1 she will waver and expect to collect on the first round.

Chris France