Ahoy Captain Pugwash

One of the many chaps I play golf with at the REGS, the Riviera Ex Pat Golf Society are involved in the world of yachting and some are Yacht captains, indeed a number are clients of Currencies Direct and thus sophisticated chaps. One lives very close to me and I took this picture outside his house. I cannot name names here but in a completely unrelated subject Jez Dean, (who lives near me) has led me to believe that he is the captain of a very large private yacht. I shall be discussing this picture with him when I next see him.

So this is what a 50 metre yacht looks like?

A few rather rude comments were received yesterday about the attire of Peachy Butterfield in yesterdays column picture. He prides himself on (in his opinion) being able to wear bright colours even to the extent of flirting with his gay side.  In fact he revealed that he once asked one of his friends, a gay chicken farmer from the frozen north of England whom he referred to as Oven Ready Eddie (must be ready frozen) if the pink shirt he was wearing might make him look a little gay and was told with utter certainty that no gay guy would be seen dead in anything Peachy was wearing.

And so to London (after a delay at Nice airport due to Air Traffic Contempt) to sample some London Pride  sprog 2 parents evening. I am so glad to see the money spent on education is producing results. It is the quality of these results that is the problem. And here is the conundrum, that nice lady decorators fearsome examination of sprog 2’s activities and any criticism of any backsliding is fatally undermined by said sprogs knowledge of too much detail of her mothers schooling. Her fathers achievements are a shining beacon of industriousness, her mothers less so. That is all I am saying.

Afterwards we went to a restaurant in the Kensington area with flaming torches outside. These are there not just for show but for a reason and that reason is they can charge you more for what they serve. Actually the meal was quite good but I object to paying £9 for a glass of reasonable Bordeaux, everything else being over priced and underwhelming. Over dinner we were discussion the South Of France English Theatre night out in Valbonne recently when they successfully  staged “Barefoot In The Park” and which they are doing again in Cannes this evening at the Espace Miramar with tickets available on the door. That nice lady decorator was talking about the after show party which was hosted by a very good soul singer in the style of Barry White and was trying to remember his name. She referred to that “Dog Eat Dog guy who was singing” I had gently to point out to her that his name was in fact “Fat Cat”.

Some shopping this morning followed by a brief pit stop at Carluccios in Covent Garden to meet my old pal Nigel Rowley, head honcho at Medina Palms, the fantastic and now nearly sold out development in Kenya, then a meeting at 2pm in Liverpool street. Who has meetings during the lunching our hour, how uncivilised, I shall be happy to get back to France this evening, Air Traffic Contempt allowing.

Friday is of course church at Cafe Latin and this week I will certainly be there as it will be my last chance to alleviate demand for my book for some weeks as we leave for London on Tuesday and Havana in Cuba on Wednesday. Cigar city, here I come!

Chris France