No wind emissions from anus

With my Currencies Direct duties to the fore and royalty time approaching there was no way we were going to have a drink. With ten days in Havana where frankly rather too many daiquiris and mojitos had been consumed, followed by the English adventure of beer and removal fun interspersed with more beer, the decision had been made that we should have a couple of days without a drink. Tennis on Wednesday evening, whilst in itself represented no threat to this teetotal intention was followed inevitably by a few beers, but as we awoke yesterday the determination to have a day off was unshakeable. That was until that nice lady decorator tired of sunbathing and suggested lunch in Valbonne Square.

I resisted manfully for nearly a second whilst I wrestled with the competing arguments, for or against, but perhaps you will be surprised to hear that I decided to not to argue with her, so meekly went along with her decision.

Valbonne Square, and the Cafe Des Arcades was as busy as one would expect given the warm sunny weather and a nice log lunch was enjoyed before an adjournment to the web, our outdoor bar area for some quiet contemplation. All was proceeding splendidly and then a catastrophe occurred, Peachy Butterfield and entire family arrived at 6pm for mojitos. This was a bit of a shock for me because I had an appointment at just that moment with the charming chap who is overseeing our move over to mains drainage and has trashed large tranches of the garden as a result to review progress, indeed when I heard a car in the driveway I thought it was he. That nice lady decorator was also surprised but it transpires that she had, after several too many glasses of wine at lunchtime, texted them inviting them to join us for mojitos in the web, but was in the shower with no recollection of issuing such an invitation until she was shown her phone issuing exactly that invitation. They had been en route from St Tropez where they had lunched on what Peachy called “pizza and pichets” and had diverted, but all’s well that ends well, mojitos were mixed, then wine was drunk and the pav was subjected to its first serious summer evening bashing.

I do love being back in France and I derive much amusement from their ability to use eight words where two would suffice. Take “wealth tax” for example; in French this is called “un impot dans la security de la fortune”. I was amused by this sign outside La Source in Opio which I photographed earlier in the week. I presume it means “no farting”? Perhaps I should have something similar in place above our bed (on that nice lady decorators side of course).

A french sign forbidding farting? How can this be enforced?

Today is Friday so I may pop down to Cafe Latin for “church”, the Valbonne market day traditional worship of coffee, croissants and gossip. I am anxious for a full first hand account of Mr Humphreys (if he is free) recent trip to New York. I am already aware of some sniggering about his man bag and choice of shirts but I need to know more. Then the weekend aproaches. It has been an exhausting period and I need some rest but I have already detected signs that there will be a lunch on Sunday, not that a great deal of detective work is required as seldom a Sunday goes by without a luncheon, but as yet I have ben unable to ascertain the venue although I know it is not at ours, glory be.

Chris France