Mad as a hatter

If I say I was stoned yesterday I know what many of you will think. They will be wrong. I had left my Currencies Direct desk to answer the call, no that’s too weak, the command from that nice lady decorator to spread gravel over an area the size of Wiltshire.  I tried groveling but she was determined that I should gravel rather than grovel. A large area of my garden now resembles the Gobi Desert and still it is not finished, I must once again venture forth to the quarry again on numerous occasions today for yet more granite gratification.

The big news, for me anyway, is that my modeling career is about to take off. The lovely Marina Kulik who is an accomplished artist and runs painting classes in that weird hut with the wooden plane outside near the riding stables in Plascassier has invited me to be their model next Monday. The best painting will feature on the cover of my second book which I plan to unleash on my waiting public later in the year, in time for Christmas present season, a ploy that worked very well last year.

Marina was very keen for me to bring a number of items with me to the session between 10 and 12 next Monday (a few spaces still available, visit the website) which she considered, from regular  reading this daily collection of gossip and innuendo, summed up my persona. Large cigars, bottles of wine, tennis rackets,  more wine, loud shirts, cravat, silk smoking jacket were all understandable, but a walking stick? A mirror? A dog collar? Just what sort of image do I project? One thing I shall not be wearing is the hat-like contraption that is my featured image for today. Spotted at the Antibes Yacht Show last week made apparently from a plant with a few adornments. I think the spiders are a nice touch. I mentioned earlier in connection with my gravelling that I was stoned, but I would suggest that its creator may have had more than his or her fair share of a mind expanding drugs, the basis of course for any modern art in my humble opinion.

New hat anyone?

The planned day off the booze (planned not my me so it should not be too hard for regular readers to guess the identity of the fun police) fell out of bed spectacularly as the steely eyed goddess who is Lisa Thornton Allan arrived clutching a bottle of Chablis and wanting to talk. She took up residence in the pav with that nice lady decorator just before sunset. I joined them for an hour during which time my waiter duties became rather onerous given the number of trips I had to undertake to fetch more wine, then when the testiculating (the practice of waving ones arms around and talking bollocks) commenced I retired to the comfort of the house and settled down to write my 763rd daily column. Such quality, or rather such quantity.

So the prospect of another back-breaking day lies ahead and if I have any energy left for this evening then it will be tennis with Dancing Greg Harris from Cote d’Azur Villa Rentals, Blind Drunk Lemon Milsted and the Wingco. I fully expect that the moustachiod old gits, the partnership forged with the Wingco, another man sporting a moustache will once again be triumphant. If we are then expect a full report tomorrow. Should the unthinkable happen and there is any kind of reverse then I expect that I shall have too much vital information to impart to have room for a full run down.

Chris France