Man lipstick not necessairily gay shock

It was a big lunch. After an exhausting week working on Currencies Direct I was ready for it.  By the time the last lunchers were persuaded to depart at around 10 30.pm, some time after that nice lady decorator had “retired hurt” in cricket parlance I counted 30 empty bottles of wine. That this did not take into account in alcohol terms the pre lunch mohitos and the case of beers bears testament to the ability of Valbonne’s idle rich to enjoy a rather windy Saturday outing.

As one might expect, there was no shortage of interesting capers to record with my fully charged blackberry, a masterstroke of forward thinking for someone who increasingly needs written reminders of events in order to record them for your delectation and delight in this honest missive.

Sometimes, particularly if nothing happens this column can be a tad difficult to write but with a cast which included Tony “I invented the internet” Coombs, Irish nationalist John “800 years of repression” O Sullivan and his spectacularly well endowed (sorry Lin) wife,andBailey’s aficionado Jude, the Bufties plus Peachy Butterfield and gorgeous wife Suzanne it always had the potential to be a memorable occasion.

But where to start? perhaps with steely eyed and geographically challenged Lisa Thornton Allan sadly bereft of her husband Slash and Burn who was in Cornwall no doubt slashing and burning as only he can. Clearly missing her spouse she chose a unique, and in terms of this daily tome, a gratifying method of keeping his image alive in her memory. Quite why she kept photographs of him sleeping and naked “sounding like a wart hog stick on a barbed wire fence” (her graphic description of his snoring) is perhaps understandable. She is a young woman with a considerably older husband and doubtless retains the normal needs for a woman of her tender years, however why she found it necessary to share with all and sundry these explicit and one presumes hitherto private images, first to her “date” for the day, and subsequently to all the revelers present was something I had not expected and I believe it was not expected by the others who were thus subjected and in some cases traumatised by the contents.

The Bufties, the willowy and beautiful Lesley and husband Roly, were excited about a new Ipad app that allows them to track their new boat at any moment. That it was in the English Channel being driven by their newly appointed gay skipper was too much for Peachy Butterfield who wondered aloud if the boat was flying the Jolly Roger or even the Gay Gordon although I am not convinced that is a flag, I think it is a gay gin and tonic.

Mr Coombs, our resident inventor who claims to be working on “internet 2”, and as a result was clearly tired and emotional, fell over in the garden twice before being poured into his car by his long-suffering wife who very wisely had elected to drive.

Peachy Butterfield googled himself to see if he was gay. The application of lipstick seemingly soothes chapped lips. make up your own mind

Then another mention in dispatches for Peachy Butterfield who regaled us with stories about his favourite pole dancer, Ester. Quite why she is his friend on Facebook was never fully explained, nor was why he revealed that he had googled himself to see if he was gay. When discussing Mondays modeling session for the painting of the cover of my new book with Marina Kulik’s class, Peachy was interested to know when it might be published. When I said late Autumn, in time for Christmas, he rather rudely suggested Halloween as an apt publication date, but after a short period of reflection he decided on Bonfire Night.

Chris France