The kiln fields

Tennis in the sunshine, with temperatures of 24 degrees in the evening, the same as I am led to believe are the values in England currently, was a delightful workout for the MOGS, the Moustachiod Old Gits last night. Our opponents, on this occasion Blind Lemon Milsted and George Cavendish (his writing nom de plume), Monagasque banker and author with a grunt that would embarrass Monica Selech found themselves utterly outplayed by the very slightly older MOGS. This grunting is a modern fad and must be ruled out or at the very least penalised.

Because of the recent stormy weather the clay court which is our preferred surface was slightly damp and footprints could be seen after the few games. The Wingco being by far the heaviest of the quartet and being the proud owner of new extra grip tennis shoes was making the most mess, indeed there was an appearance of what looked like duck tracks where he had been well, I was going to say running but staggering is a better adjective as he admitted to lunching well and long with Master Mariner Mundell earlier. When I brought the damage he was doing to the court to his attention he said he thought the reason was that he had bought the duck track tennis  shoes on the web.

Regular opponent, Greg Harris from Cote d’Azur Villas having not responded to the email was relegated to first reserve and warned by chairman (me) of the hastily convened committee that he must do better in the future if he is to retain his place in the gang of four. I cannot say for certain that his reluctance to respond to an invitation (read instruction) to play was due to fear of crushing defeat but it remains a possibility.

Earlier in the day during our customary march around the forests whilst I contemplated the benefits of Currencies Direct we came across this hitherto unknown (to us) old hand-made pit in the hills between Mougins and Mouans Sartoux. Apparently it was the remains of a huge ancient kiln, the use for which was not immediately clear. There was a faded and broken old sign that was hard to read but pointed towards chalk being used in the process, most mysterious, ideas anyone? I suggested that it could be used as dog cemetary as dirty dog Banjo left his unmistakable mark in it but the suggestion did not find favour. Apparenty it is not that type of kiln. (groan).

Not the killing fields

Tonight to the first of two nights of the English Theatre production of Deathtrap at Espace Antipolis in Sophia Antipolis where tickets are available. It features one well known TV actor David Easter, an old flame of one of my close friends whose name I cannot reveal but I am surprised that Lisa Thornton Allan will not be attending. I shall be there attempting to assuage huge local demand for my book “Summer In The Cote d’Azur” very few copies of the first edition of which remain unsold.

In conversation last night with the Wingco after tennis I mentioned the play and that I would be there, and that I had begun work on my second book which I was thinking of called “The Valbonne Monologues”. He snorted with derision and suggested that it would better called “The Valbonne Monoblogs” which actually has some merit.  To put it mildly he is somewhat underwhelmed by my writing, the word he most uses is “ghastly”. It was ironic then that he sent me an email earlier today (despite claiming not to have my email address) “please send copies of any email for proof reading BEFORE publishing. This will avoid any embarrasing (sic) errors of syntax, grammar, punctuation, and indeed, content”. You will note as I did (and as I am sure will regular reader Peter Lynn) that it contains a spelling error. How gratifying.

Chris France