Childish strutting

“I can only stay a week and I don’t do animals” so said a certain female house guest, whom I cannot identify (but who was dubbed a GILF by Peachy Butterfield when he met her for the first time this week) when confronted with a brief tour of the wonderful D5, the boat owned by the naked politician.

This was on Tuesday afternoon after lunch and on the way to the web, a big memorable day, so inevitably yesterday was considerably quieter, certainly in daylight hours as recovery and nursing of hangovers was required.

Over a quiet lunch in the web after golf, of which more later if the pressure of space permits, certain details of rather poor behaviour by a grandmother who should know better were brought to my attention. As long as the usual ten euro bribe is passed to me in a timely fashion no one need be any the wiser. This is not blackmail, merely reputation integrity insurance.

Dinner was taken at Cafe Des Arcades in Valbonne which was another quiet affair apart from the thunder that was rumbling around and the noise of the rain drumming on the awnings. The weather continues to be less settled than normal. I am told it will be better in England which actually would not be impossible given what we have suffered this week. I have even twice including last night had to put the top up on the Merc.

I was late for dinner because I had been playing tennis at the Vignale with thunder and lightning lurking around but at that stage just a few spots of rain. This was clearly not conducive to the skills of my partner and fellow mustachioed old git the Wingco. We won the first set but thereafter my memory became slightly hazy as to what occurred. In my mind I am certain we won but cannot be sure of the exact score.

Today, for the final day of the visit of house guests The Savins, we have half a plan to go to Lou Fassum for lunch. This has to be my favorite top end restaurant, but given the prices it is one visited only on special occasions. Peter Savin however is treating us. It is a very special occasion for him as he is celebrating some kind of recent hollow golf victory, one that I cannot recall.  Any suggestion that I may have been on the losing side and that this loss was perpetrated deliberately in order to secure a sumptuous lunch at someone else’s expense is poppy cock. I have a picture today of a strutting peacock I took in Havana in March. I think you will get my drift.

A silly show off routine.

I see that the stirling to euro exchange rate touched 1.25 yesterday amid the ruins and imminent collapse of the single European currency concept, so the best time for years to move that sterling into euros via my old friends Currencies Direct. Please do not use your banks, you may well be ripped off, a little like I feel today. I have twice this week had to witness an old man being photographed with a 10 euro note (now worth a mere £8) stuck to his forehead In some kind of juvenile celebration of I know not what. It is not clever and it is not funny.

With the Queens Jubilee celebrations about to overtake events in the coming days doubtless some social invitations will emerge but at the moment the diary is clear. At least mine is, but there is a decent chance that my social secretary, that nice lady decorator has a full schedule. I wonder if I will be invited? Probably only if someone is needed to pay.

Chris France