No torpedoes in the pool

We were in the car on the way back from the Valmasque contemplating the value one can extract as a customer of Currencies Direct, when a wine expert came on the radio talking about the complexity of wine when opening it. I have never found a problem opening wine. It is not a complex task, it just needs a corkscrew and a bit of knowledge and some dexterity, plus a decent thirst. What is complex about that? Maybe he had a tricky cork?

A splendid day yesterday aboard Sea Breeze, the wonderful new Fleming boat, owned By Roly and Poly and berthed at Antibes got off to a fascinating start. Regular readers will know that we had two charming Germans friends of our hosts aboard, both of whom are doctors and neither saur krauts, in fact they were both very jovial.

We had been to dinner with them the night before and they had read my comments yesterday relating to Basil Fawlty and Dads Army so I was a little wary of what would result. They had said that the contents were “very amusing” in a manner I did not find entirely convincing, so when Uli, who is also a research scientist (whom the lovely Leslie Bufton described as “like the horny captain of Das Boot”, the film about a German submarine) you will understand that my senses were working overtime. I think it was when he shouted “torpedoes away” as we cruised the channel between the lles Des Lerins and Cannes that I began to become really concerned.

He was referring of course to two fast-moving jet skis, so distant that an “Eagle” eye would have been required to spot the wake. Maybe it was the binoculars, or maybe the forced smile when our hosts gallantly tried to explain the humour the British find in TV series Fawlty Towers, or maybe it was the cold cures I was consuming at regular intervals washed down with wine in order to try to ward off a cold I had suddenly developed that magnified my sense of paranoia? In any event I am sure I did not imagine the order to drop depth charges.

I remained on my guard during this sun drenched day with senses heightened and nervously jumping at every rifle-like explosion of the Prosecco corks. Eventually in the afternoon after a fabulous lunch I was lulled to the edge of sleep by the heady combination of fizzy wine, rose and lemsip.

When I awoke I was not at my best but received precious little sympathy from that nice lady sailing person for my predicament. In fact I swear I heard her saying that I was “over achtung”.

Arriving back into Antibes at around 6pm in a state of delirium (is that one of the 51 states?) I remember being frog marched (quite apt being that we were in France) to the Blue Lady pub which was unaccountably closed, and then to the Hop Store for some Guinness where I noticed the excellent Blah Blah have a residency on Wednesdays. “Kill or cure” said that nice lady decorator, but in fact neither state was reached. I am still alive and I am not cured.

A nightcap in the pav

We arrived back to the pav for a nightcap, where I took this picture, to recap on the wonderful day we had just had. This was after taking the opportunity to eat some Thai food at the Elephant in Antibes which was pretty good if a little pricey.

Today I intend to stay in my pit for much of it to try to throw of this lurgy that has overcome me. Chaps amongst my readers will a probably know about Man Flu, one of the most distressing conditions than can befall the male population, slightly more physically debilitating than childbirth, and not understood by women.

Chris France