A whisper or a kiss?

Once again we went to the Auberge De La Source on the edge of Valbonne and once again we were hoping not to be thrown out for over drinking.

It did not start well. That nice lady decorator loves an olive, so having polished off a plate full she decided that the pips should be cast into the river running beautifully alongside where we were sitting.  Elvis Costello once wrote a song called “My aim Is True”, however the expert decorator amongst us took no notice and proceeded to pepper some charming French people with olive stones. Luckily they thought it was funny, in different circumstances this act could well have brought forth a stony silence.

Inevitably, amongst our party was one Peachy Butterfield who was determined to exhibit his new Iphone app called “Fit Or Fat’. It takes a picture of you and then analyses what it sees and gives you a rating between 0 and 10, 0 being fat, 10 being fit. I was the first to volunteer for the analysis, and whilst the app did its calculations, Peachy was heard to say that if I came out fit he would show his arse in Burtons. Fate has a lovely way of punishing those that make silly statements, and although 6 out of 10 was a marginal pass, the app said “Fit” and that was enough for me to ensure that the this ill-judged statement gets its just reward. It is official, I am fit and soon, when next I venture into Burtons I shall expect to witness a rather unpleasant unveiling. I shall just check what we are doing today. I think there is a Burtons in Cannes where I must venture this week for Currencies Direct.

Lunch was a little drawn out, and we were as usual the last to leave. However, a number of the party remained thirsty so regular readers will know what happened, we adjourned to the web in a vain attempt to satisfy that thirst. My picture today shows Peachy and Roly doing their very best to “enjoy” the afternoon. Quite why Roly is wearing a mink coat and Peachy is kissing him is not clear. Perhaps there is some secrets yet to escape from the closet?

Roly and Peachy after lunch, naturally

I would like to be able to report that the day ended here, by the pool with a glass in hand. However, it did not. The hard core amongst us overcame conference calls and short naps to emerge from the afternoon and seek a curry. Once the Incomprehensible Scotsman heard that we have a curry house on Valbonne there was only ever going to be one outcome.

It is at this stage that I have to reveal that there was a surprising early casualty. That nice lady decorator could not be revived from her power nap and did not come for a curry. We had half a plan to reconvene with Rupert Scott who had been with us for lunch but had left early to oversee his building team. He calls then the Communards, but probably not to their face. Tattooed and bald they may be, but gay? Perhaps not.

Talking of gay, it seems that Roly and Poly have decided to employ a gay skipper to be captain of their boat. This is such a potential rich vein of material for this column that I think it could write itself for the next few days. My polite enquiry as to whether his name was Roger, and whether he had a cabin boy will have alerted them to the literal danger that confronts them. At no stage should they ever address him in this manner “Hello Sailor”. Some of my dearest friends are gay but I have solemnly promised not to allude to any sexual orientation when (if) ever invited aboard again.  For instance I shall not be making any comments about up hill gardening, shirt lifters or nine bob notes.

Chris France