Hair raising tennis

At our irregular tennis gatherings on a Wednesday night it almost seems to be a matter of honour for the public schoolboys amongst us (and by that I mean everyone but me) to be late. Regular readers will know that a unit of time known as a “Wingco” is a minimum of 7 minutes, so in different circumstances, his being late by 2 “Wingcos”, and spending some time on the phone during the usual desultory warm up, whilst undeniably rude, may have put us a disadvantage, however as it turned out that was not the case. One of us was on time as usual, as befits a self-made organised man of commerce such as myself.

Quite how the MOGS, the Moustachiod old Gits, with a combined age approaching 120 could secure a victory over 3 sets in two hours in temperatures in the high twenties Celsius is one of those marvels that will be celebrated far and wide in this household, well, by me at least. Superior technique, superior strength and fitness, superior tactics all combined to ensure a famous victory. I am lying of course about the tactics bit.  One of our (MOGS) quiet discussions about tactics when I suggested tha the Wingco to play a little less aggressively was met with a particularly aggressive retort from the Wingco using the f word.

At the root of this event is fear. Our opponents, Dancing Greg Harris from Cote d’Azur Villa Rentals and Blind Lemon Milsted, frightened of defeat and the subsequent slagging they receive in this column, were finally coaxed on to the tennis court by the fear of the threat of receiving a white feather. Strange you may think, that the fear of receiving the traditional damning mark of cowardice was outweighed by the fear of failure on the court.

Over dinner afterwards Blind Lemon has recently had a haircut and it was noted that he looks a little like a geeky sixth former. I have a photo today, taken in Valbonne Square last week that reminds me of his hair pre haircut. However, why he should have that hair planted in an urn in the middle of the village is open to question.

Post tennis dinner discussions at Capriccio at Pre Du Lac was the usual abuse of process, insults accusations and jokes as usual, with the non public schoolboy element recieving the most abuse. I just think they don’t like the idea of me being a successful author.  It is a time honoured tradition that we are the last to leave and as you know I am a traditionalist at heart.

Tonight is “Fete De La Musique”, staged on mid summers day and celebrated across France with music playing everywhere until late. It has always been a strange anomaly that Valbonne did not take part in this country-wide musical feast and so we normally go down to Mouans Sartoux where there are dozens of bands set up on street corners playing. This year however Valbonne has got in on the act, with rumours off a high-profile UK soul band being flown in, so a plan has been hatched to wander in this evening and see what is happening.

Before that fun however, I must have fun of a more serious kind, collecting up some of those poor unfortunates that are still using their banks to move foreign exchange instead of opening an account with Currencies Direct. Usually I just use persuasion and cajoling, but with figures a little down this month I may have to resort to threats or even violence to get the message across. Do not mess with a tennis god.

Chris France