Wish Denied

No plans existed for lunch or any sort of entertainment until well after midday (try 5 minutes) when we received a call from Roly and Poly Bufton demanding that we join them for lunch. As it happened, I took the call and explained to them in some detail why we could not indulge them due to some gardening alterations, in which we were deeply involved, that had been imposed upon me by that nice lady garden designer. I described it as a fatwa, which I think meant that a fat bloke had to do a lot of digging, but once I handed the phone over to that nice lady lunch organiser, the day took on a different perspective.

She decided in an instant that their suggestion should receive an affirmative and so, with a silent prayer, I divested myself of my gardening apparel, took a shower and spent some time tending my luxuriant handle bar moustache, just to be sure that my adoring public would not be disappointed should they encounter me in Auberge De la Source. As it turned out, I need not have worried. There was only one admirer of this column at the table, indeed in the restaurant, and that was the writer.

Perhaps I am being disingenuous. The lovely Leslie (Poly) has admitted to dipping into the salacious delights of this daily missive, but had some words of warning. The theme of this was how would I be able to continue this labour of love, maintaining a newsworthy focus on Valbonne, when living in exile in Arundel, which I shall be forced to do in less than two weeks time. “How will you continue your missionary work with Currencies Direct whilst living in the UK? ” was one of the questions she did not ask.

She has a point and it is a question to which at present I have no answer. I am waiting for divine intervention but as yet I have had no guidance from the Reverend Jeff. Maybe I should dial 1 800 TALK TO GOD?  The lovely Leslie suggested that I read Bill Bryson’s, “Notes On A Small Island”, apparently a book about how to deal with encountering an alien culture. She suggested it might give me some ideas.

After lunch, delayed somewhat by a sign in the street about a tortoise having been found, we took post lunch solace at the web, awaiting the arrival of local tortoise expert Lucy Bennett, pictured here today. Any suggestion that I have used this photograph merely because she is young and beautiful is as scurrilous as it is true.

Personally, I prefer them as they are

So the afternoon was lost in rose and an early evening siesta was required in order to restore some equilibrium. It was a difficult task given the descent upon us by a horde of locusts, teenagers claiming to be friends of Sprog 1 and Sprog 2, determined to ensure there was not a beer left unopened or a glass of rose un-drunk. To say that they were very successful on their mission would be an understatement.

Later, in readiness for my dose of Shakespeare in Arundel, the enjoyment of which the Revered Jeff sought to question with his comment on this column yesterday scoffing at my interest in the other great bard, that nice lady decorator and I sat and watched a film of The Tempest featuring Dame Helen Mirrren and Russell Brand which was so bad it shook my faith in the writings of my fellow author. If anyone made as bad a film of my work then, assuming that a production of this sort may be more likely to occur after my demise,  I shall be back from down below to haunt them.

Chris France