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Read nothing into this

July 19, 2012

It was important to get a good nights sleep and go to bed early as I had been designated to undertake an airport run this morning to take Sprog 1 to catch his plane back to England. I say this morning but really it was late last night. 7am? What kind of time is that to be getting up?

Any sane person of my age knows full well that it is vital not to get up before 9am, and then only in extreme cases, weddings, funerals etc, in order to be on top form for the day ahead, thus about 10.30 am is the optimum, otherwise, ones normal bed time of 2 30 am is compromised. One can also be compromised by ones bank if one is moving foreign currency and does not have an account with Currencies Direct, but that is easily rectified by clicking here.

That I agreed to make this sacrifice of getting up almost before I had gone to bed was really a stab at self-preservation. Once the two teenage lay-about magnets (sprogs 1 and 2) have departed I will get my house back and will be able to end the patrols and spot checks necessary to protect the integrity of my fridge. I am not accusing my two darling children of being lay abouts, merely that their presence attracts the cream of local teenage laziness, all of whom seem constantly to be thirsty or hungry or both. None of them seem to have homes of their own to go to.

I did consider not going bed at all and staying up until 7am but with the first cricket Test Match between England and South Africa commencing late this morning, and for which my complete attention is required, there really was no choice. Earlier I had hidden the TV remote to ensure it was not hidden from me when it becomes time to watch the cricket, to be contested by the teams ranked 1 and 2 in the world.

Reading glasses keep an eye on the tennis

Last night, after some keenly fought tennis at the Vignale, where I found a novel way to store my magnetic reading glasses whilst on court as pictured today, we adjourned to the Auberge St Donat for a pizza. Traditionally this is a boys own evening, the kind of which is much beloved by the Wingco but I had decided to surprise him by inviting wives and children to join us. To say he was not pleased may be a slight understatement. The giant moustachioed one was bristling with indignation, muttering constantly about tradition, and girls and children should never be present, until the consumption of several carafes of table wine had calmed him after about 10 minutes. In this respect his ability to dispatch large quantities of wine in a very short space of time rivals, and even exceeds, the combined abilities of the aforementioned  teenage lay abouts.

To add to his discomfort, that nice lady decorator decided, rather than to leave these teenage locusts lurking on our property, home alone, to invite them out for sprog 1’s last night and join us at this traditional boys gathering, thus the normal tennis 4 became a rather unwieldy table for 12. In this context, the detailed analysis of the earlier tennis did not have its usual intensity, and I confess that I too partook of a little too much wine which is why I cannot recall the result. I do remember that it was a very good game of tennis between four chums in the sunshine and it that which is the most important aspect.  Winning or losing matters not a jot in these circumstances as we are all winners to be able to enjoy such an event.

Chris France

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