A line about washing

As I sat in the web just before sundown I thought the beers tasted a bit odd. The bottles bore the legend ” Pure Malt” but it was after the third one had no effect, that I had a good look at the bottle and found to my distress that they were alcohol free. What is the point of that? Its like unsweetened sugar, or bland curry, or soya meat, what purpose does it serve?

Apparently they were bought for now departed sprog 1 who had wisely declined to drink them and then in a misplaced sense of helpfulness, having inspired the drinking of all my real beers, he kindly filled up the fridge with bottles full of this filth. It is a cruel trick to play on a thirsty old man.

Obviously with the first day of the Test Match between England and South Africa on Sky TV, all my work for Currencies Direct had to be completed before the first ball was bowled, but as previously explained, if one works at the intensity I do, a full days work can be completed in less than an hour.

My picture today is a disaster. It was meant to be a moody shot through this crystal ball looking at the sunset. Firstly I missed the sunset, then, having taken the shot I noticed the peg in the background. The washing line can clearly be seen. A washed up shot from a man who himself should be pegged out to dry.

Lets put a line through this

More tennis beckons today, which means yet again I will miss church at Cafe Latin, my final chance before I depart for England next Friday. What I will not missing under any circumstances though is the traditional post tennis lunch at the Auberge St Donat, where I seem to have spent a lot of time lately. A new grouping tomorrow may put me alongside Blind Lemon Milsted against apparent misogynist and old Harrovian Largy, obviously short for lager. This challenge will be dismissed by the Mognipotent one, although with no Wingco patrolling the net, it will be a rather different experience.

Last night I slipped up to the pav for some cheese and biscuits and a glass of Les Pierres Plats, a favorite Roussillon red, whilst that nice lady decorator flopped down exhausted and went to sleep watching Poirot. What a coincidence? because that programme does the same for me. She has an excuse though, she is madly cleaning, boxing stuff and generally preparing for our move next week and is so tired she even rejected a last minute invitation to meet up with Roly and Poly, with whom we are supposed to be going on their boat for lunch in Villefranche Sur Mer on Sunday. I say supposed because I have seen the weather forecast and I am not sure I am quite ready for thunderstorms at sea and there is the small matter of the vast amount of work to do prior to next Friday’s tearful farewell..

And so, just a week to go although we will return for a weeks holiday at the end of August. I have decided to keep blogging through the move if only to spite the Wingco and Dancing Greg Harris from Cote d’ Azur Villa Rentals who we happened upon on Wednesday evening dining at the aforementioned Auberge. This was the evening dear readers, when he claimed he was unable to play due to pressure of work. He was dining with his lovely wife the maid Marion. You will not be surprised to hear that I gave him a fearful hard time, richly deserved for such an obvious act of cowardice. Rackets at dawn I say.

Chris France