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Caspar, the ghost writer?

July 26, 2012

It was always going to happen. Public schoolboys do not react well when grammar school boy oiks achieve something to which they can only aspire. My having an article published by The Daily Telegraph, that bastion of conservatism, hitherto the reading material for the upper middle classes, landed gentry and those that were sent by their parents to schools with names like Wellington, was too much to bear, so to say I was looking forward to meeting up with a prime example of this ilk, an old Wellingtonian himself, to discuss this was an understatement of the highest order.

Thus, with a smirk on my face as wide as the Grand Canyon, I headed for Valbonne Square for an encounter with chief fag toaster himself, Mr Clipbeard, to discuss the merits of said article which was published this week and you can read by clicking here. I had taken the liberty of forwarding the link to it just to be sure that he was fully aware of the public relations debacle that was about to engulf him.

His first retort questioned whether its publication in this very sober journal was a set up for “Jim’ll Fix It’, a popular TV programme from our youth in which Jimmy Saville sought to give no – hopers a chance to live their dream. Magnanimity had, as I had expected, no place at this dinner table. His next line of attack was to ask who wrote it. Surely I had a ghost writer? He said, although this one I did not understand. What would Caspar have to do with it? But no matter, nothing he said could permeate that feeling of well-being that resides with me even now despite his continual attempts to belittle this achievement. I do hope it is such a bone of contention that he will continue his disdain at tennis this afternoon, then I will be certain it hurts. As soon as he calls me Boycie, a reference to the used car salesman character in another popular TV comedy series, I will know for certain I have got to him.

Mr Clipbeard makes his point about a ghost writer

Yes, tennis, the very last game of which I shall be playing in this chapter of my life, as we leave tomorrow morning for a new life in the UK, with only a brief week’s holiday back in Valbonne in late August. I have laid out my winter clothing because, despite a heat wave in England at the moment, there is a quiet certainty that I will be rained on at some stage the first day I set foot back there on Sunday. Two days to get back I hear you ask? It is perfectly simple. We have to travel through the heart of some of the best wine country in the world, so it would be a lost opportunity not to stop somewhere en route to sample the local delights, so where better than Beaune, the centre of Burgundy.

Also, I find it very difficult to drive past the magnificent Chateau Du Cocove, an oasis in the terminally boring and usually damp hinterland of Calais, so difficult in fact that I have decided not to drive past it at all, but to drive to it and stay on Saturday night for one last great culinary French experience before it is back to fish covered in batter, Cornish pasties, pork pies and other English delicacies.

You may think that my efforts to capture clients for Currencies Direct may wither and die when in Arundel, but nothing could be further from the truth. Although I accept the locals may have no concept of what is foreign exchange, I feel it is my duty to educate them, and who knows, perhaps there are similar tax exiles in residence who will understand?

Chris France

5 Comments leave one →
  1. Pinman (With a nod to Reverend Jeff)........ permalink
    July 26, 2012 10:08 am

    We’ve watched you playing tennis and every kind of game,
    At cricket golf and drinking you also made your name.
    But now this country calls you to pay your profit tax.
    In this and other matters
    You must have been quite lax.
    So go and join the exiles
    And face up to the facts……….


    For London Pride and Sussex both need you so.
    We shall try hard not to forget you
    With all our might and main
    We shall drink your share of rosé
    ‘Til France comes to France again


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