Ducks off

The snobs tabloid! That was how The Daily Telegraph was described by Mr Clipbeard at the last night supper at the Auberge St Donat on Thursday evening. I was being congratulated by Mrs Clipbeard, the lovely Ashley for my contribution to that bastion of conservatism at the time, and I think the green eye of jealousy got the better of him. How. Can one describe one of the most respected dailies in the world just because a grammar school oik wrote an article for them?

I have heard of penis envy but not journalist envy, and frankly I was not prepared for it. The day would have been perfect except for having to partner fellow MOG the Wingco at tennis. Watching him at the net from my custom mary position at the back the court on Thursday after he had lunched rather too well was like watching a drunk chase a balloon in the wind beside a cliff.

Last night we had a plan to meet up with Mr Clipbeard again, this time in Burgundy as we are both heading back to the UK and I thought it would be another good opportunity to discuss my new and successful career as a national newspaper journalist. On the drive up that nice lady decorator spotted a Dacia Lodgy, a nasty looking little car that she said sounded like an unresolved case of constipation.

So beers in Beaune followed by Burgundy in Burgundy. The town of Beaune is a beautiful historic place full of interesting buildings with distinctive local roof tiling, 15th century wine caves and pretty hotels, but we were staying at the most hideous concrete jungle, The Metropole, a hotel exhibiting the worst excesses of 1970’s design complete with swirly floral carpets and chrome everywhere, an utter horror. Given previous for, you will not be surprised to know, that the choice of abode was made by Mr Clipbeard who took it upon himself not to book any of the charming and delightful hotels that festoon the heart of this village, plumping for a monstrous carbuncle not even in the centre. From this description you may also not be surprised to know that I had an altercation with a very inhospitable and unhelpful member of their staff over the booking, too mundane to amplify here.

Whilst I settled for snails and a steak, one of our party chose the duck, which seemed to distress Mrs Clipboards permanent travelling companion, I believe she calls Daffy, who is pictured today covering her eyes at the very idea of eating her relatives. I think she wanted to duck the question.

How canard can it be?

Later, back in the bar which had been carefully vacuumed of any atmosphere to see the Olympic Games opening ceremony where I got talking to some Brits. You never know where you will find the next customer for Currencies Direct.

So today, our last day in France revolves around a quick trot around this morning before driving up to Calais to stay in the exquisite Chateau Du Cocove, one of my favorite hotels, and one that I had booked myself rather than leaving it to a public schoolboy moron with no idea.  A fabulous dinner will no doubt ensue and then….that’s it, back to England and a life of drudgery and damp. It even rained a little last night in Beaune in order no doubt to begin the acclimatisation to English weather. The lovely Julie commented yesterday in the section below that I have apparently missed the 4 day summer which ends the day I arrive, how apt.

Chris France