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The art of failed photography

September 1, 2012

More Card Board-eaux was consumed by house guest Peachy Butterfield yesterday, both in the afternoon and the evening. He had bought himself 5 litre boxes of both white and rose wine in order to give himself a full house with his box of red which, to his delight, was still there and far from empty in the pav having been quite wisely ignored by all the summer guests at the house.

Earlier in the morning I had been to church at Cafe Latin in Valbonne. Church, the worship by ex-pats of coffee and gossip is an ideal networking opportunity at which I have often found clients delighted to be able to save money by using the services of Currencies Direct for all their foreign exchange transactions.  There was a good turnout of the congregation and I was especially pleased to see my style guru Mr Humphreys, who was free, and to seek a judgement on my red sailing slacks which I had worn on the off-chance that he would be there. Imagine my delight then when he proclaimed that red was a good colour for me. I shall not have to worry about my high blood pressure and resulting florid complexion as much as I had feared.

My picture today was taken aboard l’Exocet a day earlier after the irritating rain had cleared. It is another of my moody and artistic shots for which I am justly unrenowned.

Art, but not as we know it. The view of Cannes shrouded in cloud beneath the mountains.

A late lunch is always a matter of concern. I am suspicious that it is an attempt, usually by girls and especially that nice lady decorator, to reduce ones minimum requirement of three square meals a day. To me, it is an excuse to avoid having supper and if allowed to succeed presents a very dangerous precedent. It also by definition suggests an unacceptably long period between breakfast and lunch.

With Peachy about to become effectively the guardians of our house in Valbonne for the next 9 months, there were important details to be discussed about how the house functions, and what better scenario in which to undertake these talks than over pre (late) lunch drinks in the web in the sunshine. A short thunderstorm was merely a slight diversion. Possibly the most important task with which he was charged, and work that he willingly took on board, was to ensure that my fake plastic banana palm receives sufficient water. His lovely wife will do the rest; the less important tasks such as caring for the swimming pool, mowing the lawn with Terrance the Tractor, lopping of trees, cleaning of terraces, painting of garden furniture, cutting logs and all the other maintenance required.

With negotiations successfully concluded, And the art of delegation alive and well, we felt we were able to unwind and celebrate these tricky discussions with a further glass of wine. For La Peche this involved tapping into one of the wine boxes as described above.

Just three more days are left before we shall start the trek north to England. We shall however be going west before that heading for the Bordeaux region via Castelnaudry, the home of cassoulet, a fine concoction of beans and duck and, I think, leftovers. Rather surprisingly, this visit is something suggested by that nice lady decorator, surprising because thus particular local delicacy, which I love, is often treated in the most pungent fashion by my constitution. Thereafter to the home of wine. The gods are not good though, the car will be full to bursting point, so no room for any local viticultural gems I come across.

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