Table dancing again

I was pretty pleased that yesterday was a later start than Saturday for my MIDEM appointments. I think a first meeting at 1pm is quite early enough, especially after another big night in the Valbonnaise the night before. I had forgotten that things got a bit out of hand when that Nice Lady Decorator joined the lovely Chantel, who owns the joint, dancing on the tables. You would have thought that after her recent triple salka over a table whilst dancing on another table at lunch with the Wyatt Earp of Arundel, the lovely Kathryn just a week or so ago, she would have exercised more caution, but in her defence, she has been at the tender mercy of party provider Peachy Butterfield for much of the day.  I have a picture below that captured the danger to which she was exposed.

Dancing on the tables at The Valbonnaise

Talking of danger,  I risked the bus again, which had not turned out well on the return trip from Cannes  on Saturday, when the bus was cancelled but nobody thought to let the waiting customers know, and resulted in me pressing money into the voracious hands of the Cannes taxi drivers.

Meetings finished, it seemed right to retire for a sharpener at about 6pm after a long day of ensuring the music industry is healthy enough to endure another year, I was joined a little later by that Nice Lady Decorator, man mountain Peachy Butterfield, in particularly thirsty form, and his lovely and as willowy as he is wide, wife Suzanne at the  Carlton to meet northern comedy lawyer Al Yiddley for an impossibly expensive glass of champagne. If you were to be shocked that a pre dinner drinks bill could come to 220 euros then I suggest you sit down now.

Al was on top form as usual, uttering a string of abrasive comments and making a number of tasteless observations including one about a chap called Ben Dover that I simply cannot repeat here. From there we walked around the back of the Marriott Hotel to a restaurant with a growing reputation called Pastis where Suzanne and I shared  a simply exquisite Chateaubriand.

Before that I had met up with a number of old cronies, the oldest and most crony like being dance guru John Saunderson and at least one new potential client for the services of  Currencies Direct. Henry Semmence, expect a call as soon as you get back.

Today is a day off for me given that someone is commiserating a nearly significant birthday and my presence is required. To be honest, after the last few days, and as I write this at a sleepless moment at 6am, I would rather crawl into a hole and die rather than face another drink, but by midday I am certain I will have recovered and be back in the saddle.

The gathering will take place at Auberge Provençal in the square in the centre of Valbonne.  A Myriad of characters who have received coverage in this column, most of it unfavourable, are expected to attend. The Wingco, Dancing Greg Harris, Blind Lemon Milsted, the Cornish Tsunami, the Naked Politician, Anthony “Dock Of The” Bay, plus a range of the usual suspects will number in the throng to pay homage to, well, me.  In fact anybody who is in the area is welcome as I am not paying.

Then one last fling, lunch on the beach tomorrow in Cannes with long time music biz pal Pete Charlcroft, who has somehow worked his way up to be President of the US arm of Notting Hill Music from very lowly beginnings and then I will be allowed to go back to England for a rest.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News