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Final French farewell

January 31, 2013

A last lovely Bloody Mary on the beach in the sun shine at St Laurent du Var, close to Nice airport was a fitting farewell to France, at least for a few weeks. Feeling quite shabby after recent events it was a relief that the flight home was nicely timed in mid afternoon, late enough for a lie in and with enough time for a sharpener on the way to the airport. Our hosts and guardians of our house in Valbonne, the Butterfields, expressed the feeling that although it has been a lot of fun, they were delighted to see us go. The fact that they got us to the airport 3 hours early should in no way be construed as any sort of smear, or comment, they said.

From the sunshine of Cannes, it was almost inevitable that we would fly into the damp, dank and dreary London with a hangover, but it was worse than that, it was windy as well.

Reality is much less interesting than the super charged madness that is MIDEM and it will be a welcome change not to be required to have a drink. The fact that from today onwards it is no longer a requirement to take wine will of course make little difference because having started before we left, what was to be gained by being abstemious?

And so the laborious task of going through the notes made during the various meetings at MIDEM will commence this morning. Apart from momentous music based breakthroughs, there is the matter of the number of companies that could benefit from involving Currencies Direct in their foreign exchange movements. 5% is a lot to save on earnings from abroad. Many will be receiving courtesy calls in the next few days.

St Laurent du Var

Just before the bloody Mary’s arrived on the beach at St Laurent Du Var

The highlights of the week have to be; a Burns Night, dinner with Al Yiddley, a birthday lunch and lunch on the beach at Rado Plage and a final dinner with that old smoothie Anthony “Doc Of The” Bay. It is just a shame they came one after the other as all were epic events which deserved more time to consider and enjoy.

Even the idea, mooted earlier, of popping next door for a pint of Harvey’s was replaced by the decision to take a shower and get into jim jams in front of the fire with a mug of Horlicks. This is what happens to you when you get to 59. Soon I will be getting some slippers and a cardigan.

We have two days to recover before the cream of Muswell Hill, Slash and Burn Thorton-Allan and the steely eyed beauty, his wife, Lisa, descend upon is for the weekend. I am hoping to see some of those cigars he has been promising since we were in Havana nearly a year ago. Hopefully we shall have put behind us the trauma of Sprog 1 reenacting a scene from Project X when a dwarf is put in an oven. My son is not a dwarf and their oven did not survive, and money will change hands to settle the cost of this prank which probably seemed very funny at 5am on New Years Eve morning. I am resigned to being the butt of humour with loads of oven gags being cooked up (there, even I have started).

Today however, my head will be down, working, or possibly in the sand if I still feel the way I do at the moment. Perhaps a stiff walk in the wind on the beach will get me going. maybe I will need a pint at lunchtime? Oops there goes the backbone again.

Chris France

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