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An old bore writes

July 27, 2013

Whilst we partook of a cold beer after an excruciatingly hot but very enjoyable 90 minutes of tennis at the Vignale yesterday, I spotted a chap playing on the show court (where naturally I expect, without any foundation, to play,) a chap that looked like he may be able to give even myself a run for his money on the tennis court. Benoit Paire (for it was he) was giving some kind of exhibition, but had the small group who had gathered to watch him, spent some time watching our doubles match instead, they may have learned a thing or two about life and tennis.

He may be ranked No 27 in the world and No 5 in France, but I reckon I could teach him a thing or two about the deep lob (as opposed to the half lob, about which I have been told but never experienced) had he deigned to leave his teenage coterie and come over to talk to some real tennis players. He did not, so his chance to receive a signed copy of The Valbonne Monologues from the successful author himself, went begging.

A quick internet search showed his pedigree, and another French name, above Benoit in the rankings, one Richard Gaskin, prompted the Wingco to comment that he believed that M. Gaskin had blown it, which was a joke I wished I had made.

Wild bore sees wild boar

Wild boar near Auberge de la Source

Later, we lunched, as is the tradition, at Auberge St Donat, in a group of 10 before leaving for a pit stop at pav 2 with Roly and Poly Bufton on the way home. It was whilst we were considering events over several glasses of rose that the matter of the tip at the restaurant came to be discussed. I am always of the opinion that a generous tip is a wise investment in the future at any eateries which are sufficiently good to deserve another visit. It is the kind if wise financial move a little like ensuring that ones foreign exchange needs are taken care of by Currencies Direct. In other words it is an example of financial probity.

Peachy Butterfield was allowed out for a rare lunch and whilst on the surface embracing the concept of the tip, reverted to typical northern type when he made it clear that the only gratuity our delightful French waiter could expect might just be a tip about life, rather than having any monetary value. When pressed his tip was “don’t boil woollens” which is, in its own way, worthwhile, if not quite what had been hoped for. It may have been a tad more useful if the poor chap understood English, particularly when delivered in a nasal northern whine.

You would think, as I did, until I was disavowed of that opinion, that as we had endured a long day with plenty to drink and full on social experience, that a quiet evening at home might be a wise course of action to follow. Thinking is clearly for dummies as That Nice Lady Decorator, having awoken thirsty from her siesta, wanted to be taken to the Auberge de la Source at Sophia Antipolis for a walk along the river and a couple of beers thereafter. The fact that I had played tennis for two hours in 33 degree heat was as nothing, and so I was forced into a route march around the Valmasque from where we took today’s picture of the sanglier, wild boar, also out for an evening stroll. There must be a joke that a lesser writer than myself might make here about borish behaviour, but not I, oh no.

Chris France

3 Comments leave one →
  1. Rev. Jeff permalink
    July 27, 2013 10:38 am

    I agree borish behaviour is not your sty-le…..

    What no further comment about your golf gaffe……


  2. August 25, 2013 4:51 pm

    Nice article, It was funny.


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