When the cat is away…

A sudden and extreme thunderstorm swept through the Côte D’Azur yesterday morning, rearranging much of my poolside furniture, much of it being swept into the swimming pool itself, and making a mockery of the idea of leaving the windows in the house open . In England we often get sideways drizzle, this was more like a sideways monsoon, which felled trees across the province, and had us trapped in the chalet for half an hour before relenting. But as is normal, the sun returned and by lunchtime, the tennis having been postponed, I found myself at La Cantina in Mouans Sartoux for lunch with Mr Clipboard and his beautiful wife Ashley.

Normally well turned out, Mrs Clipboard was distressed, as was I by the greasy marks besmirching her very lovely turquoise dress, claiming that as she had left the house she thought she had splashed herself with water. Frankly, I was the one that needed to be splashed with water , but that was another story, for which I do not have room in today’s, Currencies Direct inspired missive. Suffice to say that the lovely Ashley and a little bit of dirt was a rather lovely concept to embrace over lunch, and I do not want to dwell on her gentle rubbing of the flimsy floaty cloth whilst we ordered.

Former public schoolboy and Old Wellingtonian Mr Clipboard, was at his upper class and politically incorrect best when That Nice Lady Decorator expressed an interest in some glacons (French for ice cubes) In order to keep her wine cool. Mr Clipboard’s eyes lit up when she made the order as he had heard “garçons” instead glacons, and was all set for some public school “entertainment” as a result. I am certain that, although very well masked, his sense of disappointment when they arrived, rather than some delicious young boys was palpable. The meal was exemplary, with home made fois gras, and an excellent scallop and prawn risotto which was up there with the best. I smell a Michelin star somewhere in the future.

Wind can be a fearful enemy. I myself fear the wind, from wherever it may come. It is true to say that I have been accused in the past of producing wind at a rate and with a strength of aroma that has not always found favour amongst my friends. There is a curious subjective influence at work here. One’s own emissions are nearly always the subject of immense self satisfaction and even joy, but when one is subjected to other people’s inferior productions, I confess that I am often less enamoured. The wind yesterday was of a much more ambivalent aroma. Often after a storm one can be subjected to the mistral, and although yesterday was breezy, it was a very pleasant kind of wind. However, it did have the effect of postponing the Cannes firework display, due to be staged by the French, until this evening, when we hope to attend aboard the Master Mariner’s sailing boat.

Carved into a rock in the Valmasque

With no evening social engagement, we decided on a walk with the dogs, during which I took today’s photo, but that just created a thirst. On a Monday night, even in high season, which is now, many a bar and restaurant remain closed. This is not true of The Queens Legs, which is (are?) open every day, but may soon be closed for good. It seems that our village pub may have been an outlet for unscrupulous people supplying Colombian marching powder and the French equivalent of its landlord is currently detained by the French at the equivalent of her majesty’s pleasure whilst investigations continue. We stayed with the black stuff, Guinness rather than the white powder.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News
@Valbonne_News