Langoustine keeps eye on proceedings

It was always going to be a long haul, and was never going to end well. Two parties on the same day, one after the other was always going to be a tall order, and so it transpired for the weaker half of our nuptial partnership. Proceedings commenced earlier than I had anticipated when we stopped by just before midday to deliver some goodies ahead of lunch. A quick refreshing ale turned into a couple of glasses of rosé in the sunshine and that was before the most wonderful lunch with Roly and Poly Bufton, at which we were treated to the most fantastic seafood platters I have ever seen, was sufficient to send That Nice Lady Decorator into a tailspin of gargantuan proportions, ensuring that she had to retire hurt in cricket parlance, mid way through the first leg. It could have been the fresh oysters, or the half lobster, the dressed crab or the bulots (sea snails) that disagreed with her, but I think it was the oysters.

Very few organisms on this earth can survive a disagreement of those proportions with That Nice Lady Oyster Eater and I suppose one could argue that they did not. I am certain that by the time the oysters were returned to this world, apparently via some projectile vomit, they would already have been dead, which, apparently was exactly how the Decorating Operative wished she was, when regurgitating those little blighters. The sensible ones amongst us, and by that I mean the non oyster eating fraternity of which I count myself a life long member, were unaffected by the same malaise, in fact the whole event was enjoyed hugely by the assembled guest list.

Don’t give me that look. After all, who is going to be eating who?

I took this picture of one particular langoustine which seemed to be keeping its eyes on things. A kind of giant seafaring grasshopper but absolutely delicious.

This ” early bath”, as might have been
described by rugby commentator the late Eddie Waring, taken by That Nice Lady Decorator, meant that she did not actually make it to the later party being staged by Barney Rubble lookalike and contented Currencies Direct customer
Tony “I Invented The Internet” Coombs. Another fabulous spread was laid out on their stunning terrace looking out towards the perfume producing town of Grasse. It was not the only thing that was laid out as I may have taken a very short breather before regrouping a little later. More great food and fine wine was served, although I have a picture of Peachy Butterfield with his customary card Bordeaux, he having eschewed the good stuff in favour if the poor stuff. It is purely a matter if quantity.

Amongst the revellers were Cathie The Culture and the usually missing husband “Hurry Up” Ary, the gorgeous blonde siren Anthea Buck, accompanied by a man called John Buck who must be her father, and of course Pat Coombs, the flame haired temptress and our host celebrating her 30th wedding anniversary, looking magnificent, especially when dancing to the Human League’s “don’t you want me baby” when I swear that wonderful bosom escaped from its restraining straight jacket for a moment during one particularly frenetic movement.

Arriving home courtesy of Sprog 1, who was on driving duty, at a little after midnight, I contemplated a nightcap, but sense and That Nice Lady Decorator, still suffering the effects of a dodgy oyster earlier, prevailed, and I went to bed to contemplate the glorious prospect of doing absolutely nothing today. Not a party in sight and no social occasion in the diary until Monday. What joy!

Chris France
@Valbonne_News