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Monkeying about with a golf course

September 5, 2013

Bored with ironing, I was told I was taking That Nice Lady Ironing Decorator to lunch. Chateau Begude was at its most hospitable, a lovely setting great food and decent although expensive wine were the pretext for the customary post lunch siesta, a necessity whilst it is still so hot. It was not, however, ideal preparation for the evening.

The powers that be have ruined the second half of this otherwise nice golf course to engineer the new 18th hole into arriving at the clubhouse, but that did at least give us a chance, over a very decent lunch, to sit and criticise those poor sops out there in 32 degree heat, just waiting to get to the clubhouse for a beer. I say ruin because of the changes to the course itself, but a few additions to the decor, such as the one featured in today’s photograph, have done nothing to improve its aesthetic appeal.

monkey on a golf course

another failed “improvement” to Chateau Begude golf course

The reconvening of the tennis wars commenced at 6pm, or rather it would have had the Wingco been on time. Anyone who knows the Wingco will know that time management is not his strong suit. Ask him to name each chord in succession on “Hey Joe” or any other Jimi Hendrix song and he would rattle it off with alacrity. Ask him to be somewhere at 6pm and almost inevitably one is still on the lookout for him at ten past. We have a theory that a unit of time of 7 minutes (a Wingco) is the minimum time that he will be late for any appointment. Today he was three Wingco’s late for tennis, which is bad, even by his poor time keeping standards. We have tried to off set the Wingo effect by claiming that tennis has been booked for 5.53 or even 5.46 (a double Wingco) in a futile attempt to get him there on time, but so far to no avail.

Because I had lunched well, including the consumption of a small bottle of a cheeky local red, I was expecting a tougher than usual battle on the tennis court. It is not normally considered as a contact sport, but emotions can run high, and so it proved as newly promoted ball boy and Currencies Direct affiliate, Dancing Greg Harris from Côte d’Azur Villa Rentals (who has yet to secure a tenant for our Valbonne house in winter – click the link – that’s the highlighted but, for details) and Blind Lemon Milsted were once again overcome by the masters of their craft, the MOGS (Mustachiod Old Gits) as the dream pairing of myself and the Wingco have come to be known. Coming from 3-1 down in the second set to win 6-4, 6-3 was another triumph amongst a string of triumphs this summer. I am unbeaten on this trip, despite often being partnered with inferior players, an opinion I ventured at post tennis dinner at Auberge St Donat, still open in the evenings at present. I do like a lively discussion.

That discussion turned livelier when we got the bill. Dancing Greg had said choose a Côte Du Rhone, so I did. Gigondas is one of the better wines from that area, but it appears that the one I chose, or rather the two bottles that I chose – there were four of us and Blind Lemon was drinking beer – was 32 euros a pop, considerably more per head than the food. Their fixed luncheon menus, including wine is 15.50 euros, so a lot of moaning and groaning from the far from impecunious gathering was visited unfairly visited upon me, and there was a suggestion that perhaps I should pay, a ridiculous concept, except for a time last year when it seems I paid for dinner for everyone having been awoken in a tired state at the dinner table at Capricco and asked to enter my pin number in the machine. It was only the day after I discovered this subterfuge, and reminded them of that. If I had expected a guilty silence I was disappointed.

Chris France

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