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In tray, out tray, cat tray

September 7, 2013

Despite a torn fetlock, and being partnered with one of the weakest players on our circuit, myself and Dancing Greg Harris from Côte d’Azur Villa Rentals were on our way to trouncing our opponents, The Wingco and Master Mariner Mundell, before my partner became over excited and blew up after we had won the first set 6-2. In the end, with honours even we retired for a late lunch at Auberge St Donat.

I say late, because initially, when we were told that they were full, and no booking existed (testament to how powerful this blog, which is constantly praising this fine establishment, has become – there can be no other reason). This was clearly a major disaster, the responsibility for which rested with Dancing Greg, whose clear duty it was to make the reservation. Thus we had to wait at the Vignale for as long as it took to drink a couple of post tennis beers, before going there to pull rank. With rank pulled, and a table secured, lunch began as normal and discussions commenced about the mornings work.

I am not saying he is mean, but Dancing Greg was the first to leave, ensuring that he paid exactly his 15.50 euro share of lunch. Obviously his commitment to the concept of a tip is seriously under developed. Perhaps, like Peachy Butterfield, his tip might be of a more practical nature such as not to boil woollens. As rich as he is, Greg treats every euro as it were one of his children, and he loves his children.

cat tray office

Spotted at Riviera Insurance Brokers in Valbonne last week

Earlier, I had panicked as That Nice Lady Decorator, bereft of any serious retail therapy for some weeks, could stand it no more and had departed for shopping to Vingtimilia in the vehicle containing my tennis gear, or so I thought. Having secured a spare racket, I discovered my tennis bag on the drive on my way out. My first thought was that she had noticed it immediately and deposited it there as a kind and thoughtful gesture, as a good wife would in the circumstances, but as I approached it, there was an unmistakable aroma of old sweaty tennis gear pervading the garden and I formed the opinion that perhaps it had been jettisoned for another reason.

Following the traditional siesta, I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 7pm sharp, ready to meet up later with Currencies Direct affiliate Peter Blue Water Bennett and his considerably more attractive wife Julie for dinner at Terra Rossa in Valbonne, which was my treat dammit, as a gesture after staying at their wonderful Cornish mill in June. Some might say that 2 bottles of an excellent Bordeaux and 2 bottles of Sancerre might have seemed a little excessive for 4 people, but I do not take that view. We were there for a very long time and were the last to leave the restaurant in Valbonne Square, (indeed I thought I spotted one of the waiters in his pyjamas) but the mistake they made was in bringing us chaps cognacs, which were at least quadruples. No self-respecting diner could refuse such a lovely gesture, and not to have finished this excellent treat, provided on the house, would have been rude in the extreme.

As far as I can recollect this morning, there is not a social occasion scheduled today, but, as usual, I may be disavowed of this opinion once That Nice Lady Snorer awakens. I am vagely aware of a lunch on Sunday, more aware of tennis on Monday, and less aware of a beeach day on Tuesday. Clarity awaits.

Chris France

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