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Speedo wearer outed in Plascassier?

September 10, 2013

Commuting into Cannes brought back the old nasty memories of when I had to commute to London each day. Admittedly yesterday, I did not have to leave the house until just after midday, and was back by 4.30 and lunch on the beach was included, so not quite so bad as it was. But work has to be done occasionally, even by me, so needs must when the devil drives (what on earth does that mean?, perhaps it is something to do with the dead hand of the Reverend Jeff?). I took this picture of a devil of a piece of “art” whilst there.

crap modern art in Cannes

This guy could use some speedos…

I took the bus. A successful author on public transport. Imagine that. Air conditioned, no parking problems, and at the cost of 1 euro 50, around £1.25 at today’s excellent Currencies Direct exchange rates, it is a very civilised and cheap way to go to work. Lunch was taken at Rado Plage, my favourite beach restaurant in Cannes. Business was done and the international music business is safe for the time being.

Like buses which tend to come along together, having not made it to the beach in over two months that we have been in the south of France, we are due once again in Cannes today to meet old friends Pauline and Gordon “Pink Panther” Cato. I had not made the connection before but was Cato not the name of Inspector Clouseau’s assistant? We were going to take the train but it appears there may be a rail strike in France today, and a lesser author than myself might have been tempted to remark that the Pink Panther Strikes Again.

Lets be clear about it, I was the only real winner at tennis. With Blind Lemon Milsted and Dancing Greg Harris both delayed, and the Wingco only his usual 7 minutes behind schedule, we played a game of singles and I was 4-1 up when Dancing Greg arrived. We played one round of American doubles, which Greg and I won, before the afterthought of some doubles tennis in which I felt it would be too greedy to win again, especially as it is close the Wingco’s birthday, the main excuse for dinner last night at Auberge St Donat.

It was over this dinner that the lovely Maryse, the Wingco’s wife, revealed that she has a penchant for men in speedos, those brief and unfashionable swimming trunks that err…hug ones contours. She came over all dreamy eyed when discussing Sean Connery emerging from the sea in an early James Bond movie, and from the way the Wingco was reacting I formed the opinion that he may be the proud but secret owner of a pair. He was coy when pressed so I “carped” (carped, coy? Please try to keep up) on about it and in my opinion it is certain. I asked if he might consider wearing them the next time we are out on a yacht but I am pretty sure he will not. I think they are reserved for private showings only.

With discussions turning away from personal swimwear, I mentioned that we will be going to Germany tomorrow and Peachy Butterfield, who with the lovely Suzanne had joined us post tennis, about his problem when he was last there. It seems that it was in those dim and distant says in the past when he had a job and he was in a rush. Finding the car parks near the convention he was attending all full, he had parked his car on a street. Not knowing the town, he had made a note of the road name which was something like
Einerstrasse. When attempting to retrieve it after his business was done, and asking one of the locals where he might find the street with that name, he was told that it was German for “one street”. The car was not found until the next day.

Chris France

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