Lamb to the peroxide slaughter

It was lucky we did not play tennis as I was in a weakened state. Two days without a drink and then the clinic taking most of my blood out of one arm, my serving arm, (Tony Hancock would know what I mean), was enough to make me determined to enjoy a good lunch if I could get to the restaurant unaided.

This was taken at Auberge St Donat, to where I eventually managed to get thanks to Sprog 1, who helped me into and out of the car and helped me into the restaurant. Thus it was important for health reasons for me to eat and drink sufficiently to repair my constitution and I am glad to say that this enterprise was a success.

I was joined by Blind Lemon Milsted, the Wingco and the very fishy Nick Pearch, who has, so far, not succumbed to the pressure from me to buy a copy of my book, on the ridiculous pretext that he was not in it. A small oversight I admit, but grounds for not purchasing? I am afraid not. Whilst we were preparing for lunch, the joyous news arrived that I has sold 3 more copies of that self-same book, The Valbonne Monologues, via the Kindle, that wonderful digital book reading invention this month, taking sales to 143, a magnificent achievement, if only in my own Currencies Direct addled mind.

Perhaps, given the undeserved antipathy with which this sterling publication has been greeted by those who appear in it (minus, it appears, one Pearch, N) this wonderful news, which the excited part of me could not resist passing on to the assembled luncheon gathering, was greeted with slightly less enthusiasm than it was by my good self. I admit to having been overcome with emotion, and perhaps a lap of honour, with arms held aloft, was not the appropriate mode of celebration one would expect from an aged and now even more successful author.

This spontaneous outpouring of emotion was regarded by the Wingco with a jaundiced eye. He has long been of the entirely erroneous opinion that my writing is “ghastly” and even the more obvious commercial success of my publication venture was insufficient to affect his opinion. In fact, it seemed to entrench it. Jealousy is such a cruel taskmaster don’t you think?

Lunch was a great success, filled with laughter, anecdotes and, for reasons I never understood, limericks. Having some Irish blood in me, I have always been well disposed towards Limerick humour and I wish I could remember the best of them, but that is age and drink for you.

Last night after the customary siesta and with That Decorating person out somewhere, I sloped up to La Kavanou, the charming wine bar in the back streets of Valbonne. It is close to the Kashmir Indian restaurant and the aroma, as I sat outside, was sufficient to lure me there for a late dinner. I was going to have the lamb, but today’s picture put me off.

Don’t you just hate when peroxide does that?

It seems that our planned luncheon today has been postponed due to illness, yet I find myself perfectly well. So where is the justice in that? Instead I fear that some gardening duties may befall me, so things can hardly get any worse, unless I can think of something that might divert That Nice Lady Gardener. Rest assured I shall be spending the morning thinking and with my gardening gloves to hand. There must and will be an alternative. It is the weekend and I am determined to enjoy it after a very successful week.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News