Indolence, debauchery and excess on hold

It seems that I left the Bistro Rally winners celebrations at a timely moment. The first beer had been cracked at around 11, just after the start on Monday and by 7pm, following a hearty and heart-felt celebration aboard L’Exocet, which included some rip roaring rock and roll, I felt I had celebrated enough and headed for home. Already, blood had been drawn when our leader and captain, and Currencies Direct client the Master Mariner Mundell had fallen and damaged that very Jewish nose of his, but it seems harp player Jeroen Zaat (crazy name, crazy guy) was also injured later on in the evening, much later and more blood was shed. I have not got to the bottom if exactly what hope happened but I have heard that it involves running after a car in a thoroughly inebriated state, and I seen a blurred photo of the injured parties and it is not a pretty sight, certainly not pretty enough for this column.

So today, what? Well, I need to a clear out my office ready for the all too soon return to dear old Arundel for the winter, there is some gardening, I must clear the garage and I have some music work to do. Do you see how incredibly tedious life has become without a drink?

I shall have to rely on events that have taken place during the summer for much of the copy for the coming two weeks as I have decided to take a two week sabbatical from alcohol. I know that you will not believe me, in fact I can hardly believe it myself, and I know I have form when it comes to failing to avoid strong drink, especially when I have been in print explaining my intentions, but an alarmingly high liver count, the only real cloud on the blood test horizon, tells the obvious story and even had me calling Dr Ireland, that almost excellent fellow in Valbonne, for guidance. I thought that at the very least I would be looking at a liver transplant, but it seems that two weeks off the pop will see me recover, and when I consider the events of the summer I should not be surprised.

The problem is that when there is no party and nothing happens, then this column, about living amongst the idle rich, has no foundation for its copy. I thrive on the indolence, excess, debauchery and high living of my friends and it is this upon which the writing of this column depends for its fuel. Thus memories will have to be pressed into service. You can already see the signs: today’s post is not about yesterday’s events, it is about those of the day before. I shall no doubt regress from here.

No, I cant go on, nothing is happening and I feel naked…

I think the statue above, photographed late last week in Naples (you see, we are already going further back) says it all. I am stripped naked of material and pretty unhappy about it and this statue sums it up perfectly. Lets see you limerick writers, who have been hard at it in the comments section, make up something happy about that!!

I see there is a Braderie (a French term for an end of season sale) in Valbonne this weekend, but thankfully I have been chosen to play cricket instead. Cricket? In the south of France? I hear you say (hallucinations are common in these situations), but yes. There are several teams in the area and I once played for Cabris, who’s cricket pitch is actually at St Vallier de Thiey just north of Grasse, the perfume capital. It has been instigated by Peter Blue Water  Bennett, apparently at the drunken behest of myself and the Wingco at some time during the summer, and which I do not recall.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News