Train strike, quelle surprise

Today’s picture was taken from a doctor’s surgery, where I was waiting to have what turned out to be an all clear on my knee. This is the kind of surgery view I like, somewhat different to what one might expect when gazing out of the steamed up windows of the health centre in Arundel I’ll warrant.

The view from the knee specialists surgery in Mouans Sartoux

Packing was again an irritating pastime yesterday, and during the drudgery I was asked by That Nice Lady Decorator what I would like to do with the hitherto unsold copies of my book, The Valbonne Monologues.  She implied that the sales total, a magnificent 143, which admittedly has changed little, in fact not at all, in the past two weeks, suggested that sales had stagnated (not a word I would like to entertain in close proximity to my book). I replied that, as it was about to be presented widely by my agent at the Frankfurt Book Fair this coming week, that they should be put away carefully as they would undoubtedly become valuable collectors items when the major publishing deal is signed, and film rights are sold in the scrabble that will follow the exhibition, as is almost inevitable in my opinion. I think It is fair to say that this is not an opinion she shares and she had a nasty little cackle when she made the comment “never mind, when we get back in April, we will have something with which to light the fire”.

With the alarming prospect of having to return to England in 10 days time, and with the sun out, I suggested that given the short time we have left in France, we should make the most of the opportunities and take the train to Juan les Pins for lunch on the beach.  It was a suggestion accepted with alacrity by the Decorating Operative, who was feeling decidedly jaded after a girlie night out in Cannes during MIPCOM the night before. However, we had not factored in the propensity of the French train drivers to strike more or less weekly, I think because their snails were undercooked on the staff canteen or some equally ludicrous flimsy excuse, and so, with no trains running and Sprog 1 available to drive, we decided to got to the restaurant at the St Donat golf course.

Two bottles of a rather splendid Haut Medoc were dispatched over a very nice three hour lunch in delightful weather, which is forecast to come to an end after today. That is why we made it an extended lunch, it may be the last one we enjoy outside together this year.

Back in the pav for a sundowner was another delight that we may not be able to repeat on this trip, especially as, later on, it became clear that the world of music requires my presence in the UK next Thursday, so I shall be subjected to the vagaries of Easyjet in the very near future. This has the effect of reducing by two full days the time I have left here, a very sobering thought.

The more eagled eyed of you will have noticed that there has been no mention of the wonderful foreign exchange services of Currencies Direct yet in today’s column. This is because there have been some laudable attempts at limericks on the comments section and I did not want you all to be over faced, with the exception of Christine, who has still not made her application as promised. Christine, I know where you live. expect a visit.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News