Mr Ever Reddy

There was a lot of talk at lunch about the possibility that the tennis match yesterday morning might go unreported, but nothing could be further from the truth. The fact is that, at a crucial time in a 5 set context, lunch intervened in a most pleasant fashion. Regular readers will know that, whilst winning is important to me, it is as nothing compared with some nice exercise and a game of tennis between grown ups. Obviously, I prefer it if there is a clear winner, and that winner is me, usually with the impediment of an errant partner, but if there is a drawn or undecided outcome then that is also fine with me. Such an outcome occurred yesterday when, two sets down, lunch called before we (the Wingco and I, aka the MOGS) Were just beginning to gain the upper hand over Blind Lemon Milsted and the Master Mariner Mundell.

The Master was playing particularly well and in a very aggressive fashion, which we put down to his attempt to give up, or at least reduce, his smoking habit. 220 euros spent on some upmarket fake cigarettes by a careful spender smacks of a kind of desperation which is difficult to reconcile with his very masculine persona. Some of us have spotted, and indeed remarked upon, the softening (not a word with which he is entirely comfortable) of his male credentials in recent times, and some of us have our own theories about why this is and what has caused it, but this is not a matter to be discussed here. Suffice to say that there may be a malign or benign (depending upon your viewpoint) influence coming to bear. I for one like the new Master.

With tennis interrupted by lunch, and after a very hard time was handed out the Master who was “smoking” one of his new and very expensiveness e cigarettes, our combined focus turned towards the man with a fishy name who had joined us, Currencies Direct customer Nick Perch (pronounced peerurrch according to him). He was talking about this column, and so it was my duty to listen. However, it seems that he was saying that he would prefer to go shopping to having to read my blog. This of course elicited some disagreement from me, although it is fair to say that the rest of the luncheon party seemed unaccountably to have some sympathy with him.

It did not take long for the Wingco to get into his usual grammar school baiting mode and to trot out one of his favourite put downs, that one of the subjects at my school was the hot wiring and nicking of cars, which according to the Wingco was also my favourite school pastime. I must see if I did get O level in car theft.

A cravat with a sports shirt? you decide.

We were also joined for lunch by Loudmouth Largy, resplendent in a cravat above a sports shirt on the basis that is was cold this far north of Cannes, where he lives. He is bereft of female company at present and asked me to include this advert in my column: “Debonair Old Harrovian seeks female company for fun, 36-50 years old, need sense of humour”. Well, one would need a very well-developed sense of humour to be able to contemplate such a liaison.

After a siesta, it was up and ready for the football where England, after a shaky start, held away. It was after this that, when watching the news with the Wingco, who had gatecrashed my watching of the match, that we watched a report about a huge typhoon which is about to hit India. I am sure that the population of India will be pleased to know that the Indian government department in charge of coordinating the evacuation response is a Mr Reddy.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News