Driving to distraction

Sunday, the favourite day of the week for the Reverend Jeff, was a very quiet affair, with no luncheon invitation, so I had hoped to spend it in melancholic contemplation of my impending return to the UK. Wednesday will see me in the tender embrace of Easyjet, then, again on Thursday as I will fly back for a final weekend in France. I think the church might say “don’t let worry kill you off, the church can help”. I think I know what they mean.

You may think that without That Nice Lady Decorator present, then calmness, peace and quiet would reign, but that hope did not factor in the mobile phone, or more especially, her ability to use her own very effectively. I usually bank on her been utterly inept and impatient with technology, in much the same way as I am inept with tools, but she has almost mastered the iPhone 5, at least well enough to call me every hour on the hour. There is illness in the family, Sprog 2 in England with a fearful cough, and Max, the proper dog, in Valbonne with a similar complaint. For women, I have heard of a drug called Damitol, which I am led to believe will treat most ailments, especially when combined with Nagament. For the dog I think we have Wooferin and Barkimore, which of course are also entirely fictitious. In any event, my hopes for quiet day of reading the Sunday papers and generally doing very little were in tatters by 3pm.

Spotted on the way to get the Sunday papers in Valbonne

As it was Sprog 1’s last night at home before he is evicted to the yachting hostel in Antibes, at huge expense, I took pity on him and we went for a pint of Guinness at the Queens Legs and a take away curry from Le Kashmir. It is a revelation what you can find to eat without a decorating dietician standing guard in the kitchen. Two curries on the trot …oh, I just used that fateful word, excuse me a moment. Right I am back. What was I saying?

She who must be obeyed will be flying back this afternoon via broomstick Easyjet, and will expect the house to be on the perfect order in which she left it, which is a bit unfair given the fact that there was the football on Saturday night, with all that such an event entails, and two guys living together, drinking and eating for several days, and there have been no women in the house (certainly none that I will admit to) and so there has been no one that understands the mechanism of washing up, or how to use that nasty noisy old black thing that sometimes infests the lounge (I do not mean the Reverend Jesse Jackson) which I think it is called a Hoover. In fact you might think we have been Dyson with death but that would be the sort of terrible pun that this column will always avoid. So unless I can find some contract cleaners at very short notice, Sprog 1 and I will this morning be embarking on a steep learning curve about how to clean a house. It’s all right for him, he is moving out today, so guess who will get grief if anything is missed? Well him of course. I am a past master of delegation, especially when it comes to delegating blame.

Just one more thing I need to mention today. I have made no sales pitch today for the fine services of Currencies Direct, because they are closed on a Sunday, but please don’t be put off from making that application to open an account, they will be back at work this morning.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News