Spiderman, Lara Croft and Peachy Butterfield

During one’s years on this planet, it is possible that one might encounter one of the true great philosophers of our time. I admit that one would perhaps not be expecting to be enlightened on a wet Sunday in Cannes in January, but yesterday was just that Sunday.

During a supercharged morning of endeavour, fuelled by my certainty that I, or rather Currencies Direct, could improve the lives of anyone still relying on their banks to offer a decent rate of exchange on foreign currency transfers, and to avoid bank charges, I was unaware of what might be about to unfold.

I had collected up That Nice Lady Decorator and headed for one of my favourite beach restaurants on the planet, the sublime Rado Plage on the beach at Cannes. That it was raining and grey mattered not one jot as, apart from the restaurant, there was the prospect of a good deal of fine company with whom to enjoy a convivial lunch on the beach. The lovely head of Currencies Direct France, Pippa Maile, and her monosyllabic husband, the brooding and magnificent Latin rugby playing caveman of a partner and estate agent Gerald, who is always an easy target for a columnist such as myself, the equally stunning and wise Sam Watson from Onboard Online (not to be confused with the infinitely inferior Onboard Magazine set up by her former partner) and last but by no means least that god-like being Peachy Butterfield, accompanied by his exquisite and entirely undeserving (of Peachy) wife, the most excellent Suzanne.

The normal workaday scene one sees in Cannes. Spiderman and Lara Croft fight it on the beach

I say wise but it is a matter of degree because Sam has had the foresight and sense to employ my good self, but sadly the lack of foresight similarly to employ man mountain Peachy Butterfield, to write for her website. If one wants positive rants about road kill, tundra and the “joys” of living in the north of England then there is probably not a person better equipped to produce such twaddle than Le Grand Peche. However she is so gorgeous I can even forgive this lamentable lack of judgement.

So lunch convened at a little after 1.30pm, rather than the appointed 1pm, it being a given that the female contingent would be the last to appear (they always are). It appears that parking was a problem, but as the famous Croisette was largely free of vehicles due to the inclement weather, and there were vast swathes of empty spaces almost directly outside the restaurant, I formed the (probably erroneous) opinion that the problem with parking was merely a matter of gender. I can say this because I was paying, although I suspect that I am in line for a slap when next I see the tardy but magnificent on-line yachting magazine magnate.

It was during a splendid Cannes style Sunday lunch that philosophy, well, according to my gigantic northern pal Peachy, was to rise to the top of the conversation. I was going to say in the manner of when oil rises to the top of water but it was more in the way that the scum one imagines might form in a bowl of hot water when those chaps from up north are out every day scrubbing their front steps. According to my extremely well fed northern friend, as he sat devouring a very large Cote de Boeuf (very well done of course, well, burnt really) many of the worlds greatest explorers such as Magellan, Columbus and whoever first ventured into and discovered the north of England, much to us southerners distaste, were in fact “rich kids on gap years”. then when we were leaving, I spotted the super hero fight on the beach.

One last morning in the maelstrom of international music and I should be safely tucked up in my bed on Arundel this evening, and be spared the warped view of life as illustrated  by my northern cousins.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News