Unwise choice of colour

I thought I had got away without being properly Peachied on Thursday evening, despite much provocation in the form of Limoncello, the lemon based Italian liquor to which Peachy Butterfield is partial, however I had not reckoned on the Bucks Fizz that he insisted serving with breakfast yesterday morning. We had stayed overnight and needed be to ready to face a long day of shifting boxes and unpacking, and Peachy insisted that a couple of good stiff ones would get us in the mood. Whilst quite welcome when administered, they did not do anything to help when we commenced the task in hand.

Eventually, the house began to take shape in the late afternoon, just after Sprog 2 arrived home, ready to help. She had flown into Nice at 9am and it took her until 4 pm to get to Valbonne, due to a long standing luncheon engagement. It was a clear case of work avoidance, which, had it been me doing the avoiding, I would have been justifiable proud , but because her late arrival put pressure on me, I was less impressed. She clearly takes after her mother. Then as a reward, we gathered up Sprog 1, fresh from his job on the Costa Magna as an engineer/deckhand, and set off for the usual venue when first arriving back; Cafe Des Arcades in Valbonne Square.

An Irish pirate

I donned my light green stripey trousers and a lurid green sweater, waxed the handlebar moustache and picked out a fine Havana cigar for later, and was prepared for a splendid evening in my favourite square in my favourite provencal town with my family (all of them in one place – a rarity) and friends, but over the first of many glasses of wine, a ranting Irishman appeared demanding the 10 euros I owed him for a bet on the 6 Nations Rugby Tournament earlier in the year. You may remember that the French should have beaten Ireland but made a catastrophic mess of a certain try opportunity in the last minute, allowing Ireland to win the match and thus the competition instead of England, leaving me with a debt. The piratical John “800 years of repression” O Sullivan, a lookalike of whom is pictured above today, had walked into Valbonne Square with his lovely wife Jude “mine’s a Bailey’s”, spotted my green ensemble from some 70 yards and loudly approached to collect his winnings and congratulate me on choosing to wear the national colour of Ireland whilst setting my debt. I do think people who insist on sticking the banknotes from a wager onto their foreheads, and then having themselves photographed and that photo being placed on Facebook within 30 seconds of its taking are very juvenile. I accept that, had the result been different, then a different picture, perhaps of a resplendent author and Currencies Direct affiliate, sporting a bank note in such a fashion, would have been a gratifying picture.

I managed to shake off the irritation (read Mr O Sullivan left to go to the wine bar) and settled into a convivial dinner outside on the Square at the Cafe Des Arcades, returning home for a quick nightcap with Sprog 1, who finally received his 21st birthday present about 3 months late (a mega laptop) and spent half an hour talking to us whilst setting it up. This is the perfect illustration of the new generation gap. Kids can easily do technical computer stuff whilst holding a conversation after several drinks. My generation may be to do any of these three in isolation, but any combination of technical, talking and drinking would end in utter and abject failure.

Chris France

@Valbonne_News