A golfing triumph

Ordinarily I would not necessarily make golf my premier subject. However, coming out of golfing retirement, having not played for two years I was expecting a heavy defeat at the hands of a man who plays every week, and even cleans his clubs after every round. Therefore my victory over house guest Peter Savin by 5 and 4 (meaning I was 5 holes up with only 4 to play for all you youngsters who are not old enough to play this great game) was as thrilling as it was unexpected.

Tradition requires that the winner of the 10 euro bet is required to be photographed with his winnings stuck to his forehead and I am nothing if not a traditionalist as you can see from today’s photo. Some may see this as a gaudy and unsophisticated spectacle, designed to get up the nose of the loser, but I do not see it that way (unless I have lost). This event took place at the rather wonderful and very tricky golf course at St Donat near Mouans Sartoux. The outside terrace has a spectacular view over the nearby lake and fountain, some of which you can see, which is beside the 10th hole, which requires the player to hit the ball over the lake. Normal procedure is to use a lofted club and hit the ball high enough and far enough to reach the green. However I found a different technique which involved scudding the ball inches above the water and then crashing into the bank, jumping up and landing on the green. The par was enough to turn the game even further in my direction and for some strange reason my opponent was slightly resentful, calling it a lucky shot. His was rightly unconvinced by my outrageous claim that it was exactly what I had planned.

Traditional golfing behaviour

Celebrations were long and drawn out. Several beers were consumed at the golf course before adjourning to spectacular house in which Peachy Butterfield, (one of the many owned by Roly and Poly Bufton) who had come along to enjoy the festivities – he does not usually miss a social occasion – to drink some of his execrable Card Bordeaux. Wisely I stuck to the rosé as it is less likely to strip your tonsils. Later we returned to the Pav for some food to soak up the wine and an early night.

This morning, I was going to meat out a tennis lesson for The Naked Politician, but he had wisely decided to challenge me on what is a French Bank Holiday, so there were no courts available to hire for this ritual thrashing. He tells me he had been playing a lot and has gained some more consistency. Perhaps, if we ever get to play, he will be able to increase his combined tally of one game against me (incidentally injuring himself at the same time by diving to make the winning return).

Due to this bank holiday, a plan has developed to go to Juan Les Pins for lunch. At the time of writing the party stands at 6, but the usual spontaneity amongst the ex pats in the south of France could see the eating party extended to a dozen or more. Should I decide to write this column tomorrow dedicated to extinguish the virtues of using Currencies Direct for foreign exchange needs, then I expect it will carry a full report. We are going on the train, which is usual for us, but for several of the more well-heeled amongst us, it will be interesting to see how they deal with the whole concept of public transport.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News