Sunshine shock
Sunshine! It has been such a rare commodity in Arundel this winter, my first in England for about 8 years, that the opportunity to set aside diets, work, appointments and more work, even that which involves the spreading of the word about the benefits of having an account with Currencies Direct, and walking across the Duke of Norfolk’s estate to have lunch at The George and Dragon at Houghton was too tempting.
I found some not fully complete trousers, which I believe from dim and distant memory may be known in some warmer and sunnier parts of the world as “shorts”, some trainers, as opposed to galoshes, and we walked up and down the South Downs hills in that sunshine.
However, it was not without hardship. There was the small matter of a 4 mile walk across the estate from Arundel to the pub. The walk was so much more pleasant than normal because dogs are not allowed on the estate, and thus the presence of my least favourite dog in the universe, Banjo, the catastrophic cocker Spaniel, whose continuing charmed existence is entirely due to the utterly misguided patronage (or should I say matron age?) of That Nice Lady Decorator, was not present. So one was able fully to enjoy the visual delights of a quintessential piece of England without worrying whether the appallingly badly behaved animal, so loved by the decorating person, would not savage other dogs, shit in the middle of pathways, chase birds (although I admit that I may have had a similar failing in my younger days) and generally harass and make himself unpleasant to passers-by. On the other hand, I missed not having Max, the properly behaved and obedient dog with us as he would have enjoyed it.
Upon arrival after a tough walk over the hills, a reward was due and we were able to partake of a couple of pints of real ale and, wait for it, sit outside in the sunshine, like people do most of the year around in my beloved Valbonne, to where I shall be heading next week for the launch of The Valbonne Monologues. I have a picture capturing this momentous event. For the avoidance of doubt this is outside in March in England.
A well deserved pint on the terrace of the George and Dragon at Houghton
But after the Lord Mayors show, the dust cart. Einstein’s theory of relativity, that every action will have a reaction, will be born out today. Yesterday was a day of plenty; beers, wine and another great lunch, today will be utterly different; no alcohol, starvation rations and just 600 calories, of which 40 or so have already been consumed on a morning cup of tea. By this evening I shall be invoking the memory of Oliver Twist as I plead for more.
Astonishingly though, the whole charade seems to be working. Either that or my rather too tight jeans have stretched. This is surprisingly rewarding. Normal diets in the past have had no discernible results after weeks of drudgery, but this time I can feel the difference. The idea is that you do a day of pain and then eat and drink normally the next . Two days a week and weight loss has to follow. By the time I get to France next week you will be able to turn me sideways and mark me absent.
Of course, it could not last, the normal grey blanket that is England in winter has returned today and it was if the sun had never been out. Without today’s picture I could have believed it was all a dream.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
The story of a convict and a rapist
A cross between a convict and a rapist. That was how I was described when That Nice Lady Decorator first saw my new passport photograph. I had thought that I looked rather moody and magnificent, a bit like Jack Nicholson on a not very good day, but I was disavowed of this opinion rather swiftly.
£128 (almost 150 euros at today’s Currencies Direct exchange rates) for a same day new passport, and having to hang around in London for 4 hours after the appointment to pick up the finished article, threw a pall over yesterday. Slightly hung over after the fantastic Otway and Barrett show the night before, we ended up in some casino drinking a very expensive 2009 Bordeaux. It had seemed a good idea to have a drink with old pal Maurice Bacon, who apart from managing Kula Shaker and The Medieval Babes, was also the original drummer in Love Affair. Everlasting Love indeed.
Wise words
Talking of bacon, I found a cafe and had a hearty breakfast, then, starting my next 600 calorie 24 hour starvation diet, I thought it would be cheating to start directly after a bit of a feast, but apparently not. The only problem is that after a measly dinner last night, I can eat or drink nothing but water until 10.30 this morning, so the best way to deal with that is to have a lie in.
Today was originally lined up for more Belsen starvation treatment but something strange is happening. The sun came out yesterday afternoon and the weather forecast is for it to be a nice sunny spring day, so, at my suggestion, we have decided to walk the 4 miles to The George and Dragon at Houghton for lunch. My argument, that the forecast is shite for the rest if the week, surprisingly found favour in the corridors of power, so an unexpected and unscheduled treat is in store as long as the forecast holds.
There is a route that we have identified on the local Ordnance Survey map which takes us right through the middle if the Duke of Norfolk’s estate, so if we see him I will invite him to join us. It is set in a prime piece of South Downs and would normally be off-limits to us as dogs are forbidden, but I have persuaded that Nice Lady Decorator to walk the dogs, the stately Max and the stale Banjo, early and leave them behind. What swung this in my favour was the idea that after lunch we get a taxi back, and I am not sure that Banjo could be trusted in one. He once bit the pizza delivery man in Valbonne, so a judicious reminder of his bad manners did the trick. If the taxi driver was wearing a hat it could have ended badly.
Dozens of people have ordered copies of my new book “The Valbonne Monologues” by emailing me at chrs.france@gmail.com and it can even be ordered from any book store in the country this time, as it has bar codes! I thought a bar code was what happened when you wanted to go to the pub but did not want the kids to know.
After today, the excitement will be over until Friday, our next social occasion. I must look my best for the book launch and that, sadly, means trying to lose a few kilos between now and next Thursday. That is as long as the finished articles arrive in time. The printers said the end of the month and I had more or less assumed they meant the end of February. I feel a panicky phone call coming on this morning.
Chris France
Otway and Barrett triumph
Man flu is the single most debilitating illness on earth. But us men know that when the going gets tough one needs a sympathetic wife to minister to you. Apparently that is what should happen. Lets start a new subject.
So with a hefty dose of paracetamol administered and a good supply of extra medication in my pocket, I boarded a train to London heading for Covent Garden in readiness for a trip down memory lane, to see a gig by Otway and Barrett. That is John Otway and Wild Willy Barrett who somersaulted (well Otway did) to fame on the Old Grey Whistle Test on BBC TV in 1977, culminating in a hit single “Cor Baby That’s Really Free” and an anarchic performance on Top of the Pops.
In my capacity as a music promoter and self-styled impresario in and around Aylesbury in the mid 1970’s, I had booked them to play various venues on scores of occasions, indeed Mr Otway was the reason I entered the music business in a desperate attempt to avoid getting a proper job all those year ago. We we both pursued our dreams together, we were both dustman at the same time, although I in the neighbouring and up market council, as befitted my status as a grammar school boy, rather than a comprehensive school student status that has clung to Mr Otway. He did get more press coverage than me though, being labelled “The Singing Dustman” by The Bucks Herald.
Anyway, Otway and Barrett split up and reformed at least 20 times but they are together for a short tour and I could not resist the temptation to see them both in action again last night at the Leicester Square Theatre in London’s west end.
A pre planned pre-gig food raid by Sprog 2 meant that we had to get to town early enough to eat before the show, so we went to Chinatown for a fast food field day before descending upon the Theatre in order to be entertained. Fast food of the fastest variety, in the form of a Thai buffet was fantastic value at £10, a mere 11.50 euros at today’s Currencies Direct exchange rate, and was over in 20 minutes which gave us time to meet up with Mr Clipboard and “Slash and Burn” Thornton Allan to witness the show.
John Otway and Wild Willy Barrett rip up the Leicester Square Theatre last night
The show has developed into a much less musically heavy comedy experience. The exuberance of Mr Otway is undimmed, still somersaulting despite being over 60, his comic performance brilliantly complemented by the laconic, lugubrious, but supremely talented musical skills of Wild Willy Barrett, which were a joy to behold. Guitar, mandolin, fiddle, banjo and even, for fantastic finale, a self built set of bagpipes connected to an electric guitar. It was during “Geneva”, that willy sawed up a guitar whilst playing, hilarious! Widely considered Otway’s best song, some would say only song, although John would disagree, citing the BBC poll in 2000 to find the nations favourite song of the last millennium, in which by hook and crook, mostly crook, he managed to get his song “Beware Of The Flowers Cos I’m Sure They’re Gonna Get you, Yeah” voted the seventh best lyric of all time. Better than anything written by Bob Dylan he will tell you if you give him half a chance.
So a boring morning hanging around at the Passport Office in London this morning is in prospect but there is promise of sunshine, and so I will rush back to Arundel this afternoon to make the most of it before the inevitable greyness returns.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Beast on two wheels
There is another aspect to dieting that I had hitherto not taken board. If one diets to within a centimetre of ones life, it is clear that one’s immune system suffers serious damage. I have not had a cold for well over a year, except for man flu about 9 months ago, but as you will know if you are a regular reader of this column, that is it is the female equivalent in terms of distress to a man as childbirth is to a woman. Thus to catch a cold, which I seem to have done yesterday, can have only one culprit, one cause, one focus of blame, the diet.
Manfully, I struggled around a walk of a couple of miles near Pagham on the south coast, coughing and sneezing but uncomplaining, and allowed myself to be lured into the Crab and Lobster at Sidlesham for a pint of rather uninteresting local beer, so uninteresting that I have forgotten what it is called. I had also allowed myself (and ladies, don’t forget this whilst suffering the same, if not worse, than the symptoms of childbirth) to be taken to the 6 Bells at Lyminster for a pint of London Pride before being allowed to return home to take paracetamol and sleep.
There is an old expression about pride coming before a fall and that was exactly what happened. As soon as I had collected up and consumed a pint of Pride, then, metaphorically, I fell. If I was ever to be asked what would be the top 10 attributes of That Nice Lady Decorator, then sympathy would not feature. She was not best pleased that I had “decided” to suffer my affliction just at the point where she had arranged to meet the lovely Kathryn (whom I promised never again to call the Wyatt Earp if Arundel), for a drink in the early evening at The White Hart. I was told that I would be accompanying her and that I would report, washed and scrubbed, at 5.30pm sharp for inspection. Thus, it was my duty to be ready at the appointed time, together with my hospital bed and drip, ready to go to the pub.
I stayed the course until 8pm after which I headed to my bed. All man flu sufferers will understand the position. As I tumbled into bed , I realised that I had nothing planned for today’s column, other than the usual praise for the services of Currencies Direct, so began to look through the photographs on my phone when I came across this, clearly taken the night before and of which I have only scant memory.
What an attractive beast
I think I can say it is a 1500 cc beast on two wheels. Clearly it is a powerful beautiful and dangerous animal and…I don’t know where I am going with this. I also have no knowledge of why I took the picture, or indeed of taking it.
Today, after throwing off the worst effects of that ghastly man flu, I hope to be sufficiently recovered as to be able to board the train for London, and to be ready to witness once again the delight that is Otway and Barrett at the Leicester Square Theatre this evening. The arrangements are now just about all in place for the Otway For An Oscar Campaign in Cannes during the Cannes Film festival in May and no doubt we shall allow ourselves a small celebration of that fact.
Staying in London in Covent Garden allows one to contemplate eating out at one this areas fine restaurants. So that us what we have decided to do, however Sprog 2 got wind if this and has invited herself and her friend to dinner. A pleasure shared is a price doubled.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Starvation diets – a warning
I think I managed to repair the damage exacted upon my corpulent frame by three days of starvation dieting. It started with a meeting in the White Hart at 5.30. That Nice Lady Decorator snorted with derision when I revealed my business schedule. She believed, wrongly as it turned out, that this was an excuse for an early pint. The fact that I did have a pint of Harvey’s, whilst discussing whether I could bring the whole weight of my music business experience to bear on the career of some talented musicians, is entirely coincidental.
So with work over (even I must have some time away from my work securing customers for Currencies Direct), we headed out to The Swan in Arundel for a change and a pint of London Pride, which became 2 as we were joined by James “Desperate Dan” and the ethereally beautiful and magnificent Omega, his partner.
A little later it was on to the Kings Arms for more beer and then it all gets a bit blurry. I have some vague recollection of ordering an Indian takeaway and ending up at the house of some charming people we had met at quiz night , and I remember getting home but not much else.
Regular readers will know that I often make notes on my phone during the day when something amuses me. Little reminders designed to help me write this daily drivel. Obviously last night I found a great deal to laugh about and took copious details, ready no doubt I thought, to use some of that material in today’s column. However, none if it makes any sense to me. This is what I had written; “flat coat retrievers, Go West, the Pope, Gary Glitter, Jimmy Savile, ice cream and suppositories”.
Mystified? Yes, so am I. Obviously three days without a drink and a whiff of a barmaids apron is enough to set me on a slippery slope to oblivion. In pre-diet normal circumstances, a couple of pints, a glass of wine and an Indian meal and I could still do calculus when I got home . Last night I could barely do up my shoe laces. So my friends, let that be a warning to anyone on a diet. Beware, your ability to consume alcohol could become impaired. I feel very public-spirited now, it is not often you get valuable health tips in this daily missive. There is also the problem that almost all the weight lost through three days of starvation was quickly regained.
Swanbourne Lake taken during my morning constitutional
The flyer is out, The Valbonne Monologues launch campaign has err… launched. Bit of boob on the first draft as the name of one of my most important sponsors, ABK Properties, was misspelt (sorry Jeroen!) but as he is the best estate agent in Valbonne I know he will shrug this off. All day yesterday I was getting calls and emails, at least three of them before I lost count, excitedly welcoming the prospect of the publication and promising to be there at Cafe Latin in Valbonne on either 15th or 16th March to join the queue to get one of the first copies. It will be so well attended I am thinking of asking for some crowd control barriers (to keep people in).
The weekend is here, Spring has officially commenced so it is time to throw open the doors and windows to let in the fresh scented air and bright warm spring sunshine and get outside and do something in the garden. However, nobody seems to have told the weather gods because it is, yet again, grey, cold, damp and drizzly and if you flung open the windows you would not only be heading for hypothermia but the only aroma would be from last nights fish and chips from the shop across the road. God I hate the weather in this country.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Peasant or pheasant?
Tandoori noodles? When one was facing an impromptu and hastily decided 600 calories a day, one was understandably looking forward to supper and ready to devour it in much the way a rake of piranha who have not been fed for a week might. I have now discovered the way to reduce the piranhoic (ouch) urge to eat in the face if starvation. Add tandoori sauce to noodles. This could save the world from famine.
Don’t get me wrong, I love noodles and I love tandoori. I also like marmalade and fois gras, but would not think of eating them together, so it was a bit of a mystery as to why I was faced with such a combination. A sensible person would not think to question that Nice Lady Decorator’s culinary skills in normal circumstances, but when one is contemplating taking a bite out of ones own arm, due to hunger, sense had clearly departed, and normality evaporated. I asked that question. She was very polite and her explanation was that she had wanted to finish up some bits and pieces lurking in the fridge. I am glad there were not kippers and peanut butter that were surplus to requirements.
On my morning constitutional along the River Arun, I decided to have a nosy around The Black Rabbit, which is undergoing a massive refurbishment, but could hardly get near due to the plethora of builders white vans outside. There was even a lorry and a team laying Tarmac over the newly widened drive. Apparently Hall and Woodhouse (obviously a quaint old gay couple that own it) are spending over half a million pounds on a complete facelift and I for one an anxious to see the results.
It was on the way back that I took this picture of a pheasant. It’s bright plumage a stark contrast to the grey banks of mud on yet another depressing grey day in England. Eat your heart out David Attenborough.
Yesterday, after my attack on modern art, I was called a peasant. Today I feature a pheasant, clever eh?
Yes, there is a continuing and familiar theme of eating running through this column but I don’t want you all to be down in the mouth about it. I shall get my teeth into a new subject eventually. I still have an appetite to write.
Ok, time to think of a new positive subject for a short while. How about the value of opening an account with Currencies Direct? Or have you all now opened your accounts? Ok back to food. It is my intention this weekend to eat back what I have been denied over three days of this week. As I speak there are no formal plans for this evening entertainment of which I have been informed, however I am determined to go out, but if it is to be an Indian restaurant, and there is a good one in Arundel, I will not be ordering noodles.
Now let us turn to literally the most important event in the next fortnight. Two weeks today is the day when the foundations of English literature will be shaken, not stirred, by the publication of my second book The Valbonne Monologues. I shall be emailing reminders remorselessly over the coming weeks to ensure as many of my fans as possible attend to get their autographed copies at Cafe Latin on Friday 15th March. I have an extra sponsor to announce. Dancing Greg Harris from Côte d’Azur Villas has bowed to pressure and agreed to join those ever swelling ranks, already inhabited by ABK Properties, Marina Kulik, Currencies Direct and Blue Water Yachting. There will also be a Facebook invitation as soon as I can work out how to do it, or get someone to do it for me. The art of delegation is alive and well.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
All modern art is crap, discuss
Now I like to be a bit controversial, and to stir up a discussion but what did I get in the comments section below yesterday? A sermon! I seem to have whipped up a bit of a storm with my suggestion yesterday about all modern art being crap, rap music being art , and my attitude to wealth.
Some, the more perceptive amongst you were in agreement about modern art. Who can forget the “bag of coal” exhibit for, I think, The Turner Prize a decade or more ago? For those too young to remember, one “artist” created a small pile of coal at enormous expense. It was fawned over by the modern art establishment and received widespread TV and media coverage. I laughed out loud when I saw it. Crap of the highest order, but I do have a sneaking admiration for these charlatans who have found bizarre ways to loosen the purse strings of the rich and the gullible. Damien Hirst, Tracey Emin, Henry Moore and dozens of others have made a great deal of money by persuading rich idiots that their “art” has value. The top of that pile must be Charles Saatchi. He and the Tate Modern are the most monumental examples of this gullibility.
There were some rumblings of discontent about my positive attitude to a much higher art form, rap music, capturing the spirit of real people and bursting out onto the mainstream of culture in the 1980’s, despite a moribund record industry’s determination for it to fail as a popular art form. There is more merit in every hip hop record released on my label, Music Of Life, than all the three phonies above in their whole output combined. Of course it is just my opinion, everything is subjective, but then again I know I am right.
I was also tacitly accused of being unhappy and motivated only by money. I think I am one of the happiest people alive. Who could not be moved by the sheer joy customers get from having a foreign exchange account with Currencies Direct ? Apart from being ripped from the bosom of Valbonne by annoyingly short-sighted semi-communist French politicians, I have a lovely life. If one has to spend extended time in England then there is no better place than Arundel to do it. Motivated by money is a vice to which I admit. A poor (but unfashionably very happy) childhood motivated me to make money to buy things I wanted and enjoy it and life on the way. Money is only a means to an end, if I knew which day I was going to die I would spend the last penny the day before. A career structure starting as a dustman, a cricket coach, music promoter, music manager and then record company co-founder would have left me with a CV looking like a wasteland, but luckily I never wanted a proper job but it turned out very well in the end.
So back to events of yesterday. The Arundel Luncheon Club had a very satisfying meal at the George and Dragon at Houghton. My duck breast on a bed of Singapore noodles in a hoisin sauce was remarkably good, and not just because I had been starving myself for 2 days. The scallops, bacon and black pudding enjoyed by our party was also sensational.
The Arun at Arundel, but on a good day
It is a quintessentially beautiful English pub with a wonderful open fire and a great chef. The perfect antidote for another dastardly day of grey cold drizzle, accompanied yesterday by a stuff a north-easterly breeze, keeping the temperatures down to 2 or 3 degrees Celsius when we went out walking in the morning along the River Arun. As we turned back having struggled less than 2 mikes along the river bank, I said to that Nice Lady Decorator that it was lucky we had seen some sun in the Alps last week, otherwise I would have been calling the travel agent.
Chris France
Mobility scooter and old codger in love child shock
I was asked yesterday in the comments section why I would bother with a fad diet. One reason is, of course, that I do not want to be really fat and the other is that had I refused to involve myself in this ridiculous charade I was in danger of getting a fat lip from that Nice Lady Decorator.
600 calories again yesterday and by afternoon I did not even have the energy to whimper. After a morning walk we headed into L. A. or Littlehampton is it is known by the locals. This town must have the highest concentration of mobility scooters in the world and, given my starved state, I began to lust after one. I wonder what is the number for nought to sixty (feet per minute)? Actually Top Gear presenters would have a field day there. With So many caravan parks and codgers driving at 20 miles an hour it would be like letting a hungry fox loose amongst the chickens. If the local inhabitants knew the kind of thing Jeremy Clarkson got up to with caravans, I reckon there would be a blood bath. Hells Grannies, invented by the Monty Python team could well become a reality if BBC 2 were ever to make it into downtown L A.
Some other well-intentioned comments yesterday suggested days on end of alcohol abstention, but having been a seasoned drinker throughout my life, and in my 60th year, I am in the camp that agrees that a sudden starving of ones liver of alcohol is absurdly dangerous, and this is someone who has just had all his health checks and balances in the last few weeks and whose liver function was described as normal. I think I have a few readers who are exhibiting signs of allowing themselves to be embraced by the nanny state. In fact I think I need something to top up my alcohol stream. I am also very suspicious of silly diets and when I heard last evening from a seasoned nutritionist, whom that Nice Lady Decorator respects, that this diet would lose at best 1 pound a week, a secret smile crossed my face.
Today will be a merciful release from dietry hell. Lunch beckons at the George and Dragon at Houghton, preceded by a pint of London Pride at the Kings Arms. The second outing of the Arundel Luncheon Club will take place with me on the look out for more potential customers for Currencies Direct.
Today’s picture is one of some French modern “art” which I love so much as it gives me an opportunity to expose the stupidity of the modern art world. I found it in a shop front in Beaune. What a waste of time and money. The emperors new clothes. Until enough normal people stand up and say this is crap, dodgy artists will continue to pull the wool over the eyes of bleeding heart liberals and those so lost in their own mysticism that they want to reinterpret everything they see, or look for meaning where there is none.
Encapsulating the symbiotic brotherhood between man and machine, A mobility scooter and a crusty combine…blah blah blah…
OK, as a contributor to the comments section said yesterday “sermon over”. It must be the diet eating into my normal upbeat character. There I go again talking about eating.
I have yet to hear from Dancing Greg Harris about sponsorship of the upcoming launch next month of The Valbonne Monologues. He is playing a very dangerous game in not responding to my perfectly reasonable requests for his help and support. However, it maybe that he is away on holiday or the like, so at the moment he has the benefit of the doubt but it is hanging by a thread.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Spot the diet
Yet another sponsor came forward yesterday to support the launch of that much awaited, by me, of my second book, The Valbonne Monologues. Peter Bennett from Blue Water Yachting has joined the ever-growing list of people who are putting their reputations at risk to associate themselves with Valbonne’s forthcoming literary lack of sensation. There are however still some sponsorship opportunities and at this juncture I am disappointed not to have heard back from Dancing Greg Harris from Côte d’Azur Villas. Looks like I may have to publish that photograph of him unless he comes forward and does the decent thing. I do not like the word blackmail, I prefer to use the phrase “enlightened self-interest”.
I needed something to brighten my day as this was the first one of my days limited to 600 calories. Slash and burn Thornton Allan is to blame for having lost two stone in two months before we went skiing last week. My comments about his apparent anorexia were not well received and had the unfortunate effect of allowing the female contingent on holiday of making a very unfair comparisons about our respective shapes. I think they call it bravado. Before I could stop myself I could hear myself saying “I could do that, easy”.
With that stupid challenge accepted, I suddenly realised the enormity of my blunder. That Nice Lady Decorator suddenly had a worrying and determined gleam in her eyes and it was all I could do to stop her from demanding I commenced the same regime there and then. It was only putting off the inevitable, and the inevitability came home to roost yesterday. For those of you who think that is a poor metaphor, we once owned a chicken called Inevitability, honest.
I tried everything to delay or cancel the whole idea. I even used this photo of Slash and Burn himself to show what could happen when undertaking fad diets. Nasty side effects can often result. This one needs a bit more than Savlon.
Man with nasty spot, wearing a house on his head.
And so I barely made it through the day. Even the joy of bringing smiles to the faces of several new Currencies Direct customers was not enough to take my mind off the enforced fast. Actually “fast” is a contradiction in terms; I can hardly remember a day that went by any slower, although I suspect that today I am about to find out.
To take my mind off this dreadful scenario, I need to focus on some good things that are on the horizon. The newly constituted Arundel Wednesday Luncheon Club’s second gathering will take place tomorrow, so just watch me eat and drink everything on the menu at the George and Dragon at Houghton. That is if I don’t expire before we get there.
Then on Sunday, the delicious prospect of seeing John Otway and Wild Willy Barrett at the Leicester Square Theatre in Covent Garden, having some dinner and meeting up with loads of old cronies. No doubt we will end up discussing Otway the Movie and the various guerrilla marketing techniques we have planned for the Cannes Film Festival in May.
Today will be much the same. I have not yet looked out the window as I know what it will be like; grey and cold, misty and damp. I also don’t have the energy to raise my head. 600 calories a day is not nearly enough to keep a mouse alive, let alone a man with a thrusting Adonis-like (actually in god like terms more Buddha-like) figure, one destined to be denied wine and beer again today. I now have first hand experience of what the term “nil by mouth” means.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Beaune to Calais in the snow
Dark and snowing. Who’s stupid idea was it to get up at 6am to continue our journey from Beaune to Calais? I blame Sprog 1 who talked me into it. It did not get light until about 7.30.
Light snow of no consequence steadily worsened as we trekked north, with snow ploughs and salt gritters doing their best to keep the motorways passable, we got to Calais at lunchtime, due mainly to most of the French making the entirely sensible decision not to venture out in their cars. I took this picture en route. It was like Yorkshire in mid summer.
Beaune to Calais on the motorway.
Arriving at the tunnel we were able to get an early departure, and after a tedious half hour in the worst terminal in the western world, we boarded and Sprog 1 immediately gave me some food for this column by saying, as the train departed, “I think I am going to get out and look through the window”. Then “oh, it’s gone dark”. I don’t know which part of the concept of a tunnel he did not understand.
Getting back to Arundel earlier that expected, and the holiday not over until tomorrow, we did what any right thinking people would do, go to the pub next door for a pint.
I just managed to catch the climax of the Scotland versus Ireland 6 nations rugby clash in the TV, where Scotland somehow engineered a win against hot favourites Ireland, further to upset John “800 years of repression” O Sullivan. I texted him after the game to see if he had received my earlier (and entirely mythical) wager on Scotland doubling up on my winnings recently on the England Ireland game, but he did not respond immediately.
The diet starts tomorrow and beer may be a fleeting concept in the week to come, with the notable exception of Wednesday when the Arundel Wednesday Luncheon Club will reconvene, this time at the George and Dragon at Houghton.
Instead of looking out of the window this morning and looking at the magisterial snow-covered alpine mountains sparkling and glistening in the bright sunshine under azure skies, I looked out at Arundel, hazy in the drizzle and under grey skies, an unpleasant reminder that we are still in the grip of the dreariest English winter in living memory. But will I be downhearted? Well, yes, if it does not brighten up by tomorrow. The only brightness in my day today will be in the happy smiling faces of the new Currencies Direct customers who’s a lives will be transformed when they find out exactly what they could save by using this service for their foreign exchange needs.
I also need to complete some other very important music business matters, such as ordering a platinum disc for my tiny interest in a major rap artist No 1 record in USA. I know that Kanye West and Jay Z “No Church In The Wild” is unlikely to be on the play lists of any of my contemporaries, but in Sprog credibility terms I have arrived.
I am also in the process if setting up a new venture based in the rap world in which I hope to define the word “delegation”. It will involve me in a little work to begin with, after which I intend to sit at home, delegate all the work that is needed and live off the profits, much as I have through my whole music business career. Some, less informed than I, might say that my chosen path in the commercial music world was made in order to avoid having to get a proper job. I could not possibly comment.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Eat drink and make Meribel
The Refuge in Meribel provided the raclette and fondue encounter to which some of our skiing party aspired. The venue changed from Le Fromargerie after some on-line reviews suggested that the place not only smelled, quite reasonably, of cheese, but the advice was not to wear any clothing that you might want to wear the next day because the cheesy smell would not leave you. With it being the last night, and with most things packed, and not wishing to be smelling all day of Norwegian Jarlsberger or Canadian Beaver Cheese, The Refuge literally lived up to its name. Quaint and old-fashioned, it was still Trois Vallees expensive.
Meribel at its most beautiful.
This time the car started, and the torturous but spectacular trip down the mountain to Beaune, with all the other tourists leaving at the same time, was the expected nightmare all the way to the outskirts of Lyon, when suddenly the traffic cleared and we got to this pretty and ancient town in early afternoon, about 2 hours earlier than we expected. It was only a little warmer, still below freezing and was snowing gently as we unloaded the car. The lovely and charming La Belle Époque was once again our destination for the night.
Before venturing out in early evening, I completed, with the help of Jeroen of ABK Estate Agents, the arrangements for the launch of The Valbonne Monologues (Facebook; Valbonne Monologues) at Cafe Latin. The sponsors, so far ABK, Marina Kulik and Currencies Direct are between them supplying a glass of sparkling wine, a coffee or a glass of wine to everyone buying a book on the day, either Friday 15th or Saturday 16th March between 10.30 and 12.00. I shall be in personal attendance and will be available, if required, to sign copies of the book for lucky punters, who will in future years be able to say they were there when the book was first unveiled. Please do not forget that these valuable first editions can only increase in value in my own mind. Also, this time there are colour pictures throughout of some of your valbonnenews.com heroes, and for the richest amongst you, there is a hardback limited edition priced at a very reasonable 20 euros. For the rest of you cheapskates it is 15 euros for the paperback. I will take advance orders via paypal, cash and even those antiquated cheques.
After watching England beat France in the six nations, and studiously avoiding speaking English, not celebrating when England scored, and practising lots of Gallic shrugs and muttering “sacre bleu” as England went further and further ahead, we went out for an early dinner on order to get an early start this morning. Although the tunnel crossings are fully booked, there are bound to be people who are late or cancel, so with luck we will be back in Arundel before nightfall.
Then it will be Monday and the starvation diet will commence. Do not expect me to be upbeat, witty or amusing in the coming days. Many will say they never do, but there are a few loyal readers who admit to enjoying this daily missive, now approaching its third birthday. The week of eating and drinking at Meribel has not been sufficiently off set by the momentous skiing and energy usage involved. I would probably have to ski for a whole year to get to equilibrium, let alone a honing of my magnificent anatomy, so drastic measures have been imposed. 600 calories a day is about as close to starvation as one can get with expiring, and I have heard that it can make you grumpy.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Where’s the nearest bar?
Who amongst our party was it that mistook the hypotenuse for a large African animal? To be honest I cannot remember as it was a very big penultimate night out, waving goodbye to Mr Clipboard and family the night before last. I was sufficiently broken as to decide that my skiing was over for the week, a decision taken at around 10.30 after I awoke with the worst hangover I have had in a long time. I hate the taste of Resolve, the hangover cure, but it could not be avoided yesterday morning.
Instead I spent the morning whimpering in the chalet, putting the finishing touches to the soft launch plan for my new book The Valbonne Monologues at Cafe Latin on Friday 15th March at 10.30. This is, of course, a shameless attempt to capture the regular congregation for “church”, the weekly gathering of ex-pats to worship coffee and gossip at this lovely social hub. The owners will know of my plans today so unless they have any objection, put that date in your diary. I am also planning to do the same the next day, Saturday 16th for those amongst the idle rich of Valbonne who have that rare affliction called a job.
Already I have 3 sponsors: the lovely Marina Kulik, who’s painting classes at the Hangar just outside the Valbonne produced the painting that features on the cover, the not nearly so lovely Jeroen Zatt from ABK Properties and of course our very useful Currencies Direct, all within a day of being asked. Others have been also been approached, and I expect to hear from some of them today, Matt, Peter, Lin and Greg, you know who I mean.
It has been so cold overnight that the diesel in the car has gone waxy so I called the breakdown truck after spending half an hour trying to start it. Would you believe that the mechanic arrived, put the key in the ignition and it started. An hour and a half I waited for him, so not a happy bunny.
My picture today is of our Nice Lady Ski Tour Guide, having a week off from her Decorating duties. I did once try to read a piste map but unfortunately it did not end well. I thought those straight black lines were a little too straight, but it turns out those are ski lifts. From that day forward I have been denied maps, which suits me down to the ground.
Which way to go? Down I would say…
If the car starts and everything goes according to plan, we will have left Meribel by 10am this morning with the plan of getting to Beaune, where we will stay tonight, in time to find a bar showing the France versus England 6 nations rugby clash. I will speak French just in case England win, which they should but nothing is certain. After losing their first two games in the tournament, I think the French will come out and play. thereafter a last dinner and then the big trek home on Sunday with all the other half- termers returning to work or school.
Those of you who know Mr Clipboard will be unsurprised that to know that he left yesterday without paying his taxes de sejour, the French tourist tax. For some reason of higher mathematics that I do not understand, it became my responsibility to pay on his behalf. I am sure he will explain it to me one day, perhaps when we reconvene (as has been mooted) in Valbonne in mid March for that all important literary sensation, the launch of The Valbonne Monologues.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Champagne skiing
The skiing trip to Meribel is reaching a very satisfactory conclusion with yet another day of almost cloudless skies and fantastic skiing conditions. I do however feel I should correct one small misunderstanding; this has not been what Josh Thornton Allan described as “the men who are scared of their wives” holiday. Terrified is perhaps nearer the mark.
At least today I did not get lost, and although I did get the blame for Sprog 1 deciding that our exact moment of departure as a group to the slopes should be delayed by, as he put it “an urgent dump”, other than that there were no more slapping incidents, no more swearing or throwing of cigar holders into the street, in fact the day was full of sweetness and light, at least until the evening.
Some of that sweetness was engendered by the over enthusiastic ordering of Irish coffee’s, a theme developed at elevensis, again by Sprog 1, with my complete support it should be noted, at least until the bill arrived and I saw that they were 15 euros each (about £13 at today’s Currencies Direct rates). However they were a snip compared with the prices at Les Folies Douce earlier in the week. I took a picture of their chalked wine list below.
A magnum of Champagne sir? 12,000 euros please
Last night was the final evening for Mr Clipboard and family as they are heading off this morning early (about 8 am, so in effect late last night) and he was in need of a fondue, a traditional mountain dish that had hitherto eluded us, so we went mob handed to a typical local restaurant which, having been empty every time we had walked by it during the week, was suddenly fully booked. The World Cup Downhill skiing party had obviously arrived.
We ended up at the Barometer bar across the road for, in my case, excellent satay, far more interesting that any raclette. On the TV was a European cup game between Chelsea, supported since he was a boy by Mr Clipboard and underdogs Sparta Prague. I know that at heart I am a generous soul but I do like a wind up, so it took no time at all to make a wager against the favourites that he supports and so, although I wanted him to win – it is his last day of the holiday, there was a sneaking pleasure at half time when, having backed the underdog, they ran in 1-0 up at half time. I take no pleasure in taking money off a public schoolboy in a bet unless, of course , it is Mr Clipboard but in the last minute they equalised, much to his relief.
Today is the last day of skiing on this particular jaunt and Mr Clipboard would have left with his tail between his legs and 20 euros poorer had Chelsea not been very lucky and scored in the final minute of the match . Of courses like the cad and a bounder that he is, he was already trying to reinterpret the bet before the lucky late score. He also stole a 10 euro note from me in an ill-advised early celebration of my victory, demonstrated in the traditional way by placing a licked bank-note on ones forehead. I do not like to use the term theft when referring to a friend, but facts are facts. I was going to suggest that, in a public schoolboy manner to which he will be accustomed, that I turn off the light and hope that the thief would return the money, but guiltily he did return it and I suppose gleaned some juvenile pleasure from screwing it up into a tiny ball.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
La Soucoupe excels
Lunch At La Soucoupe, the celebrities favourite restaurant in Les Trois Valleys, lived up to expectations with Fois Gras, Gigondas, rib of beef and one of the best Irish coffee’s I have ever experienced. It was on a sunny terrace with a Montechristo in hand, that coffee and that view that I began to worry about the poor people. The view is of the most amazing panorama of snow-clad mountains nestling in the sunshine, but we are told the weather is about to turn.
It was a late start as I had lost my reading glasses and being as blind as a bat without them, replacements were needed. There is nothing wrong with my long sight, I can read the makers instructions on a jumbo jet at 40,000 feet, but a menu at arms length? No way. This loss meant that my hundred of readers were bereft yesterday of their favourite daily column until late morning.
A trip to the pharmacy produced a gem. I found some reading glasses with lights built-in for reading in the dark, how cool is that? So this daily report on the lives of the idle rich is being written as I speak using the light from these wonderful new specs.
Another picture from Les Folies Douce which captures a passing paraglider
I am not one to read a ski map, I leave this to more organisationally challenged individuals such as Mr Clipboard. However he left before me as he is without the daily responsibility of informing a dedicated readership about the benefits of having an account with Currencies Direct for their foreign exchange needs. Thus That Nice Lady Decorator took charge of map reading duties. That she is a better skier than me is irrefutable, as is her irritation should anything hold her up, and that thing was me.
Struggling down what I considered to be a very tricky red slope, whilst she seemed to be skiing the same slope as a much easier blue, map in one hand ski poles in the other, I got left behind. With little idea of where we were (The Alps?), I was faced with two options at the bottom of the slope. Turn right or left. She had, of course, skied down in the full knowledge that I would know which way to go, but I think you know what happened. I turned left, she turned right.
So, lost on the slopes and fielding regular “you are an idiot” phone calls, I was eventually guided to a meeting place but not until I had become acquainted with parts of this ski domain that I had never known existed. Thus by the time I was found, alone and shivering, it was time to meet the rest of our skiing party it was time for that lunch.
We nearly did not make it back as the lifts close at around 5pm but we had not factored in that we needed to get a couple of lifts to be able to ski back to Meribel. Catching the last ride up, we were sufficiently unsettled as to require some immediate après ski remedy. This took the shape if several. Mohito’s at the Barometer Bar.
Today is the penultimate days skiing before the trip back to blight key commences on Saturday morning but all good things must come to an end, so a last lunch will probably ensue, last because Mr Clipboard is leaving early in order to fulfil a long standing engagement at Twickenham to watch the mighty English rugby team take the next step towards the grand slam in the 6 nations rugby tournament. It could be for nothing less that I will accept his early departure and I will be consigned to finding a bar in Beaune which is televising the match, where if the car starts, we shall again be overnighting on Saturday. I don’t even mind if the commentary is in French.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Les Folies Douce
I claim it a totally saved me money. I found that the car had been towed away by the police to make way for the market. I was expecting a big fine but I was delighted to find that it is a free service. So I saved the cost of the diesel to drive it to the free car park of which I had previously been unaware. The fact that it would not start due, I think, to diesel going a bit waxy, which it does at low temperatures is another matter. I feel much the same myself.
We had skied into the infamous Folies Douce one late afternoon a few days earlier for a drink but I for one did not appreciate the banging techno music and made this clear to our party, to the extent that I was offered the noise eradicating headphones from one member. We did not stay long. However, after having been given a detailed run down on my short comings, my age, my stuffiness and my inability to appreciate youth culture of any sort, whilst staring rabbit-like into the beautiful steely eyes and listening to the razor-sharp voice if Lisa Thornton Allan, I was told that my opinion had changed.
Thus lunch was taken at the afore-mentioned Folies Douce yesterday where the cheapest bottle of wine was 30 euros (about £25 at today’s Currencies Direct exchange rates), rising to 50 once the self-service restaurant had closed. So I was not looking forward to the whole experience, but to my surprise I enjoyed the whole experience. It started with some gentle interpretations of accessible music on a stage in the centre of the outdoor restaurant with the most fabulous backdrop you can imagine, developing into a great show from which the DJ took over and it worked. The secret is to be there at the start, be prepared to pay silly prices and enjoy the atmosphere grow.
Les Folies Douce, the best backdrop in the world
During the morning, Mr Clipboard, a huge AC/DC fan, was bemoaning the fact that there was an AC/DC tribute band booked to play in Meribel the week after we leave. This enabled me to remind him of what happened a couple of years ago when we went to see the real AC/DC in Nice, and he managed to get lost in a terrible state due to an over enthusiastic smoking of something which he had acquired from our very own Trip Advisor. Need I say more? More details are available in my first book “Summer In The Cote d’Azur” which will soon be eclipsed by the launch of my second book The Valbonne Monologues, the launch of which will probably take place at a reception, perhaps at Cafe Latin on Friday 15th March in Valbonne.
Last night we discovered that there was to be a comedy night at the Meribar, just 100 metres away, so we decided to go down and were treated to two established comedians,one of whom was Eric Lampaert so it was a late finish. Hence the late post this morning.
Today will probably be the highlight of the week for me as we are going to lunch at one of my all time favourite mountain restaurants, La Soucoupe. I think the only skiing today will be up to it and back from it. It is a beautiful old wooden building with some of the finest food I have ver tasted and with a wine list to drool over. Drool only of course because I cannot afford 4300 euros for a bottle of Chateau Petrus 2003. I may push the boat out a little as we are nearing the end of this skiing odyssey.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
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