Roadkill and tantric sex
An old friend noting my problems with wasting time waiting for a plumber describes this as like tantric sex. You stay in all day but nobody comes. In the end, we were on the point of accepting the kind offer from James “Desperate Dan” the Landlord of the White Hart, to use the pubs guest room showers, when we had a visitation from the other side. I think it was an offer that had a double benefit; we could still go to the pub and we won’t smell as bad.
A day spent organising opticians, haircuts, aunts and Xmas presents was undertaken in relays so that someone could be at home in case the plumber arrived back on earth, so very unsatisfactory and irritating, and no exercise, so it was not all bad. Then later, after nearly giving up and figuring that as we had originally met the plumber in the pub, he would probably have the brass neck to walk in and greet us as long-lost friends, he arrived on the door step, smiling. However much I am unhappy about him, I would have counselled him not to try joviality with that Nice Lady Decorator, otherwise I would have gambled that he would be likely to have his facial features rearranged in the most spectacular fashion. But, amazingly, it worked. He smiled, he is easy on the eye (reputedly) and he made the shower hot, so calm serenity returned to the France household.
The Valbonne Monologues is finished and sent to the printers…who closed down at lunchtime yesterday until Jan 2nd. Great timing. I think they are so excited at the prospect of being the printers of a worldwide smash hit, they decided to take a holiday before getting to work.
Last night to the Kings Arms to avail ourselves of their very sensible policy of welcoming the consumption of takeaways in the pub. The game aunt was up for it, but did not order a vindaloo which she had threatened, mainly because we decided on Chinese instead. This reminded me of a book I picked up in Australia recently which I picture today.
Roadkill recipes from down under
When I found this book, I wanted to surprise Peachy Butterfield for Xmas, but as we are not now going to get down to Valbonne until later in January, I have decided to let the surprise out of the bag now. Peachy, being from up north, will, I am sure, take a great deal from this book, a sort of Northern version of a nod towards the celebrity chef cult.
I don’t know why I decided to use this photo after eating a Chinese takeaway, perhaps it was because some of the dishes resembled some of those prepared by Mr Butterfield at some of his barbecues in the south of France, although the Chinese tend to remove the horns and trotters, which according to him, are the best bits.
With rain of the most tempestuous nature forecast for every day before Christmas Day, plans need to be made to ease the horror. I usually take solace in the form of lunch. The Black Rabbit for Sunday lunch is a given, but there is today to fill, and my suggestion that we go to the George and Dragon at Houghton has so far fallen on stony ground. Personally, I blame M. Sarkozy and his crazy tax laws for my plight, otherwise lunch would have been taken at the Auberge St Donat near Valbonne in the sunshine, where I could have discussed with my friends the benefits of opening an account with Currencies Direct for all their foreign exchange needs. I know they would have been pleased.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Floodwaters about to break?
There is a Mayan prophecy that predicts that the end of the world will be today, 21st December 2012, the end of a cycle lasting over 5000 years. Because of that, and in case they are right, I felt duty bound to go out for a last lunch yesterday to Belinda’s in Arundel. However, I am not sure all Mayan followers are convinced about the accuracy of this prediction as they are still selling holidays to see the remains of the Mayan artefacts well into 2013.
I needed lunch, after a pint of London Pride at the newly refurbished White Swan Hotel in Arundel, to which I had not ventured since staying there when we first viewed the little house where we are now living. My excuse was the Mayan thing, and, with the weather truly horrible again, I had decided to put my best foot forward and head to the beach and take exercise. Having now twice broken the chain on my bike through over vigorous intent, I thought it better to explode into fitness on a beach in a gale and driving wind, where I could do no harm. Damage had already been done. The sea defences have been badly ravaged by the high tides of last week and today’s picture was taken of the River Arun at about the same time, and, as you can see, an Ark may have to be considered if this continues.
High tide in Arundel
Belinda’s was quaint but charming. Not open in the evening, it concentrates on the cream tea, cakes and puddings brigade but was a very suitable place to take one’s aunt, especially as she was under orders from her young man to visit; he is 90 and it is his favourite place to visit when he comes to play the organ at the cathedral, I shall need to meet him to ensure his suitability as a partner.
With the errant plumber still on a different plain, (can I say at this juncture that his arrival at the appointed time was just a pipe dream (or would that be below the standards usually expected of jokes in this column? no, I thought not), the smelly unshowered contingent decamped in the evening to the White Hart, which was rammed, and where we happened upon the Wyatt Earp of Arundel, the wonderfully sparky Kathryn, who made a point of insisting that she never again features in this column. I made the promise sincerely, but everyone knows that a statement made under duress is worthless. She seems blissfully unaware of the convention of duress, or my unreliability when it comes to adhering to promises made in this way, so she must expect a starring role should she ever deviate from her intended course of sobriety and calm serenity.
The full house of Sprogs made an excellent start to the Christmas break, starting with shots and then several Jack Daniels and coke, all at my expense of course. Mixing a bourbon with coke is a ridiculous waste of bourbon but they seemed happy enough taking me to the cleaners, a rather apt description given the lack of hot water at home at the moment. With the venerable and aged aunt tiring (yes, she had stood up to lunch and then a trip to a rowdy pub), we adjourned home where I suddenly panicked and realised that if the end of the world really is going to occur today, I needed to set fire to a few cigars and drink some of that St Emilion sent as huge expense from France in the summer, so must break off now to continue the good work. I hope this is not good-bye, just au revoir.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Monstrosity alert
There is something in the genes that makes plumbers unreliable. With the boiler messing around and with an 84-year-old aunt coming to stay we thought it best to have someone look at it. Diagnosis complete, money paid for the new part, a firm time for the repair to take place and then nothing. Home phone unanswered, mobile switched off, clearly he has been warped into another astral plane, a parallel universe accessed only by plumbers. We know where he lives but I guess we need him to return to earth to find out what happened. If you see me today, or rather smell me coming, no hot water is my excuse.
Lunch at Butlers in Arundel was slightly underwhelming. Nice place, attentive staff, but a dull menu saw me picking fish and chips for lunch. There goes the low carb lunch option. It was however good to see Barry the Dolls House, co-owner of the group that publishes Dolls House World. He is a great hustler and schemer, and his latest new big thing is beads. At a recent show for bead suppliers, it seems 8000 people attended. Perhaps they are all in search of some marbles? He seems obsessed with marginal hobbies, and if that is the case then I should be able to think if something more interesting with which to be involved. What about flavoured condoms? Anyway, I listened intently as he also has a holiday home in Turkey so is a clear contender for the services of Currencies Direct. I am certain he did not misconstrue my sudden interest in beads.
Then of to Guildford College for the bad news. Sprog 1 has been fasting for the last couple of months, building up an unstoppable appetite for my beers, wine and food at Christmas, and clearly he has to conserve his energy. What I take an exception to is that he seems unable to wake up in the mornings with the result that his attendance record at College is appalling. Heads will roll. After administering the customary parental rocket, coupled with threats of the most dire nature designed to impinge upon a profligate teenage lifestyle, we departed to pick up the aunt ready for the hot water that never came.
Auntie Pam likes proper beer and cricket so she is the dream relative She was happy to stop off for a pint of London Pride at a lovely old pub at Fittleworth (The Star or The Swan?), to discuss the merits of England’s very fine series victory over India in the recent finished test match series. The combination if beer and cricket being the only thing that could distract me from the desperate weather. The conversation then turned towards Valbonne and I suddenly remembered that it is 17 degrees and sunny there this week and the English weather crowded in to depress me.
A Christmas nightmare
Some if you will have seen the picture in this column yesterday of Arundel High Street, with its tasteful white lit Christmas trees adorning the walls of the shops and the Market square. All right thinking people know there is no substitute for white lights when it comes to Xmas decorations and I had though that genteel Arundel, with its wealth of period features and it’s classic old English style and ambience, would have no place for the occasional over the top gaudy light shows so beloved of the council house classes. I was shocked then to discover this monstrosity languishing in Maltravers Street.
What is going on in the mind of the owner?It is a fine old, I think, Georgian House with a classic facade, or it did have until an electrician, who had clearly overdosed on mind expanding drugs, decided to a create this utter waste of power. I once lived in a council house so I should have form, but even I have no idea of what is going on the head of the creator. Maybe he lives with our plumber?
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Arundel at night
Whilst there are undeniable advantages for a chap who hates shopping buying his Christmas presents on-line, no one seems to have worked out what a waste if time it can be. A whole day wasted. Delivery was scheduled for either on Monday or Tuesday between 8 and 6. That means that one is forced to stay in the house waiting for the courier that never comes. It is the same today. Another courier delivery, another morning stuck in the house.
One may be forgiven for assuming that as Sprog 2 is home, she could be detailed to remain on duty to sign for the wretched things, but that is a fantasy entertained by those with no knowledge of teenage student sleep patterns, and their resultant incapability of discharging the simplest of tasks before 2pm. This means that the initial triumph of selecting and purchasing the gift from the comfort of one’s armchair is often the start of a three-day vigil waiting for the courier, as bad as waiting for your man to an addict.
The good news is that it is finished. The Valbonne Monologues has been sent for final formatting and printing. Hurrah! Within a few days I will be able to project forward to a launch date, once I have certainty of delivery, again inevitably, by courier.
So, stir crazy and in a celebratory mood, we went to the Red Lion in Arundel for a pint of London Pride and in search of a part-time Xmas bar job for Sprog 2. With that Nice Lady Decorator still plagued by jet lag after our recent return from Australia, we returned swiftly to the White Hart so as to be close to home when she wanted to crash out, but contrarily she woke up and demanded food. Arundel is very festively decorated at night at this time of year as I hope today’s picture captures.
Arundel in Christmas mood
A Somebody has written a book. Called “The Autobiography Of A Somebody”, it was written by a chap whose name I cannot reveal but he lives near my beloved Valbonne, and as a hint, he has had some influence over my sartorial style over the past few years. Whilst he is often free, his book is not. It is a fascinating exercise, not putting his name to it, and as a result has already sold over 500 copies. This fact has led me to some soul searching. As regular readers cannot fail to be aware, I have taken the traditional route with my first and shortly my second books, naming myself as the author, but have archived less than half the sales that he has achieved. This is a mystery. So far I can come only to very unsatisfactory conclusions about the relative merits of our respective books. I need to find out more about his marketing tactics as there must be a trick I have missed. I would have liked to argue that I have targeted a more highbrow audience, but I can almost hear the Wingco guffawing at such a concept. I must find out more.
Once couriers have wasted my morning I have a busy schedule of events lined up. Lunch with an old friend whom I have not seen for more than decade is in the diary. Butlers, the charming restaurant in Tarrant Street in Arundel is the venue. Barry King is head honcho for a number of magazines, primary amongst these is Dolls House World. Yes, I know, what kind if job is that for a grown man. What sort of person is he likely to come into contact in a daily basis? Old crusties with nothing else to do but waste their time with their obsessive little hobbies. In the context of my daily obsession of producing this column aimed primarily at people with foreign exchange needs and my age, perhaps there clue in his desire to see me.
Chris France
Christmas subterfuge
The bike is fixed and the fitness regime has commenced. After breaking the chain with over exuberant exercise last week, I had taken the bike into a scruffy bike place in L A (Littlehampton), who had promised to fix it. I bought a couple of bells for both our bikes and it cost in total £5, stunningly cheap after the relentless rip off that is Australia.
It was another lovely start to the day, as good as yesterday when I took this picture just down the coast at Clymping. It is promised to be dry today, note, not sunny , just dry and that seems to be it before Christmas. Wet, windy weather will woar (a rare deliberate spelling mistake for the sake if alliteration) Wednesday when we will welcome winter. What a horrible sentence. Yes, according to the weather forecasters today will be the last dry day before the 25th will be today.
The coast at Clymping
Weather forecasting; now that is a curious job to want to perform. You get the blame when the weather is crap, which in the UK, is almost all the time and you get no praise when it is good, if you want to do that job and be popular you would be better off going to the south of France. At least you would be less unpopular. I bring this up as I can see my friends in Valbonne on Facebook all enjoying lunches on the beach and sitting around in shorts in December, exactly what I would be doing but for M. Sarkozy and M. Hollande.
The Christmas tree has arrived, all three feet of it. Gone are the days of a 7 ft tree as we have a house with very low beams, and just one set of lights is plenty. Presents have begun to appear beneath it, mainly it has to be said, to wind up Sprog 2 who spends every Christmas checking under the tree each day and making a note of how many of the presents are for her. Personally I don’t think it is cruel deliberately to mis-label the presents. Others may take a different view. In earlier years she has spent so much time touching and counting the gifts with her name on them, that we have had to resort to subterfuge.
She has often been able to ruin the surprise, either by continual examination, holding, shaking, caressing and smelling the gifts and managed to guess their contents . I think the most extreme example was when we suspected she had employed a metal detector. Hiding present around the house on cupboards, in the loft or under the beds does not work, she has powers of search and deduction that would be the envy of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The best method is obscuring the wrapped contents has been disguise. Add fake shapes, adding perfume or herbs has thrown her off the scent (eek…), wrapping up a brick in the package has been known to work but she is wise to that now. Wrapping them up like a pass the parcel has usually worked, but she is getting clever. You would think that by the age of 18 she might have grown out of this, but no.
Today I must finish the final edit of The Valbonne Monologues if I am to have any chance of making the 24th January as a delivery date. It will require a herculean effort but, as the raw material is so easy to read and I want to know what happens and how out ends, there is at least half a chance it will be finished today.
Once again I am proud to say thy there is no plug today for the excellent foreign exchange service offered by Currencies Direct. Oh , I have just read that back and I am wrong, there is.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Making waves before Christmas
The 4th day of the cricket match between India and England conspired to keep me from attending the singing by Carol in the Market Square in Arundel, finishing as it did after 11am, and by the time I had consumed the smoked salmon and scrambled eggs that constitutes part of the low carb diet upon which I have been placed, it was midday and that Nice Lady Shopper wanted to go to Ford Market. The reward I demanded for having to put up with yet more retail reality, was a trip to the beach in some rather nice and unaccustomed sunshine. With another very high tide, and with wonderful large waves, it was a great site as I hope my picture today depicts.
Clymping beach in some rare sunshine under pressure from a high tide
We had taken the dogs with us. The amiable springer Max had sensibly kept a long way away from the 12 foot waves, but the idiot mutt, Banjo, the calamitous cocker, almost provided me with an early Christmas present by gleefully chasing a stone I had thrown just as a very large wave crashed onto the beach. It was a short-lived hope, as that Nice lady Decorator, whose horrible hound it is and as protector of him since he was introduced to our household against my express instructions, put a stop to my little game before the present could be delivered.
After a long hard walk in shingle, we returned to Arundel to see the high tide there and, overcome by a sudden thirst popped in to the Kings Arms for a pint of the best beer in the world; Fullers London Pride. We were in the planning phase for New Years Eve, when we have some renegades from Buckinghamshire coming to visit. Top of the list for consideration, in my opinion, is the Townhouse, probably the best restaurant in Arundel. However at £85 per head excluding wine, I suspect we may take the cheaper option of The Bay Tree, a snip at £49.95 per person.
The reason for visiting the Kings Head was to consider whether the third option was feasible. This pub has the foresight, not only to serve the best beer, but is also renowned for allowing and encouraging its customers to order a take away and eat it in the pub. They also supply cutlery, serviettes and clear up afterwards, so as an impecunious option, we wondered if the same offer applied on New Years Eve. It does. Thus there is a full range of options. I must say I would not be averse to a Lamb Jalfrezi and bismati rice for around £15, some £70 less than the Townhouse. Of course it is fanciful to suggest that I shall be involved in the decision-making process, but it is a move forward that I was involved in the planning meetings, albeit only as driver and observer. When I am eventually informed of the decision then you will be the first to know.
As Christmas is coming, I thought I would give you all a rest from outlining the benefits of using Currencies Direct when moving foreign currency, as I think by now you all know the benefits, but if you do need more information please visit my Currencies Direct website.
Today, after collecting my bike,broken by over zealous physical abuse from my nearly 60-year-old body, I shall be continuing with the final edit of my new book The Valbonne Monologues, as I know there are many people waiting for it. That is what I believe and nothing will change my opinion that I am right.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
1000th post!
This is my 1000th column. Consider that for a moment, at 600 words a day that is 600,000 words mostly for you, dear reader, but also to extol the virtues of opening a foreign exchange account with Currencies Direct. Even the subliminally deaf cannot have failed to notice the theme that runs through every post. It has spawned a book (shortly to be 2) and caused me to be able to describe myself as a writer and successful author as “Summer In The Cote d’Azur” has actually made a profit. Thus in my opinion, and a significantly small percentage of the some 90,000 visitors to this site, it is a success. Regular readers will know that shall be clinging to this concept like a limpet for the foreseeable future.
The mathematicians amongst you may already calculated that in total this is more words than War And Peace, but quality is everything, as I am sure fellow writer Tolstoy, would agree. It is also true that we may not agree on everything.
To celebrate this literally astonishing occasion, we decided to go to the coast to witness the highest tide of the month. That it was blowing a gale was a given, but served to make the whole experience more exciting. God, who am I trying to fool. Apart from the majesty of it all, fully appreciated after about 5 minutes, it was, as I think the Wingco might have said, “ghastly”. I managed to grab this photo of Sprog 2, who had unwisely agreed to join us, “enjoying” the seaside. If you need a comparison in terms of enjoyment of a beach experience, have a look at yesterdays 999th post picture in the column below. B for Bondi, C for Clymping, D for Diabolical.
The joys of an English beach in winter
There were some uplifting moments however. A brief dive into the Black Horse at Clymping to readjust ones make up and clothing was some relief, and, returning to Arundel to witness a very high tide on the River Arun, allowed a pit stop at the White Hart, so it was not all bad.
After the, almost entirely, working trip to Australia, where I had been on duty for Currencies Direct for almost the whole time, it is nice to have some leisure time, some time to myself. Today being a Sunday, I shall be expecting to have lunch, probably at The Black Rabbit in the edge of Arundel. The penance will be a stiff walk somewhere before hand to work up a thirst.
One of my readers yesterday asked me what I would like for Christmas, and seemed a little miffed when I suggested that a second-hand Bentley Azure would do the trick. It would not be a toy, it would be put to work as a wedding car thus making it a business, with all the benefits and, of course, responsibilities that entails. Any suggestion that it would be used privately in order to go to the races or other outdoor events offering a picnic opportunity for purely personal satisfaction would be entirely incorrect. I would always specifically be on the look out for potential Currencies Direct customers, thus a business element will always be evident. I wonder if, in these circumstances, champagne could be tax-deductible? Note to self; ask accountant.
The last full week before Christmas should be a quiet affair, with the exception of the carnage that may ensue having both Sprogs being in residence before the weekend. Christmas shopping will loom large in the life of at least one in our family, that Nice Lady Christmas Shopper taking full advantage of the retail opportunities presented.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
A nice dream turns into a nightmare
There I was blissfully on the beach at Bondi with the Pacific Ocean crashing on to the shore and the brisk wind in my hair, enjoying the warmth and then I woke up. The noise of the wind was still there, howling in the December gloom, plus the equivalent of the sea, except it was blowing sideways against my window in the form of rain. Normally one has nightmares when one is asleep, this was the other way around, I woke up in a nightmare.
England in general, and Arundel in particular, has many things going for it, but one of those is not the weather. The day before, our first day back from a trip to Australia, had been cold, frosty and slightly Christmasy, yesterday was just disgraceful. I am hoping for better today as it is the third Saturday in the month and thus the Farmers Market in the town today, plus Carol singing in the Market Square at 10.30 this morning. I will pop down if I am awake, and it is not raining. I am not sure who she is or what she is going to sing but I like to support honest endeavour.
The plan last night to go to the White Hart was destroyed by three factors, the arrival of Sprog 2, thereby opening the official Christmas locust period, the cricket on the TV at 4am and jet lag. The locust reference is a description of what happens to my stocks of food and drink when Sprogs arrive. At this stage, certainly for the next few days, we are at 50% locust coverage, Sprog 2 arrives back later in the week when the full 100% will kick in. I should really have gone to the pub as I have another Currencies Direct client in my sights, and he expected to be there, but jet lag is a tricky animal to tame. Then with the test match against India in the middle of the night nicely poised (in our favour, at least when play started), fatigue and a roaring fire at home impeded my ability to get off the sofa.
The dream beach, Bondi in Australia
Today is predicted to be the highest tide of the month, so with the high winds of yesterday, and as long as it is not raining, we shall venture to the beach at, or maybe Rustington wrapped up to the nines, hoping to see some extreme conditions. In England that seems almost a given. It helps that there is a pub, indeed pubs in the vicinity. High tide at the coast is around 12.30 and at Arundel at around 1.40pm. There are pubs in Arundel as well, and, as we have denied proper beer for nearly a month, I feel the need to catch up with my quota.
That theme will be in my mind in the coming week, although I shall be under pressure from that Nice Lady Nutritionalist to keep my powder dry for the Christmas period. Laudable as that might be, it will be very boring and I shall be doing my best to loosen her iron grip on my beer glasses.
Just a small warning; this column has been published daily for over two and a half years, and the mathematicians amongst you may be able to work out from this that my 1000th post is imminent. When it is published, expect a great deal of self-congratulatory stuff, as I feel I will be unable to restrain the deserved praise for the discipline involved daily in exposing the antics of the lives of the idle rich in Valbonne and the idle poor in Arundel.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Old and Haggard?
The contrast was startling. 28 degrees when we left Dubai, minus 3 degrees when we arrived at Heathrow. Prince Charles will be disappointed, the 3 Degrees were one of his favourite groups. I shall take good care of myself after the intensive partying in which I have indulged on my working holiday to Bangkok and Australia. All good things must come to an end.
I can almost hear the combined intake of breath as you read the penultimate sentence, but I would contend that it was just that, a working holiday. I have at least one new customer for Currencies Direct as a result of my trip, using the expression “working holiday” in this context is entirely justified and my accountant can expect a fulsome claim imminently. With this column being produced daily, and with it being a shameless, cynical attempt subliminally to promote this benefits of opening a Currencies Direct account, in my opinion there is the case for all expenses to be tax-deductible, including the secretarial services of that Nice Lady Decorator.
But, not for the first time, I digress. The shocking change in temperature has started the hibernation process, although that could be jet-lag. I have spent the day yesterday shivering, but arguably that could at least, in part, be due to it being the first day without a drink since about October. I found this picture in my phone describing an ancient and decrepit area in Australia, which seems rather apt in the circumstances.
Old and Haggard? sounds like a couple of English opening bowlers
One of the advantages of jet lag when the England cricket team is playing a test match in India, is that a being wide awake at 3.30am has its advantages, as one can switch on the TV and watch the game live due to the time difference. This was my lot earlier this morning so doubtless I will be asleep half the day. The words “how can you tell” spring to mind.
Today I must go into LA , as the locals call Littlehampton, to collect my bike. Yesterday, under intense pressure from my honed and vibrant body, the chain snapped whilst I was on a pursuit. These pursuits are supposed to last no more than 10 seconds, followed by 50 seconds of mild exercise, but the chain was too weak to take the sustained pressure. That is how I see it, but the warnings that the chain would snap, annoyingly issued by that Nice Lady Decorator, concerned about my lack of oiling the chain after cycling on the beach now look quite prescient.
The scourge of Christmas shopping is now a daily danger, give that there are now just a handful of shopping days until Xmas. At least in the modern digital world, much can be done from one’s computer screen, but even now, one is forced to venture out into that retail jungle, so beloved by that Nice Lady Christmas Shopper, and abhorred by yours truly. I will be so glad when it is all over.
It could not last. I have heard (or maybe in was just a dream?) that more than one day without a drink for a regular drinker can damage one’s liver, so with my health primarily in mind, I shall tonight meet up with some locals for an early Christmas drink at the White Hart next door. I expect the gorgeous Kathryn, the Wyatt Earp of Arundel, to be there , ready to row more men out of town, and the Omega goddess to be in the company of James “Desperate Dan” the Landlord. I do hope I am not mistaken.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Hand relief for Joey
It was probably the first ever blog posted whilst aboard an Airbus A 380. Yesterday’s column was published whilst I was en route from Dubai to London Heathrow on an Emirates double-decker, courtesy of their on board wifi. The second leg, from Dubai to London, started well with a top Sancerre to keep that Nice Lady Decorator quiet (what am I saying? Of course it makes her noisy) and I was initially calmed by a delightful 2003 Haut Brion. I also love the bar at the back where we unwound after a 14 hour marathon from Sydney to Dubai, and from where I selected today’s photo, of Rachel “Lady In Waiting” Surtees giving some hand relief to a wallaby on Kangaroo Island.
Feeding wallabies by hand
We had to spend part of the flight in that bar in order to get away from some noisy brat kids that should have had a slap. They certainly would if they has been mine. Actually, it was the parents that deserves the slap the most. It beats me how anyone can think that their kids making sufficient noise to disturb the whole population of the upper deck of the plane can be amusing. Even with the headphones on and Ab Fab at maximum volume, I could still hear nearly every grimace-inducing shriek.
Back in the country and ready to work for a day or two before the vital unwinding for the Christmas break. Boy I have a hard life. It was almost inevitable that upon returning, and with jet lag an issue, plus having a pub next door, that we would want to reintroduce ourselves to the cold and damp that is England, and take some real ale that has not been frozen to within an inch of its life. My planned excuse was that I thought there may have been a potential Currencies Direct client at the bar, but it seemed I was mistaken, however, fate took a hand.
The nightmare began with a delay on the flight. It got worse when we discovered our chauffeur, collecting us from the airport, was a perky, cheeky, happy, chappy from Essex, who insisted on keeping up a stream of inane drivel all the way from Heathrow to Arundel. He compounded this with ignoring his sat nav thereby extending the trip by 15 minutes. By this time, we had travelled half way around the world, lost 12 hours due to time zone changes, been on the move for some 30 hours with little sleep and were not in the mood for mindless banter. Can you imagine how we felt? And then the piece de resistance; we got into the house and… No water.
Having driven through a winter wonderland of snow and frost, the first thought was a frozen pipe. What to do? it was late afternoon and getting dark, we were exhausted, so I was sent to the pub to see if there was help to be had. A plumber at the bar was summoned and it appears that whilst we have been away, the house has been fitted with a water meter, but the water supplier had not bothered to turn on the supply. The least we could do, after he identified and fixed the problem, was buy the chap a drink and that concludes the case for the defence of why we had to go to the pub shortly after we got home.
One would hope for normality to return today, indeed that Nice Lady Decorator has, quite sensibly, decreed that today will be a day of abstinence, prayer, quiet contemplation and washing. However, I have overheard the scheduling of a gathering in the White Hart on Friday evening, I think I can wait.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Australia beached
A story emanated from our last lunch on the beach with John “Chuckle Brothers” Surtees and his voluptuous wife Rachael “Lady On Waiting” Surtees. It involves their window cleaner some years ago, when she had young children. The chap was diligently polishing their panes when he was asked by our spectacularly well endowed one (sorry Lin) whether he would like a cup of coffee. When he answered in the affirmative, she quickly realised that she had run out of milk, so what to do? As she peered into the fridge she spotted some breast milk which she had expressed herself earlier and, not wishing to disappoint the window cleaner, popped some into his coffee. I consider that telling us in public was laudable, making a clean breast of it as it were.
The final lunch was one of the least expensive but still good and took place on the beach at Barzura at Coogee, from where we had walked from Bondi Beach. It was the idea of the well endowed one, and, with nothing really planned, we decided to join in for the 7km walk along the cliff tops of the Eastern Coastal Walk. The prospect of working up a thirst and an appetite, on another poor day for Australian weather, proved irresistible. We were joined at Coogee by Larry “ukulele rock god” Smith, who was on his best behaviour despite not benefiting from the tender mercies of his carer, the lovely Marita, who was otherwise engaged.
On the walk down, I took this picture of one of the beaches. there are 4 or 5 spectacular beaches between Coogee and Bondi and the even look good when the weather is iffy.
Australian beach
Lunch was a triumph, a cab back to the city, a last drink in the Australian Hotel, and we were whisked off to the airport, courtesy of Emirates, to board the A 380 double-decker flight to Dubai. At first I thought I was in heaven but the entertainment system refused to work properly and the much vaunted seats that were supposed to go flat failed, causing me to be moved to another seat, but then it got better. Puligny Montrachet, a 2003 Margaux, Graham’s 20 year old vintage port and some wonderful food restored my faith in Emirates.
This is the first column I have written whilst on a flight. The plane is fitted with on-board wifi, enabling me to keep working on the benefits one can glean from opening an account with Currencies Direct and to be able to post this blog in a timely manner.
So, England awaits and I can feel my suntan beginning to fade already. I shall be white by Christmas and blue by the end of January, by which time I hope I shall have finally unleashed The Valbonne Monologues, my new book, upon a largely suspicious world. Some final editing, and a berating phone call to the printers should be enough to finalise the launch. I do not expect them to close down for Christmas when they have been entrusted with producing such a vital publication. If I can be certain of the printing delivery times then I can confirm the arrangements. I have asked the redoubtable Frazer Hines to officiate at the launch. Frazer, aka Joe Sugden from TV’s Emmerdale Farm, and Jamie from Dr Who, expressed mild interest (whilst we were playing cricket together in Adelaide a few weeks ago) in being my guest speaker as long as dates (and probably fee) can be confirmed, watch this space. A significant possibility is 28th January and a significant place is the Auberge Provencal in Valbonne Square.
Chris France
The tide changes
The last day in Sydney took the form of a long lunch whilst sheltering from the unmitigating cloudy and dull weather. It is as if the gods have begun preparing us for the horror of what we are about to experience back in the UK, where I hear you have all been basking of temperatures a high as minus 2. Australia is a wonderful country, but so expensive, and I think my picture today sums up the financial experience we have endured as tourists with almost worthless sterling in our wallets. I hear that America and Europe are awash with Australians, tourists and speculators, gleefully buying up everything and anything they can get their hands on. It is a bit like when we first found Greece about 30 years ago. Everything was so cheap.
Beware strong rip off indeed
As soon as we get back to the UK on Wednesday, then it will be straight next door to the White Hart in Arundel for some proper beer in big glasses. They call it a pint here but it is not, it is 10 fluid ounces which I make about 3/4 of a pint. It also has too much fizz in it and is generally too cold. I am looking forward to a nice room-temperature pint of Harvey’s Best. Also, I can just about guarantee that James “Desperate Dan” the landlord will not be asking me if I want my beer served in a schooner (as they call a small measure over here) . I shall of course want it on dry land.
I am also looking forward to getting into the Christmas spirit. Don’t ge me wrong, the Australians are gearing up for Xmas as well, with loads of parties and decorations everywhere, but it is summer here and it is all wrong. It does not work. Can you imagine throwing a few prawns on the barbie in your shorts on Christmas Day in Arundel? No, it is all wrong.
On the way back we have a 4 hour stopover at Dubai airport where, as far as I am concerned, the entirety of my Christmas shopping will be completed before we set off for Heathrow. This is a neat way of getting this irksome task out of the way early, and allowing Christmas in England to wash over me (not drown me, I hope). I have a string of presents I need, and think I deserve them, as I have worked tirelessly through the year for Currencies Direct, even collecting up a couple of new clients whilst down under. A portion of the cost of the trip will clearly be tax deductible and I look forward to the usual vigorous discussions with my accountants as to what can be claimed.
We said goodbye last night to Larry “rock ukulele” Smith and the lovely but scary Marita. They joined us for early evening drinks at the Australian Hotel en route to a ukulele dinner. He told me that he was learning to play some rock classics on the uke, and was determined that I should listen to some Led Zeppelin classics for the ukulele and it was at the point when he got animated about his version of “Born To Be Wild” by Steppenwolf, that I glazed over and formed the impression that he has been in Australia for too long. They then kindly invited me to this dinner in Double Bay where the event was to be staged but, do you know, I suddenly remembered a long-standing engagement that I had only just thought off and managed to avoid such a debacle.
Au revoir Australia, next stop Dubai.
Chris France
Last tango in Sydney
As we walked past the Vintage Cafe in Sydney on our way down to Circular Quay for breakfast, I was reminded that the night before, when we had eaten there, that Nice Lady Decorator has made use of the staff facilities whilst looking for the toilet. She had greeted the chef and a couple of startled kitchen hands on the way to the staff loo. This only came to light after I went in search of the facilities and was promptly ejected by the scruff of my neck from the kitchens for following her directions. The public toilets were on the right in a different block. An overcast start to the last full day in Sydney started with breakfast on the Quay, under the shadow of Sydney Harbour Bridge and within sight of the Opera House. A hop-on hop-off ferry took us back to Watson’s Bay where Doyle’s famous fish restaurant is located and which is pictured today. It was recently sold for Auz$30 million (you should check what that is in sterling by checking the Currencies Direct exchange rates today) and has been established for 127 years. It is arguably the most famous restaurant in Australia but with weather more suited to Scarborough than Sydney we decided to head to Darling Harbour so that I can report back to my style guru, Mr Humphries, when he is free, about its relative merits.
Doyle’s restaurant on the beach at Watson Bay in Sydney
Largely a tourist trap, it still exuded a certain charm which was magnified by the application of a large Bloody Mary. John “Chuckle Brothers” Surtees remained with a coffee and spent twenty minutes chuntering on, in true Yorkshire style, about why, when it was his round, the most expensive drinks were ordered. I did not have the heart to tell him it was deliberate. I am not saying he is mean, he is just from Yorkshire and it comes with the territory. If he just took the good with the bad he would be better off. As it is, we were all better off but with the added bonus that we extracted extra amusement at his discomfiture. The tourist route was followed by some; we did the monorail tour but some Yorkshire chaps backed out. Perhaps it was the $5 charge. A brief siesta and them it was fine for our final (probably) rendezvous of the trip, a last drink with Larry Smith, Australian renegade from Cannes, at where else? The Australian Hotel, about 100 metres from the Shangri La, where we are staying for one more night. 5.30 is a little early to start, but needs must when the devil drives, and alcohol can be a devil, but as Peachy Butterfield would say “what could possibly go wrong?”. So, a chapter closes and this evening we will be London bound courtesy of a business class seat with Emirates. After the last debacle in Australia, where I purchased a British Airways economy class ticket and relied on my various BA pilot chums for an upgrade, I decided to take the risk out of it, and on the point of bankruptcy due to the extravagant cost of this trip, to take the bull by the horns and get a bed for the long trip home. It will be an austere Christmas chez the France’s. It may be impossible to post tomorrows episode on time as I shall be in the middle of a 24 hour flight back to blighty, but rest assured, if it possible to post then I shall. The 1000th column is coming up this month, so be prepared for an outbreak of self adulation.
Chris France
An old git rants about the weather
After a lost evening, we were up early and ready for the promised tour around Sydney courtesy of Joe and Debs Chadwick, who have a wonderful house high up in Vaucluse on the coast. Bright sunshine and warm temperatures at 9am were replaced by a brisk southerly wind, plummeting temperatures and scudding cloud by 9.30. Sydney, which the day before in the sunshine and with the bustle of a Saturday, was one of the best cities in the world, turned into a dull and unremarkable place with the arrival of poor weather. We were driven up the coast in search of a hearty breakfast, where we eventually found space at Bill’s Place in Paddington, although we had to seek shelter from the wind inside. By that I mean that someone was producing a great deal of wind outside. It seems a Sunday tradition that all Australians go out for breakfast as almost all the cafe’s were packed. Bill is apparently famous as a chef down here and has written books on cooking. You may be forgiven for thinking that you may not need too much advice on how to cook grubs and insects, staple food for indigenous Australians, but they have moved on. Bill was able to cook my sweetcorn fritter on a bed of spinach with a green salsa side dish to perfection and as a result, it must rank amongst the best breakfasts I have ever had.
Touring the smart Sydney suburbs in Rose Bay, Watson’s Bay and Bondi Beach was very a pleasant and we stopped at Doyle’s the famous seafood eatery for a beer, as by that time the sun had passed the yardarm, but again, too much wind had an impact so it was not the experience I remembered from 10 years ago when I was last here. Then, I had raved about Doyle’s but yesterday it looked tatty and uninteresting. I must be getting old. I have a picture taken yesterday of Clovelly Beach when it was sunny, which is a totally different prospect.
Clovelly Beach in Sydney, when it was sunny and warm
Lured back to the city, with under two days to go before we leave, and with”Chuckle Brothers and “Lady in Waiting” Surtees fresh in from the Barrier Reef, we headed out to introduce them to the Rocks area of Sydney where we are staying and happened upon The Vintage Cafe for dinner. Soon I shall be back basking in the comparative warmth of an English winter, and back to extolling the benefits of opening an account with Currencies Direct, but until then I am determined to “enjoy” the summer weather here in Sydney. It is just that don’t have enough clothing to keep out the cold. Global warming? Pah!
The exchange rates when I was last in Sydney were roughly Auz$3 to the £. Now they are nearly Auz$1.50 to the £ with the result that everything here is now horribly expensive. It is utterly ridiculous that we can buy Australian wine back in the UK cheaper than we can here, and the restaurants are particularly to blame, Auz$60 for a half decent bottle of Shiraz takes a lot of the fun out of it.
So, last full day in Australia and we have not yet seen Darling Harbour, which sounds like a place my style guru, Mr Humphries might enjoy (if he was free), and that reminds me that there is a gathering at La Kavanou in Valbonne for the launch of a book by A Somebody on Thursday between 3 and 6. Mysterious? why not pop in if you are in the area to find out?
Chris France
We will fight them on the beaches
With a room number of 1418 at the Shangri La hotel in Sydney, I could be forgiven for expecting world War 1 to erupt, and it nearly did when we could not get a seat in the 36th floor bar for a nightcap on Friday evening. Dozens of kids, full of booze from their Christmas parties, were taking up space to which we, as residents, felt we were entitled. With the arch-duke about to be shot down in Bosnia, causing WW 1 hostilities to commence, I had to act quickly to head that Nice Lady Decorator off at the pass. I found a seat and sat down. When I was asked to move I told them I was too old and tired to get up and if they wanted me out they needed to call a para medic team and an ambulance. They got the message and we got some great seats by the window looking down over the wonderful Sydney skyline. An international incident was averted and there will be peace in our time. We just don’t know how long it will last.
There is a World War theme developing today. We had an appointment to meet a long-lost relative (well, he has been in Australia for a long time) who was a life guard at Bondi beach, and being the iconic surfers beach and a must see Sydney attraction, we decided we were attracted to it. We managed to gain access to the RSL in North Bondi, which is a kind of ex-servicemen’s club, but no ex-service mens club in England that I have ever seen can boast a view as good as this.
View from the RSL in Bondi Beach
We met a 91-year-old former Wellington bomber pilot who had been awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross in World War 2, but he flew off before I could get his picture. I think his name was John Brown. Earlier, we had stopped in for a quick one (try three) at the Bucket List bar on Bondai beach for a thirst quenching jug of beer. I like the idea of selling it by a jug, which comprises three Australian pints, it makes ordering the round so much simpler, although not being a full pint is yet another way for the Australians to extract money from people under false pretences, but I digress. Wonderful weather at least diverted that Nice Lady Decorator from a further sense of humour failure.
Earlier we had walked along the cliff side past a couple of very pretty beaches close to Bondai in order to work up that thirst. I am not at all certain what transpired afterwards but I know we went back to someone’s house and drank some very relaxing Maclaren Vale Shiraz, before being poured into a taxi to return to the city for what we hoped would be a short siesta before dinner. Waking up at midnight was a bit disorientating, so here I am writing this column and trying to remember to extol the virtues of opening an account with Currencies Direct in the middle of the night, whilst contemplating taking a mortgage out for room service.
Just three more days in Sydney before the big trip home, so we have a few more things to cram in. Today, we are meeting Valbonne renegades the Chadwick’s, Joe the canny Yorkshireman and the lovely Debs, who moved back to Sydney a couple of years ago, for breakfast and a tour of this lovely city, then John “Chuckle Brothers” Surtees and his wife the lovely Rachael “Lady In Waiting” will arrive from their diversion to the Barrier reef, so all hell will let loose later today.
Chris France
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