How many shades of grey are there?
We have all heard of the semi-pornographic series of books bearing the word Grey, and I think the writer must have spent time in Arundel, or England at least, in order fully to appreciate the number of shades that exist. I would say that we have witnessed several hundred variations of grey in the past week. I cannot remember a spell of more grey weather and I don’t see how anyone would want to wear shades when it is so dank and dreary. However, there is a song in my heart and a smile around my lips as tonight I am going to be allowed out to play. I believe it involves a pub and some dinner and at last, some carbohydrates. Without a serious infusion I may shortly become so thin I will disappear up my own backside, a sort of black hole….where am I going with this? nowhere pleasant it would seem.
Yesterday though was gruesome, or should I be saying greysome? We woke up it was grey, we went to the beach for a long walk, it was grey, I went cycling, it was grey, I was tempted for a moment to look down whilst standing in the shower, but decided not to risk it. If Larry Grayson were still alive he would be saying “What a grey day”. I have a picture today to sum it all up.
Was it Ultravox who recorded “Fade To Grey”?
But nothing will wipe that emerging smirk from my lips. It is now less than a month before we set of for Bangkok and then Australia as part of the Golden Oldies Cricket Festival in Adelaide. I have discovered that the captain of our team is the owner of Ripley Castle. Sir Thomas Ingilby will be our leader during the tour, and any suggestion that he is merely a tour guide will be dealt with harshly. Our team is to be called the Nidderdale Warriors and they are so serious they are talking about having nets (that is practice to you non cricketing sorts) prior to the off, however they will be held in Yorkshire which is a tad to far to go for an evening. Also amongst the luminaries who are in our team is one Fraser Hines. Fraser, who will no doubt try once again to sell me one of his books, as I will now be able to do to him, is an actor who has appeared in major TV series such as Emmerdale Farm and holds the record as the longest companion for Dr Who. I wonder if he is a little late does one call him a little tardis? but I digress. Clearly the tour will be a media feast, if for no one else but me. I shall of course be attempting to ensure that my team mates are well aware of the dangers of not using Currencies Direct for all their foreign exchange needs, which will arguably make this a business trip. That is certainly the firm line I shall be taking with my accountant when the credit card bills come home to roost. All I need to do is get a little fitter (do you think Kwik Fit might have a spare one?) which is a bit of a problem as I have a bit of a dodgy knee. As one gets older bits keep breaking off and it may be that some routine maintenance may be required before I venture onto the field of play. The solace is that there will be those playing who are even older than I as the minimum age at which one can take part is 40.
Chris France
Run of the mill
When in France, the verb “to drizzle” is usually used in the context of a cranberry or other exotic “jus” or the like being drizzled over a lovely piece of lamb or fish. In England you are more likely to be drizzled upon by rain. 6 solid days of crap weather and I am so missing the delights of Valbonne. Until the last week the weather in the UK has been generally quite amiable, not good but not as bad as I had expected. This week has been as bad as I expected. I was moved to write on Peachy Butterfield’s Facebook page yesterday after I saw him dithering over whether to go for lunch in San Remo or San Tropez. I could not resist using some of my best French; “Sans drizzle” would do me.
Talking of Facebook, I have set up (well obviously I haven’t actually set it up, it has been set up for me) a page for The Valbonne Chronicles where you can keep abreast by the moment of the progress the book is making towards publication. I know you are all going to love it, so if you can press “like” on the page, I will forgive God for the drizzle. Reverend Jeff are you there? Three more copies of the first book sold on Kindle this month takes sales to a massive and heartening 208 which coincidentally was the 208th word on this page if a number can be a word?
It was sad to see the obituary of one of the great English eccentrics Sir Roy Sealand in the Daily Telegraph. He bought a fort in the north sea to live on and declared independence. He also offered an outlet for the early days of pirate radio and once held a German citizen hostage until the German Govt sent an envoy to get their countryman released. He was 91 when he died recently. Obviously I did not find it myself as it was in The Daily Telegraph, a newspaper for whom I have been known to write, but it was forwarded by Currencies Direct client Anthony “Dock Of The” Bay who is one of my favourite Valbonnaise eccentrics. I once found him at the Vignale Tennis Club in Plascassier trying out an Indian silk coat that he had found in a wardrobe he had not opened since 1968. Why he was wearing it, and why in the car park of the tennis club on a hot afternoon accompanied by his “niece”? were questions to which I never received a satisfactory answer. There are events that clearly occur on a plane to which I am not privy.
Today’s picture I took on yesterdays gruelling carb-free cycle around Arundel (in the drizzle). It is of an old mill which comprises part of the Duke Of Norfolk’s estate. It seemed to me that a wet theme was apt for today, and I don’t just mean the writing style.
Today looks like being dominated by more drizzle and less carbohydrates. The bathroom scales are being stubborn and will not register the progress I have undoubtedly made back to the usual Adonis-like stature for which I am renowned in my own mind. I suspect the bike is going to get a bit of a battering which is an expression I may have enjoyed in my teenage years but nowadays hold nowhere near the romance. Excercise is so much less interesting when the elements are against you. The best chance may be to go down to the sea again, the sea, the sand, the sky. I left my shoes and socks here, I wonder if they’re dry?
Chris France
Grey area?
So to lunch with Mild, formerly Wild Willy Barrett at the Old Crown in Chiddingfold. For some reason of higher mathematics that I have never quite grasped it seems it was my treat. That he arrived before I and then charged everything to the tab, booked in my name, was an elementary mistake, and one which I shall regret until, and after, the credit card bill is received.
Despite my paying it was great to see the old chap again and as beers and wine flowed more schemes, each less feasible than the last were discussed in to further his music career, one that has veered sharply from the mainstream since his success with John Otway in the late 1970’s and as I recall some were adopted. Once I had returned to my desk I sent details of his website over to my web designer to have a look at and the prognosis was not good. Wild had described his web presence as “One Page Willy” and he was nor far off the mark. At the parting moment I remembered to tell him that he needed to open an account with Currencies Direct and await the completed forms with bated breath.
Back at home in evening after watching Downton Abbey, a Sunday night addiction with which I seem to be afflicted along with half the population of England, I began to consider the range of unlikely ideas discussed in the hubris of a nice lunch and, one by one, find problems with each. No matter, I shall press on and see what works. What a strange thing, to be working once again with two chaps, Otway and Barrett, with whom I first worked over 40 years ago.
My picture today was taken in Chester last week and I was told it was of a wild boar. Clearly the local population have never before seen an elephant, and why should they? They are warm and lovely people, but like a good wine they seldom travel.
Grey elephant?
Talking of things that should not have travelled, Peachy Butterfield sends glad tidings from Valbonne. Apparently it is still sunny and warm and Terrance the Tractor has at last been fixed by Phil The Mechanic from whom I do not expect a bill in return for this link. Poorer news was received for Tony “I invented the internet” Coombs who is looking after Bluebell The Camper whilst we are in tax enforced exile in England. It seems that the phrase once coined by old rocker Neil Young “Rust Never Sleeps” should be applied to Bluebell and surgery will be required. Perhaps I should contact Mac The Knife my plastic surgeon friend from up north? Or better still his beautiful assistant Kelly? for no more reason than I can.
Following the theme I touched on yesterday, it seems that the nice lady decorator has stolen a slogan from Lemmy from Motorhead; “No sleep ’til Hammersmith” and adapted it to her own uses. “No carbs ’til Wednesday” starts this morning and looks like it has 72 hours to run and by which time I shall hope my body has been re-engineered into its original svelte shape, however I may nor survive. To make matters worse I shall also have adopted a well-known saying from decades ago, this one coined by conservative politician Norman Tebbett; “on yer bike”. He was referring to the unemployed and was suggesting a practical interpretation of Keynesian economic theory about the mobility of the workforce. As I am neither unemployed nor looking for a job I do not see the connection. I have spent over 40 years trying to avoid getting a proper job.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Logging technology
It said “sea view” on the publicity, so that is why we went. There is a pub on the coast at East Preston near Littlehampton called the Sea View which when we visited early doors yesterday offered a view of a caravan park and a drizzly English evening. This was a bit of a swizz as the only way you could see the sea was by walking down the lane. Alternatively you could have booked a room on the first floor where it would seem you do get the view but that seems an expensive option if you just want a drink overlooking the sea. However the management of the place are entirely vindicated because they served London Pride and extremely well. On the way over I spotted Ackers Logs transport proudly displaying their slogan.
He cuts up wood with a chainsaw. Is that there the technology comes in?
Earlier, I had spent the day eating no carbohydrates. This is because I have a problem with scales. Before you run off with the idea that I am even more reptilian that previously envisaged, let me explain. I am the lucky recipient of a new set of bathroom scales. These are designed to measure something or other on some scale or other, but I am not certain but I do know that they are wildly inaccurate but, having been denied carbs, I thought I would sneak some in the back door, so to speak, via beer. As that nice lady decorator could hardly ask me to take her to a pub and not indulge, I was able to stand my ground but I fear the worst this week.
Mr facetious argument that scales could be dealt with by the mere application of ointment was met with a steely glare, not into my eyes as normal, but at my midriff and she does have a point, so a low carb diet awaits me in the coming week.
It looks like I can get away with it today as I have business to attend to in the shape of lunch with Wild Willy Barrett who, being older than I is now not nearly as Wild as he used to be. I have heard him described recently as Mild Willy Barrett. The crucial word in the last sentence was “lunch”. Unless my order is intercepted and amended I may get away with a lunchtime infusion to stop me going dizzy. Wild has a new musical project which he sent me a few weeks ago of which I was unwise enough to enthuse over, thus lunch. I do feel that if I am to help him with thus project, as I have helped him in the past, he will listen carefully to the benefits that can be bestowed upon someone who has a tiny house in France by Currencies Direct.
He is a wonderful musician and a great character who I have known for over 40 years. I do remember that he spent a short time at Her Majesty’s pleasure in the early days due to walking into his old school, The Grange in Aylesbury, wearing a white coat and wheeling out their new colour TV’s, but I doubt we will discuss that.
It is just like the old days working with Otway and Barrett, although separately. John Otway and Wild Willy Barrett had their first hit in 1978. Who can forget “Cor Baby, That’s Really Free”? Even if they wanted to.
The final proof reading of my new book The Valbonne Monologues is taking place as I write and the production process needs to commence by the first week in November on order to be available to spoil at least some Christmas once that is finalised then I shall move forward to conform the date for the launch and more exultingly, what the launch day party in Valbonne will comprise. Sponsors that were involved in the last book launch beware, you will be given your instructions soon.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Off the wall marketing
I would say that, after catching John Otway disease the evening before and trying too hard to ward it off with beer and wine, I was not at my best yesterday as I boarded the train from London Victoria. What made it worse was that Otway was on the phone as soon as I got back home to Arundel to see what progress I had made in entering Otway The Movie into the Cannes Film Festival. Yes,
The symptoms of Otway disease have, as usual, blossomed with alarming speed. Those who missed yesterday’s column (Why? Not good enough, see me afterwards) may not be aware of this disease which seizes people close to the great man and National Treasure and causes them, often under the influence of alcohol, to volunteer to involve themselves in his grandiose guerrilla marketing schemes.
There is no cure until that scheme has run its course. Also, it will cost me money, it always does. There is already talk of chartering coaches or even planes to ensure Cannes is overrun by Otway fans should I manage to get the film shown during the festival. In john’s mind, it will happen but the logistics of housing several hundred Otway fans in a town brim full of film starlets and hopefuls has been brushed aside as not a problem, yet.
Talking of unusual marketing campaigns, there is a pub in Chester called Off The Wall but what I like about this picture is that some of the letters spelling its name have obviously fallen off the wall, unless it is a fiendishly cunning marketing ploy for which I have fallen?
The letter of the law
There is no point in giving house room to that nice lady decorator unless she lives up to her name and decorates. One might think that allowing her to get on with whatever she wants to decorate would be a recipe for a quiet life, but the whole exercise is awash with danger for a suspecting husband who just wants a quiet life. Accept, like I do, that I have absolutely no eye for a house design idea, colours, textures or indeed any ability to project what something might look like when it is finished. Thus I am absolutely the worst person in the world to ask to pass judgement on something that is not finished. The problem arises when I get that poison chalice, the question that shakes me to the depths of my soul “what do you think?”. There is of course no escape. To venture an opinion, unless that opinion is a mirror image of what that nice lady decorator thinks is to court disaster. Although I know that to be the case, and although I know that any wavering from the official line of being an utter yes man is besieged with danger, somehow my mouth takes over from my brain and I can hear an opinion, apparently mine, flow forth.
The worst one is. “What for you think of that colour?”. It is uncanny but a response of “I like it” is met with the retort “it’s all wrong”. Equally the opposite is true; “what do you think of the green door frame?” The correct response was not “is that not just the undercoat?”.
The weather forecast today is for it to be fine but as I look out of my window and see grey skies and damp I think I shall delay my morning cycle until it brightens up. Should be sometime around next April. No social occasion tonight is something of a relief for this tiring socialite so I will prepare for lunch tomorrow in Chiddingfold with old pal, great musician and pure eccentric Wild Willy Barrett. He does not know it yet but he needs Currencies Direct in his life
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Designer lamp shade
One of the more interesting aspects of my recent pilgrimage to the freezing swampy depths up north was to witness first hand the local people’s ability to use ordinary everyday items in ways that those of us that can afford things like light fittings would never have considered. Have a look at this photograph below. At first look it may seem like somewhere to park your bucket (seldom now seen in the south – we have toilets), but if one looks carefully it has been adapted to be a light shade. Once they get electricity up there, I can see it catching on.
Surely all the water will leak out at this angle?
It is the idea of the designer at Oddfellows, a hotel and bar in Chester. Recently when a guest arrived there for a party and took in the environment of the hotel, and was then asked what she would like she said “half an hour in the designers mind”. Some people like to live dangerously.
Occasionally, even a fine physical specimen like myself requires running repairs and that sometimes requires the administration of drugs. Ten days ago I went to the Arundel doctors surgery to make an appointment only to be told that there were none available for two weeks. Yesterday I tried again with the same result. When I remonstrated with the receptionist she promised to talk to the mythical doctor as I need some drugs. The phone call later was enlightening; because the doctor could not see me, I was to email my needs to the surgery and he would dispense the prescription. How to you spell cannabis?
A range of meetings in London took up my day yesterday. I learned about MP9 (what happened to MP5-8?) and a number of other incomprehensible terms never designed for a chap of my age to understand. Luckily now I have staff to take care of this type of digital gobbly-de-gook, so I was told I do not need to bother my pretty head with it.
I was sufficiently drained by events that lunch was an imperative which I took in downtown Bayswater. I had expected to be treated to lunch but I was wrong and a deal that I thought was going swimmingly is now shadowed by doubt. I doubt I can complete it as I had to buy my own lunch. They say there is no such thing as a free lunch, and this was no such thing.
Thereafter a meeting with old pal John Otway, fresh from his appearance on the red carpet for Otway The Movie at Leicester Square Odeon. The meeting inevitably got out of hand. I seem to recall a sudden dose of “Otway Fever” whereby the unlucky patient comes over all paternal and wants to help the great man’s career. I myself have had many serious attacks going back to around 1972 when it first struck and I paid for his first ever recording. The affliction took hold and upon awaking this morning in my hotel room I think I may have volunteered to try to get Otway The Movie shown at the Cannes Film Festival next May. His claim, that all the fans wanting to come could be exposed continually to the message about the benefits to them of opening an account with Currencies Direct seemed entirely plausible at that late hour and with many beers and several glasses of a rather ordinary Merlot on board. So watch this space as the symptoms are very hard to shake off and will almost certainly last until the end of May 2013.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
All at sea
The joys of returning to the south of England from my solitude in the windswept north of England have unfolded rather unpleasantly in front of me today. It rained hard and blew a gale overnight and as soon as I got up I gave that nice lady decorator an early opportunity to get her best nag out. I cannot be arsed to reveal the gory details but somehow I messed up the Sky signal, pressed a wrong button or something. This was quite reasonably her excuse to be in a foul mood all morning. She does bad mood better than anyone I know. Sometimes being away up north has its good points. No nagging and no Banjo.
Having resolved the problem in a little over a heartbeat and after an early cycle I went for a walk on the beach at Clymping where I took this picture after the overnight rain had cleared. Then it was nose to the grindstone (stupid expression) of commerce. My presence is required in London today so that my team of designers and website creators can take strength from my character and vision. Many of you will have already spotted this last statement as bullshit, but I do project it well, so well in fact that some of them may actually believe it, indeed some read it and are charged with its promotion. If any of them were in need of foreign exchange then they would come running, but I digress.
Clymping. The hairdressers favourite
Thus planning how best to use my valuable time to its best effect today was requited. With my media empire extending into areas as diverse as John Otway through to rap music, and from The Small Faces to successful self book publication I am testing the limits of my credibility to its limits and enjoying it hugely. Just occasionally though it is my duty to put in an appearance to keep the spirits up, a bit like a latter-day Jimmy Savile (can I say that?) would have done had he been still alive but without the perversion (well mostly without the perversion). Once my fleeting appearance in front of the troops is complete I shall be able to return to a quieter period in the bosom of Arundel for the weekend, where there is an outside chance I may get to play tennis on Sunday morning before lunch with old pal Wild Willy Barrett.
Mr Barrett is another seeking my perceived expertise, which he naively believes can help his career. This is a triumph for hope over fact. He is one of the most gifted musicians I have ever met but has a habit of sawing up guitars whilst he plays them that I find irresistible. I shall be doing my best to find a way to help him. I may suggest withdrawing his saw from his set, but then again, maybe not.
I touched on Banjo earlier. Ideally, rather than touch him I would have fallen upon him from a great height if my wishes had been granted. I have not missed the snivelling snot encrusted hound so beloved by that nice lady decorator and thankfully I shall be spared his company tomorrow.
The Reverend Jeff writes to congratulate me on my pigeon and bird jokes over the past few days whilst I have been reporting from up north. That always makes me suspicious; if he likes them then perhaps I am not as funny as I think? At first I thought it was a (pigeon) coup to placed on such a high perch, but when I thought about it my feathers were ruffled and I have begun to get the message (delivered by carrier pigeon?). It is time I (pigeon) toed the line and wrote something more entertaining, something that will fly. Ok, that is bird jokes done to death. Until tomorrow.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Pigeon anyone?
I hear on the radio that the world is heading for a food production crisis. In that context it seems a sensible use of limited resources to husband vital naturally occurring foodstuffs to ensure a continuing supply of whatever is the cornerstone of the local diet. I was thus surprised and indeed gratified to find that this process is being embraced by the authorities up north as my picture today illustrates. Pigeon may not necessarily be the first choice for anyone brought up in the south, especially for those living close to Trafalgar Square, but they apparently provide a tasty and nutritious meal.
The cultivation of the pigeon
Pigeons are obviously a very important part of the local food economy and I am delighted to see that there is a feeding programme for them. Perish the thought that it should become and endangered species, except of course near any nice old building that is blighted by their faeces. Up north I hear they use that particular substance to garnish semolina. Anyway, the idea of having a pigeon feeding area seems to me to be very sensible. Fattening up the pigeons and providing entertainment for the locals at the same time is a masterstroke of planning. One could almost say it kills two birds with one stone, although the RSPCA may have something to say about dispatching pigeons with a stone. Also, two pigeons would not make much of a pie? Another thing concerns me though is harvest time. How do they catch the little blighters? If they were homing pigeons perhaps it would be easier? I suppose someone who wanted to make a joke out of this might say that it is a lofty aim, however regular readers will know that to suggest that I would make the most of a very poor gag would ruffle my feathers.
Yesterday was a reenactment of the great escape. I managed to leave pigeon land and head south back to my work with Currencies Direct, arriving back in late afternoon to the news that our central heating boiler was making an unpleasant noise. As I had been up north for six days I had been living with an unpleasant noise for some time. The escape started at around 11am, and I eventually arrived back in Arundel at around 5pm, after a brief pit stop for a pint at the very pretty English village of Chiddingfold. Due to the aforementioned cacophony, I was dispatched to the pub next door to find a heating engineer who was not deaf. This was a momentous task which was clearly going to take some time, and I was making progress until I was summoned back from the pub due to dinner being either on the table or in the dog without fully fulfilling my task.
After dinner I settled down to watch the World Cup qualifying football match between England and Poland with, for the first time in nearly a week, a comfortable roof over my head. This was more than was afforded those charming underpaid international footballers who, despite the stadiums provision of a roof to keep out the rain, the powers that be decided not to use it and postpone their match. Clearly their hairstyles are so expensive they could not possibly go out in the wet so things were looking gloomy until I found we had recorded the excellent new TV series of “Hunted” on Sky, as without it I was looking down the barrel of an evening of Poirot or Midsommers Murders. What a welcome return to sultry south that would have been.
Chris France
In the stirrups
Obviously up north they don’t have many toys, but I invite you to work out exactly what form of entertainment can be provided by the chair in today’s picture. I spotted the stirrups fitted to its side as soon as I arrived at Oddfellows a few days ago and have been thinking about them ever since. What can be their use? According to the manager of the hotel it attracts people, mainly the female of the species, who are often all for trying it out. Sadly for me, I was never in the vicinity when this practical use was attempted, but I am glad that it seems to be made mostly from leather which does not stain as much as if it were fabric.
Toys from up north
Perhaps it is some kind of mechanism to check whether sheep are male or female? In which case I know why they are called sheep dog trials. I shall now be looking out in the TV schedules for any programmes featuring these pursuits as I think I may have under estimated the entertainment levels offered.
If you are not following this line of thought consider this; stirrups are used for putting your feet in, I know because I am often putting my foot in it, so, once you have your feet in them, consider what is the position of the person (or animal) in the stirrups, and the position of the person reclining in the chair? This is a bit of a worry and I am glad that this morning I shall be heading back to the relatively sophisticated south of England.
It has been an enlightening time being this far north for so long. I understand now why people sometimes disappear to a hermitage for months, because it heightens once realisation of how privileged is their normal day-to-day existence. The result of my solitude is undeniable, the book is finished and that would not have been the case had I been subjected to the normal day-to-day diversions. Anyway, it is over and civilisation beckons today.
It will be back to the world of commerce today down the only good thing to come out of the north-west, the M6 motorway, back to the world of Currencies Direct, my work with the Steve Marriott estate and the relaunch of my digital record company Music Of Life and aiding my old pal John Otway in getting a cinematic general release. For his film Otway The Movie. I was told recently that the range of my activities are an eclectic mix but I was unsure of what he meant. I don’t know what electricity has to do with it.
So a day off tomorrow before these electric activities take me to London for a range of meetings. This is very galling as I have for some time been describing myself as semi retired but I now appear to be busier than ever. I blame the enforced move to England. It is difficult to do business in France, not only because of the bureaucratic anti entrepreneurial stance adopted by the French authorities, but the sunshine, the outdoor free wheeling attitude to life, the great restaurants and of course the cheap and plentiful wine added to the plethora of thirsty ex pats. I miss it so much.
I must be strong. I shall now be embraced by an English winter, that damp, cold and unedifying prospect already heralded by the leaves falling from the trees and the unwelcome discovery that my walking boots leak, something that was never tested when I lived full-time in Valbonne. Walking and cycling are so much more unpleasant when it is wet and cold.
Chris France
One up, one down
Even Shakespeare must have had the occasional day off so as a successful writer myself I decided to follow in his foot steps. I am sure that my regular readers will not begrudge me the same, especially after two full days in pursuit of writing excellence. I say pursuit, but I did not say that I caught up with my prey. In fact the word pray may be a whole lot more relevant because as regular reader the Reverend Jeff will know Sunday is a day of prayer, and this new book will need all the help it can get.
Until I received his carrier pigeon I was full of good intentions and readying myself for the final push but when Mac The Knife, my only friend in the vicinity, invited me to lunch, I admit I weakened and took solace in a wonderful home cooked Sunday roast, together with Roderer champagne and a very good chateau bottled Medoc. Earlier on my morning constitutional taken as the frost was beginning to glisten in the unaccustomed late morning sunshine, I went in search of a typical example of northern housing and found this desirable residence.
desirable housing in Chester
Housing up north does not have quite the sophistication found in the sultry south. This particular “des res” seems to be slightly lacking in facilities although one would assume it has somewhere one could light a peat fire. Toilets and bathrooms may be a fleeting concept. It is unlikely I shall find any clients for Currencies Direct here.
I have decided that one more day of solitude and honest endeavour will see the book in a pre-proof-read condition and thus my work is nearly over. Rejoice, Christmas has been saved for all those waiting for copies.
With the job almost done I can justify leaving my self-imposed exile and returning to civilisation in Arundel on Wednesday. This is not before time as hypothermia and frostbite are very real dangers. So just one more day of northern food. I think I have lost three kilos in 5 days, and let’s face it, I don’t have it to lose, such is the svelte (that nice lady decorator may say fat) nature of my body, but I will struggle through and find all three of them again in the coming week.
So the planning for the launch has begun. I spoke today to Viv Frost, Matt Frost’s carer on the bakolite phone that serves the city of Chester to commence discussions on the arrangements. She believes that it should take place on a market day in Valbonne under the auspices of course of the English Book Centre in Valbonne run by the wonderfully endowed Lin Wolff (sorry Lin), however my return from Australia may make this impossible unless the date is set for 21st December, perhaps a tad late for all those requiring copies for Xmas. Do not panic however, the date is not yet fixed.
Yes Australia, a wonderful prospect, a reward to myself for the writing of the book. The organiser of the trip, John “Chuckle Brothers” Surtees has arranged for a couple of days in Bangkok on the way in the third week of November where he particularly wants to see a show that he has heard about that features lady boys, ping pong balls and bananas which all sounds very intriguing. I myself an interested in a Thai massage with a happy ending, although I have no idea what to expect. Do they give you a cup of tea and a chocolate hob-nob after the massage? Or maybe it is a Thai green curry? That would make me happy. I hope to find out in due course.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Food scare in Chester
It had to come. Frost and ice on the windscreen. I had just breakfasted well at Oddfellows in Chester although the exact components of the black pudding are open to conjecture and I had no idea pigeon eggs were that colour on the inside. Despite the fact that there are only several hundred cars this far north they have parking restrictions and yellow lines so the car had to be unfrozen and moved. I think they like to pretend that this is a thriving metropolis and I am happy that they are happy with their delusion.
Like a latter-day Father Christmas at this time of the year, I am slaving away trying to complete that ultimate of Christmas presents, a copy of my second book. It could only be done by getting away from any distractions, my work as fat controller in Valbonne for Currencies Direct and especially from the mind numbing succession of little tasks that are set for me by that nice lady decorator on a daily basis. She was upset when I decided to go away for a few days. Yes, upset that it was not for longer. Kindly though, she told me that she would save up all the jobs not done for when I return, then I could catch up. Do other successful writers have to endure such conditions under which to create?
Whilst out with the anti-freeze and paint scraper and having got cold, I decided to take a brisk walk around the centre of the town where I happened across a retail outlet calling itself The Olde Sweet Shoppe. Apart from the appalling spelling (do I hear someone saying something about pots and black kettles), I am concerned at the concept. Obviously food hygiene will not be so developed this far north, in fact I do not suppose the idea of food being left over must be a fleeting concept, but saving up and selling old sweets seems to be a very dangerous practice.
Out of date sweets?
So more literally slaving over a hot laptop was the feature of my morning. There are rewards (apart from the obvious financial riches that I shall not expect to receive following its publication). The Valbonne Monologues will have pictures, lots of pictures taken over the past few years and many are wonderful. Many are also embarrassing and many of my friends and acquaintances should tremble when they read this. I have been looking through and selecting the best photographs to include and I must say there are a number of corkers that I had forgotten. Get your order in now, especially for the hardback!
On Friday night I was lucky enough to find the only TV in Chester. Black and white it may have been but it was a TV. Yesterday I found a radio. Not a transistor radio, these are still years from discovery this far north, no, this was a good old valve radio. After it had warmed up I introduced some of the locals to the delights of what purported to be the BBC news. The very first story I heard was about the BBC itself setting up an enquiry into the allegedly rather unsavoury activities of the late Sir Jimmy Savile, an iconic figure with his roots in the north (although it could be argued that there is evidence to suggest that he may have been rooting in many different places). However it must have been a spoof because the report named the person to be put in charge of the investigation as a Mr Purves. Black comedy indeed.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Wave of emotion
I found a pub with a TV. It was about 12 inches across, the TV not the pub, and it was in black and white but it was a TV, the sort that my mother watched the Coronation in the 1950’s. This a real sign of progress for these warm-hearted northerners who had dragged themselves, steaming and damp from foraging for coal or whatever they do for entertainment up here and enabled me, with several hundreds of others to see some of the football World Cup qualifier between England and St Marino last night.
There was one amongst the great unwashed throng who thought a San Marino was a type of sheep, and frankly his eyes were shining at the prospect, but I was able to persuade him that it was a very poor car made by British Leyland in the 1970’s. They were all called Morris. At least I think I persuaded him, in truth the accent was so thick and his eyes rather too close together for me to be certain that he absorbed the information, and that slobbering reminded me of Banjo, that cretinous canine owned by that nice lady decorator. I also suggested to him a lifestyle improvement whereby if he held his arms up a little he would not drag his knuckles across the floor as he walked but again, the lights were on but nobody appeared to be home.
So I watched Sir Stanley Matthews (at least that is what it looked like) in moody black and white amongst the salt of the earth, the hardy population of the north of England until the electricity gave out. Luckily there was beer of a sort, warm and unappetising but beer nonetheless and beggars cannot be choosers and boy, last night was I a beggar.
Regular readers will have spotted that the narrative today is flowing so much more easily than normal and this is because I have once again spent the day writing as befits a successful author. Talking of flowing I took this picture of a local tsunami.
Chester tsunami
I was thus in need of some diversion myself having spent another full 9 hours working on that Christmas present I know you are going to love, my second book “The Valbonne Monologues”. I was telling one of the locals about it in the bar afterwards but he said he preferred bi-focals, and his mate said he also preferred two wheels. It was not a successful meeting of the minds, north and south. It seldom is, but I won’t have a word said against them.
So they all slunk off to their caves and mud huts with their clay pipes and their cauldrons of, well, whatever it is they cook up in them, probably roadkill and pigeons and the like. I did have a chance during the day when I popped out for what I thought might be some fresh air, to ensure that the officially designated pigeon feeding areas were still designated. This was the rewarding revelation for Peachy Butterfield, whose home town this is, when I made this discovery when I was last here about two years ago. I know he will be pleased. It was during what passed for a summer up north, although I was wearing every garment in my suit case and had borrowed a duffel coat and woollen mittens as the sleet bit into my very soul. It was August and they were having a barbecue, so at least there was something by which to huddle.
Now you may think that the benefits of opening an account with Currencies Direct might be a concept too far for these lovely simple people, and you would be right, I gave out some of by business cards but when they began to play ‘snap” with them I came to the conclusion that some fell on stony ground.
So today, with the back broken of that monumental task, and only a little further honing required, I may be able to engineer some proper free time to take in the environment during the few hours of twilight in the middle of the day.
Chris France
Three wise men
Luckily it rained all day yesterday so my plan of not being distracted whilst I worked on the most important literary offering Valbonne and I have ever produced has worked a treat. The most lively moment of the day was when a flight of pigeons landed on my windowsill. I am sure they were after a beak preview but my feathers were unruffled and I was able to claw my work out of sight. The new book will fly..
There was talk of some light relief last night when I briefly interrupted my workathon to take beer with local plastic surgeon Douglas “Mac The Knife” Mcgeorge who lives in this muddy frozen wasteland. He knew where decent beer is to be found and had promised to help me find some if he was able to hack his way out of work in time. It seems that he part owns the hotel where I am staying so I will be discussing a reduction in rates for two reasons; firstly because he is a mate and thus mates rates should apply and secondly I found this stool in the outside bar area this morning on my way from breakfast. I shall be asking the question why and shall be using the threat of circulating this image widely to extract the maximum discount.
With TV unavailable for the most part this far north I have had a day off from the Tory Party Conference and the continuing revelations of accusations against Sir Jimmy Savile. Instead I have been re immersing myself in the daily lives of the idle rich in Valbonne in happier times earlier this year and reading it back I find myself exhausted by events. I must be getting old. I also feel like my sun tan is returning but I know that is an illusion brought on about by reading and writing about the sunny Cote d’Azur.
Today will be more of the same, eyes down working after early morning exercise, in the Gene Kelly style except I shall not be singing in the rain, just moaning in the rain. On the plus side a great deal has been done and I can see a few more days of unrelenting toil will see the thing finished with the result that there will be happy smiling faces in Valbonne before Christmas. Of course that will be the drink talking, nothing to do with my book. Once it is finished I shall be able to work on the details of the launch pencilled in for 17th December.
Between now and then I shall clearly need a holiday after my exertions and so the planned trip to Australia will become a vital period of rest and recouperation. I have managed to tack a few days on to the start of the trip in Bangkok, somewhere I had never previously visited so I am looking forward to lady boys and ping-pong, both apparently sights to behold in this tacky town. I have suggested to that nice lady decorator that I should be allowed a massage (as opposed to the Currencies Direct message) when in Thailand as I want to see what they mean by happy endings. If I can get away with that then I feel I will be refreshed for the cricket in Adelaide. It is part of the Golden Oldies Cricket Festival every two years and I am hoping the weather will be a little better than when I played in the last Festival in far less salubrious Harrogate.
That is all a long way in the future, late November to be more exact so in the meantime will be exposed to rain and poor weather as a matter of course whilst receiving a continuing stream of news about how nice the weather is in Valbonne from my very sensitive and caring friends and my guardian at my French house, Peachy Butterfield. You can go off people.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Chris France's Blog 