Style guru in church shock
Meetings yesterday in Valbonne including the signing of a new affiliate for Currencies Direct allowed me the rare opportunity to drop into church, aka Cafe Latin. I had with me several unsold copies of my book “Summer In The Cote d’Azur” which sadly remained unsold despite my best efforts to change their status. Obviously people don’t want to buy Christmas presents too early. I had hoped to encounter Mr Humphrey’s to see if he was free, and he was. I was however rather alarmed to see that my style guru was wearing the same leather jacket as he been wearing on Monday. How can that be? Also, after I had asked if he was saving up for the collar I thought perhaps he might rethink that particular item, but with the misplaced conviction of a man who knows when he looks good, he dismissed my comments with an imperious toss of the head, much in the style of Larry Grayson.
Earlier in the day, that nice lady decorator and I had set off for a walk along The Brague River, but she slipped over and landed in the mud (normally a fleeting concept down here but still much in evidence after last weeks deluge). I suggested that I took a picture of her in her full muddy glory but the laser beam eyes were employed and a total sense of humour failure followed, so I changed the subject and took a picture of the level to where the river had risen to last week, although I think inadvertently I did get a bit of the rear view of that nice lady decorator in by mistake.
On the left edge of this photo is some wood washed up showing the level The Brague reached last weekend, on the right is the more normal level of the river
Our determination to avoid a drink today lasted until about 1pm. After church (where I had to remind at least one BA pilot that we have a flight on BA to Narobi booked for a couple of weeks time, and one would hope for the sake of common decency that he would do his utmost to secure an upgrade) we headed for the supermarket only to discover that it was Remembrance Day and a National Holiday in France, so, it being officially a day of rest, we thought a small lunch would be in order and, as the Auberge St Donat was full of great old characters wearing their medals and we could not get a table, we headed to the Auberge de Provence in Plascassier to enjoy a salad on their sunny terrace, and allow that nice lady decorator time to recover from her fall.
Those gals amongst my ever-growing readership need to be reminded about the free Miche bag presentation at the Hotel Mercure in Sophia Antipolis on 15th November. I may go down for a glass of wine….
Next Friday between the hours of 11am and 12, I shall be at the English Book Centre in Valbonne to sign copies of my book. It seems that my contention that an unsigned book will better retain any residual value it may still have is not supported by the facts. I have been disavowed of that opinion as it seems most people want their copies signed. This is just the start. Serialisation in The Sunday Times cannot be far behind.
Having broken the duck so to speak, we decided on early doors at The Queens Legs for a refreshing ale and thereafter adjourned for a glass of wine to Le Pomme Rouge, the new deli opened recently by renowned local caterers Adams and Adams and….but I have run out of space, you must wait for tomorrow.
Chris France
600th post
A hair dryer. At 4am. That was the reason given for the fire alarm at our squalid hotel near Earls Court going off. Who is using a hair dryer at 4am? And then again at 6am? I wished with every fibre of my being that they had been in the bath at the same time with very soapy slippery fingers.
Parents evening for sprog 2 was enlivened by a decent supply by the college of quite a decent Bordeaux designed to ease the pain of hearing about ones expensive children’s activities, and then shortly afterwards I was again being fleeced by my sprogs at a Chinese restaurant in Earls Court, before retiring to bed with an unsuspected alarm call at 4am from the fire alarm. Locusts could not be more destructive, mosquitoes no more determined to snare their prey, me.
Yesterday morning I was subjected to one of my least favourite activities, shopping in London. I was not looking forward to witnessing the lack of Christmas spirit that is encapsulated in Oxford Street in London’s West End, but even I was shocked by the picture I took of Father Christmas selling the thrusting left-wing magazine created to help the unemployed, “The Big Issue”. As you can see, times must be hard for Santa, he has clearly lost a great deal of weight either through recessionary pressures, or perhaps the frankly, much needed, gastric band had been tightened a couple if notches too far? I also like the nice touch with the dog, or is in an emaciated reindeer?
Santa Clause falling on hard times?
Some London Pride was required at lunch time to help take off, indeed I have been flying for so long, at least two weeks without much respite, I guess I should be more concerned with the landing which will commence today as I wind down towards the weekend. I even had to turn down a round of golf today with Peter Bennett from Blue Water Yachting as I have several meetings today, one of which is to rescue to client from his bank and convert him to the benefits of using Currencies Direct for all his foreign exchange movements. Lunch was taken at the Fullers Ale And Steak House near Waterloo before the joyful return to France last evening.
Today is my 600th column. 600 days on the trot I have been faithfully reporting events as I see them. I admit that on some occasions my interpretation of some events may have been at variance with many others who had witnessed the same events but that is all subjective. The doubters must accept that I am right and they are wrong.
Lin at The English Book Centre in Valbonne wanted me to point out that she has a good stock of my book the recently launched “Summer In the Cote d’Azur” prominently featured and that this shop is the only place in the village where this rare and valuable item can be obtained, alongside now, I see, the two John Otway books, the second of which is in hardback, I feel I may have missed a trick here. Another trick I have missed is the non inclusion of photographs. This will be remedied next time. I can almost feel the shudder of misapprehension reverberate through the local literary community; there is going to be a next one? Oh yes, the planning will start this weekend. I can hear the exhortation from the Wingco from here, “Ghastly”. However, what he does not yet know is that his lovely wife is going to surprise him at Christmas with a specially signed book, the title of which I cannot reveal.
Chris France
Fridge refuses to shine
Progress is being made! My book “Summer In The Cote d’Azur” is now available by mail order from me. It will soon be available on Amazon and I began to dream of the riches and fame that will inevitably follow, then I woke up.
I am still feeling the effects of the weekend and Monday despite not a drop passing my lips on Tuesday. That was made more possible by staying in my bed for most of the daylight hours, and managing not to read the texted invitation to join Stephen, Matt and Simon Frost for lunch at Auberge St Donat, which was a very fine decision.
In the carnage that has enveloped me over the past few days, I have managed to forget about the ubiquitous notes I make on my blackberry when I hear something weird or stupid. So yesterday, whilst on the train from Gatwick to Victoria, I had a look back at the notes I had made and there are some gems.
Last Saturday, before the true horror of alcoholic events depleted reason and memory to minuscule levels, I popped in for an early evening glass of wine with the Cornish Tsunami himself, Matt Frost who was busily trying to tidy the place up before the arrival of his brothers. Perhaps surprisingly for these huge man mountains, they are very well educated and very well read< but then common sense does not automatically go hand in hand with intelligence. consider this; I caught Matt polishing his fridge and cursing that the grey metallic surface of it was not very bright, certainly a lot duller than when he had purchased it new. It was at that moment that I spotted a small imperfection on the surface which looked like a hole, and discovered that it was indeed a small hole…..in the protective plastic coating the fridge had arrived in when it was bought. Yes, he had been diligently polishing the plastic coating. After I had stopped laughing, which admittedly was some time later, I asked how long ago he had purchased it. The answer; 6 years! Bright indeed!
There was another story about him building a home-made guillotine in his garden to chop the vegetables on Bastille Day, which did not impress his French guests in quite the way he had hoped, but he has had enough stick for one day, so I will not mention it.
My picture today is another taken at the launch of that book with that nice lady decorator giving John Otway some advice about his performance.
No, you should do it this way
Last night to parents evening after a couple of pints of London Pride to settle the nerves. After receiving the customary telling off from the teachers because of the poor attention to detail and general lack of respect exhibited by sprog 2, clearly the-off spring of a certain nice lady decorator, we adjourned to feed the wolves or children as that nice lady decorator prefers to call them.
I say wolves because it seems to be a teenage trait, perhaps even a higher form of nature for a teenager who has been away from home for some time to be hungry and thirsty as soon as parents arrive, and to develop tastes hitherto undiscovered, especially if they are expensive. I am a struggling author for christ’s sakes (this last bit especially for the reverend Jeff who had another poem published in the Daily Mail yesterday), unless all my followers buy the book, and here I must raise a note of concern; some people managed to avoid purchasing said item at the lunch on Monday. I know where you live and am prepared to name names and reveal indiscretions of those who fail to heed this warning. The Wingco however is excused.
Chris France
Brandy snaps at your heels
As I awoke Mr Otway from the deepest of slumber yesterday morning to get him to the airport in time to catch his plane back to England, I spotted the brandy glass beside his bed, with still some brandy left in it. It was a reminder that, after a long lunch, a serious session in La Kavanou, peeling off to The Queens Legs and then falling out of there for a late night drunken curry at the Kashmir, that, rather unbelievably, we were still thirsty when we got to my house and considered a brandy as a suitable and necessary night-cap. John was pleased with himself because he had not drunk all of it. What willpower!
A day such as Monday would have been enough for a mere hard-drinking mortal for a week, but of course John Otway and I had done something similar on the Sunday in the company of Steve Frost and his brothers Simon and Matt, head honcho of French Mortgage Xpress and lead sponsor of the most successful book launch in Valbonne this week. The book is available by mail order from me so if anyone has a paypal account or wants to send me cash, these valuable and if required, signed first editions of “Summer In The Cote d’Azur” can be speeding on their way to you, price 12 Euros plus 4 euros p & p or £10 + £3.50 p & p in sterling, a very good exchange rate, even better than you can get with Currencies Direct. Alternatively it will shortly be available on Amazon or Lulu as soon as I can work out how to do it.
I now have some pictures from the launch and show one of these today. There may ne more to come this week. You will see that it is of a celebrity, a man who has appeared alongside some of the greatest living comedians and in some of the best sitcoms ever made holding a copy, one may even say clutching lovingly a copy of a certain book launched successfully this week..
s it just me or does Stephen Frost look like he could be Alistair Darlings love child? he has good literary taste don't you think?
Startlingly, the mayor office sent one of his deputies to enjoy the luncheon invitation, and even more startling was that she got it, she laughed when she should and we now have a meeting with her to discuss future events. This represents the opportunity for a great breakthrough: We have grandiose plans, although I admit some of these were formulated under the influence of a post book launch alcoholic haze.
So by the time most of the regular readers of this column are reading this, I will have been up at the crack of sparrows to board a plane for the glories of Gatwick. It is my parental duty to go to sprog 2’s parents evening and then to drink loads of proper English beer and feed both sprogs as sprog 1 is coming up from Guildford for the evening.
Two days of the hellish English winter await me, but it will hard to tell the difference, so poor has the weather been here for the last few days, but it seems the whole of southern Europe has been similarly affected.
More work on Friday as the detailed planning of the next literary event, the hilarious John Otway lecture on December 12th at the Auberge Provencal will commence. Already significant numbers have signed up for this early festive feast which will be sold out in advance and is currently only being promoted via this column and to people who attended the launch of my book.
Chris France
Beware of the flowers?
So, it happened. I am now a published author. The fact that in order to become so I had to publish the book myself matters not one jot. “Summer In The Cote D’Azur” is now available at all good bookshops in Valbonne, which means the English Book Centre , by mail order from me or shortly I hope via Amazon. Please be certain that I will let you know as soon as it is. I will also shortly announce a dedicated sales website where you will be able to buy books on-line.
It seems that I got away with my speech. The fact that I left out half of it and got some of the rest of the content muddled up, mainly because I could not read my notes as vanity (already on display in the publishing sphere) precluded my wearing of reading glasses, seemed not to have been noticed by the happy assembled throng, which included my friends from Currencies Direct.
Matt Frost from French Mortgage Xpress, one of my sponsors for the book launch lunch, introduced his far more famous brother Stephen to introduce me. Stephen is a seriously funny man. His ten minute talk was a fearfully difficult act to follow, especially for a nervous public speaking debutante. The day before at lunch at Capricio, nervous at the prospect of speaking to nearly 90 people, I had sought his advice about what to do on the day and whether he could offer any tips . “Keep it short and convince yourself that everybody wants to hear what to hear what you are saying”. As a confidence booster this was not a great deal of help. Well, I kept it short, mainly for the reason stated above, as to the convincing part, well, I remain unconvinced.
John Otway was in inspired form playing a handful of songs including the 7th best song of all time (according to the BBC) but I am not entirely convinced that the small French contingent, including the deputy mayor of Valbonne, quite understood the lyrics of “Beware Of The Flowers ‘Cause I’m Sure They’re Gonna Get You, Yeah”.
A staggering number of books were sold on the day, including 5 bought by Peter Bennett from Blue Water, who took my advice about buying some as Christmas presents. I had suggested that they might make a good present for people you don’t like, but I suppose customers may come into that bracket. The alternative, that he wanted to give some of his customers something brilliant and witty to celebrate the forthcoming festive season, and very good value at just 12 Euros was something with which I am sure the Wingco would take exception.
Yes, the Wingco was there to witness the “”ghastly” publication being born, but as he had previously made clear, he was there for the lunch rather than the book.
The Brague in full flood
Sadly, all the pictures I took on the day failed to come out, so today’s picture, rather than being one from yesterdays triumph is of the Brague river in serious flood at the weekend. However please don’t think that’s an end to it,
many photographs were taken on the day and I shall track them down in the course of time.
There will however be no respite, no rest for a tired but happy novelist. That nice lady decorator has a plan to stop the house being flooded and I am fearful that the cement mixer will be pressed into service, which can only mean that a man who was yesterday enjoying huge literary success amongst his friends will today be labouring at the cement mixer. How the mighty have fallen.
Chris France
The book launch lunch arrives
Before the great lunch launch today at the Auberge Provencal, I thought it would be good to spend some time with my lead sponsor, Matt Frost from French Mortgage Xpress, an inhabitant of Valbonne and host to several other Frosts including one of my special guests for the launch of my first book “Summer In The Cote d’Azur”, Stephen Frost. From the times I have seen Stephen on TV on “Whose Line Is It Anyway”, “Mr Bean” and “Blackadder”, and after meeting him at Glastonbury, and then meeting his and Matt’s brother Simon the evening before, I quickly formed the impression that a Frost gathering might be a slightly noisy affair. Add to this potentially noisy ensemble the arrival in town of my other special guest and oldest friend John Otway, and I suddenly realised that if I wanted to be sure to be welcomed back to my favourite local restaurants, then avoiding them altogether for such a potentially rowdy Sunday lunch might be quite a good idea.
The decision then to lunch at Caprichio in Chateauneuf was an inspired one. A party of 9 including three large and ebullient Frost brothers was just never going to be a gentile affair and there was the potential to destroy a quiet Sunday lunch for a large number of people in a very short time. As it was, I think we got away with it, just, and the large tip seemed to placate the management and staff who had to wait a full hour after the other diners had left to rid themselves of the exuberant Brits.
So, nicely oiled, we picked our way through the rain ravaged countryside and returned to the pav, where else? to drink copious amounts of wine and plan proceedings for today. At least that was the intention and I am certain that arrangements were made and the details sealed later at The Queens Legs in Valbonne, and if I remember any of them then I am not entirely certain they will aid my fragile confidence in my ever shortening talk today. I took this picture at the post lunch discussions were nearing their peak. You may notice that it appears to be dark, indicating I think the great detail that was discussed and the intensity of that planning process.
John Otway and Stephen Frost plan my downfall in the pav
The massive deluge which seems to have engulfed half of southern Europe has at least abated, but yesterday morning before collecting the chaps from the airport was spent mopping up the river that decided to form through my living room last night. At least it had the common decency to leave as quickly as it arrived, I juts wish it had taken all the leaves etc with it. Thank god for tiled floors, and being married to a nice lady decorator.
Tomorrow it will all be over and from the Wingco’s perspective the unthinkable will have occurred and I will be able to call myself a published author, or better still, a novelist. The fame and fortune that will inevitably follow will in no way impede me from my duties with my other sponsor for the day Currencies Direct, indeed I suspect I have already identified a potential new customer when I discovered that one of my guests has a house in France….
After the furore has dies down tomorrow and life returns to something more normal once guests are safely delivered to the airport, I must prepare for beer, real ale. This will be my fate on Wednesday when once again I must brave bad weather in the UK, but it cannot be as bad as it has been here over the last five days.
Chris France
Banjo and the flood
As one storm began to abate, the next storm is due to blow into town today. Thunderstorms of immense intensity over the past few days have flooded roads and gardens (mine) and filled up my swimming pool to the brim, but I suspect that the intensity of the on coming storm, this time in the shape of John Otway and various Frosts including Stephen Frost who are both guests of honour at my book launch on Monday at the Auberge Provencal in Valbonne will be of equally biblical proportions.
Before that there is the small matter of Sunday lunch. As I write I am not certain of the luncheon venue as it is in the balance but it seems it will matter not a jot where we are as long as there are copious amounts of wine available and something decent to eat.
Yesterday after a particular violent weather outburst, that nice lady decorator and I braved the tempest and headed down to the Brague river, which was running through the Valmasque forest with astonishing power and majesty, as my picture today shows. Perhaps I should not have taken a tennis ball with me, but with Max the faithful family retainer, the amiable English Springer, safely tied up on his on his lead, I felt that the calamitous canine Banjo, the dog that no one except that nice lady decorator wanted in the house, might benefit from a bit of extra exercise, having been unable to be out much in the recent weather. Swimming is one of his favourite hobbies (in my swimming pool) but I suspected he had always wanted to try something a little more invigourating. Unfortunately for both Banjo and I that nice lady decorator put a stop to our little game before it could even start, so he was forbidden to pitch his strength against the river in pursuit of a tennis ball and thus sadly, once again, he has survived. If it had all gone well, given the speed of the water, he would have been all at sea within about 10 minutes.
Banjo, here's the tennis ball, now fetch!
The rehearsal of the speech was once again a disaster and I am fast coming to he conclusion that its successful delivery will only to come pass if I have had several stiff ones before getting up to speak. I suggested this to that nice lady decorator but from the look in her eye she had misinterpreted the expression “”stiff ones” and was thus not entirely convinced that this method would work.
The REGS Taylor Made sponsored golf tournament due to take place today was sensibly postponed on Friday and has been rescheduled for November, so I was at a loose end yesterday but at least with the rain bucketing down I was spared any gardening, so it was not all bad.
So after the big launch is finally over (I can’t wait!) I will have just half a day of peace before once again I have to take on the role of dutiful parent to attend Parents evening, this time for sprog 2 and in London this time, and now that she has abandoned that Long John Silver look, that nice lady decorator. I may also pop into the offices of Currencies Direct to ensure that they are all hard at work saving money in foreign exchange deals for my clients. It is a short visit, just two days, but it seems the weather will be no better over there than here, so I guess we may have to seek shelter in a public house or two when not engaged in parental activities.
Chris France
Erring on the side of caution
I think it was after the fourth time that nice lady decorator had torn up my proposed speech for my book launch on Monday, that we got the call confirming that the deputy mayor of Valbonne would be delighted to attend the sold out low brow literary event. I now have a speech in tatters and that nice lady decorator has to undertake a desperate reorganisation of the table plan to see if we can squeeze her in. Yes the deputy mayor is a woman. That she was very late in replying can have nothing whatever to do with her gender..
Actually I am enormously impressed that the mayor’s office decided that this bench mark event should be sealed with mayoral approval. The mayor’s office in France carries much more power than back in England, covering most aspects of daily life including granting planning applications, so with our grandiose plans sitting on the mayors desk as we speak, you will understand why it will be important to accommodate his deputy
This is one of the scariest things I have ever had to do. Standard advice, if in doubt, is to err on the side of caution, but on the run through this evening there was so much umming and erring it looks like I shall be taking caution to new levels. I think I must have been a member of the rock group Golden Earing in a previous life (Sorry, you need to say earing in a Merseyside accent for that joke to work).
With the onset of winter in the form of demonic thunderstorms marking our departure from summer and a rather mice autumn, attention will soon turn to winter sports, and with Isola 2000 opening in under a month, I picture a couple of grown up children eagerly practicing their snowman making skills ahead of the season.
Two little boys with a new toy
There is very little to be done when the weather is this foul, so in some ways I am pleased to have something to focus on, that is trying to find a form of words that will work for Monday. Not being an accomplished public speaker, indeed I cannot recall ever before having to make a speech, when one is to be sandwiched between two long-term professional performers the pressure is really on. Another piece of advice is to keep it short, but “Thank you for coming, please buy my book” has been rejected by that nice lady decorator. Perhaps she thought it could be sweeter? It could hardly be shorter.
Tonight we are invited to the Bastide St Mathieu by owners Bill and Soraya Colgrave and then Sunday the real carnage begins. John Otway and Stephen Frost, the token celebrities for Monday (blimey if Stephen in particular reads this I will be in for some serious stick) arrive together at Nice Airport where after we shall all go to lunch somewhere. The plan was to head up to a restaurant in the wonderful village of Cipieres high in the hills above Gurdon, but unless the weather improves, and the forecast is not hopeful, we shall probably settle on the Auberge St Donat, although I have never eaten there on a Sunday, I wonder if they do the dame deal as in the week?
Then its the big day, but by 3 30 it should be all over bar the shouting and I am looking forward to the shouting part. I believe the shouting may continue into that afternoon at the nearby wine bar La Kavanou which is opening especially for the occasion.
Some people may have to return to work, and here I am thinking of some of the staff of Currencies Direct who having networked ferociously at lunch time will no doubt continue their good work into the afternoon and beyond.
Chris France
Whats the time Mr wolf?
A public service, this is what this column has become. Yesterday I had an email from a reader in England concerned that he had not heard from his mother, who lives in Valbonne, for 3 days, and from whom he heard every day either by phone or skype. I sent Viv Frost around to check before I got an email saying that mother had gone to Liverpool and forgot to tell anyone. It is more likely that she was ashamed to tell anyone she was going back to the UK, and especially that far up north. After all, when one moves to the south of France one hopes the days of languishing up north are behind one.
Talking of Liverpool, I saw a rare beggar outside the bank this morning. When I came out he said “any change?”, I said no, you are still poor. Actually that is not true, it was adapted from a joke sent to me by a good friend whom I cannot possibly name but Peter Lynn will know of whom I speak.
The “weather of the devil” is forecast over the next few days and I blame those who have been complaining about the lack of rain. October is statistically the wettest month of the year so maybe the approaching deluge is just a bit late? Anyway, todays picture was taken last week of the Brague River and probably reflects what my garden will look like by the weekend if the weather predictions are correct.
My favourite river, the Brague flowing through the Valmasque forest
I have discovered that my French bank manager is coming to the book launch on Monday. I am still not certain of the reason but it is a bit unsettling. Why is she coming? Perhaps she is a fan of populist English literature? More likely it is a freebee courtesy of French Mortgage Xpress and she has no idea what to expect.
Many nicknames have emanated from this column, mainly as a result of my feeble attempts to protect the drunk, the depraved and the guilty, after their being caught out doing something stupid or worse but I am not responsible for naming Wonky eyed Pete, apparently well-known in the less salubrious establishments in Valbonne and no connection can be made with the nice wonky eyed lady decorator, still sporting an eye patch and dark glasses after mutilating herself in a friends garden earlier in the week. I told her she has to look out for herself and keep an eye out for dangerous plants. it seems that I am not as funny as I think I am.
John Otway calls to give me the exciting news that the BBC are screening again on New Years Eve his epic Top Of The Pops appearance in 1977. He will apparently be interviewed to discuss the inner meaning of “Cor Baby, That’s Really Free” the title of his first hit for the programme but I suspect he will use this as a shameless opportunity to promote Otway The Movie, the feature film he is making about himself on a tiny budget. How tiny? For instance, he has asked me to cost a helicopter shoot over Lake Geneva to get an aeriel shot of his playing his epic song of the same name with a small orchestra aboard a boat on the lake as it enters the harbour in Geneva, I think he thinks we can do it for about thirty quid (about 35 euros at today’s exchange rate. I am awaiting Mr Wolffs quotation and for some reason am reminded of a childhood game which involved saying “look behind you Mr Wolf”.
Chris France
Great way to get rid of kids
Several pints at The Three Pigeons in Guildford High Street was just the start, thereafter at the behest of the oldest sprog lunch was taken at Wagamamas for a frankly underwhelming noodle nosh up. It was however just what was required to allow me actually to look forward to an Easyjet flight whisking me away from the scudding clouds and drizzle of deal old England in a late autumnal afternoon.
What I had not bargained for was the mad woman who had to be removed from the flight. We were all sitting uncomfortably in a full plane looking forward to getting away from the heavy Gatwick rain that was blowing horizontally across the gleaming tarmac when a delay was followed by a tannoy announcement for a lady to make herself known to the cabin crew. After she was removed, they decided that the plane had to be disembarked so they could undertake a search of it. After we had reboarded an hour later I asked the steward what had been the problem and he told me that the woman who had left the plane had put her two young teenage children on to a flight to Switzerland then boarded the flight to Nice. My first reaction was that there have been times in my life when I may have dreamed of doing the same things to my kids. So this particular action caused a massive amount of disruption to a plane full of people and she still did not get away with it. When I asked why the plane had then to be emptied and searched, was told it was standard procedure, but I bet anything you like, had this been a flight leaving France there is no way they would have applied such rigour to ridiculous health and safety nonsense.
The day of the book launch is looming ever nearer, almost in equal measure to the receding confidence I have in my speech which I have already rewritten twice. I admit to being worried, I am normally a back room boy and thus not usually in the limelight. Add to that the fact that I am to be upstaged by two seasoned performers in Stephen Frost and John Otway and you have a recipe for disaster, my own personal disaster.
Argentinian cowboy with no idea how to spell
I am still suffering from the sheer full on meat experience of Tuesday where Mr Clipboard, the eternal carnivore insisted on the biggest Argentinian steak at Caucaucau, in the high street in Guildford served by a real Argentinian Cauboy as my picture today shows. Mr Carnivore Clipboard when in France recently asked his hosts if there was likely to be any meat in risotto promised for dinner. When he received an answer implying a negative, changed his lunchtime order to a steak just to ensure he got his normal daily intake of red meat on board every day.
Lunch today at the Auberge Provencal with Lin Wollf from the English Book Centre in Valbonne and Viv Frost, my literary mentor and the first person to suggest that this column could be adapted and turned into a book, to finalise the organisational details that have been taken over with Ayatollah like fervour by that nice lady decorator. Some late cancellations has allowed some lucky people who were on the waiting list the prospect of witnessing the actual launch of my first book, or perhaps I should use the word novel? on this coming Monday. One item we must decide upon is exactly how to distribute the wine so generously donated by Currencies Direct, some employees of which will be on hand to explain the advantage of opening an account for free to take care of all your foreign exchange needs.
Chris France
G20 and The France Show
With the G20 summit taking place in Cannes and horror stories reaching me of almost lock down in the centre of the town, plus warnings that some lanes on the motorway were going to be closed between Nice Airport and Cannes to allow presidential types to avoid the motorway tolls, I thought I should leave plenty of time to get to the airport for my flight to misery (England) yesterday. 18 minutes after setting off I was at the airport, two and a half hours before my flight. No one had told me it was a public holiday and the roads were empty.
So the joys of Easyjet were once again visited upon me and I will suffer similar ignominy this evening when I fly back, parental duty done for this week. However with two children to clear up behind, I will have to do the same thing all over again next week for sprog 2. There are many things from France that I always miss when I am away, but one thing that I do not miss is their love of gaudy decorative items, and one that I would never miss, especially if I had a gun, is this little beauty which I photographed in renowned fish restaurant Nounou at Golfe Juan at the weekend. Indeed nounou is exactly what I would say if I go there again and I am paying.
If the cost of eating here does not make you vomit, then prolonged staring at this would work for me.
It is hard to believe that whilst we have been enjoying this rather warm and very pleasant weather down here in the south of France that the skiing season will be upon us in a month. It is much easier to believe that skiing would be available near Guildford considering the weather than greeted my return to the old country. I had arranged, or rather, Mr Clipboard had arranged for us to have lunch at an Argentinian steak house in Guildford at 2.20 after meeting at the Angel Post House as long as I caught the 13.41 from Gatwick to Guildford and it was not delayed. Doubtless he would have had a contingency plan had this not worked in any way. He is particularly good at organising anything, especially when it involves eating food which he is very good at. Caucaucau was the name of the restaurant I think, and cow what we ate.
Sadly I was not accompanied by that nice lady decorator on this occasion as she is still doing her Long John Silver eyepatch act back in France due to stabbing herself in the eye with some vegetation. That of course required me to drink more beer than I had originally intended, ably assisted by my son who more than stood in for her in the beer drinking stakes.
Exciting news arrived that I have been invited to sign and sell copies of my book at The France Show in Earls Court by Currencies Direct, one of the lead sponsors of the show which takes place in January. Some may consider that the book launch next Monday in Valbonne could also be loosely described as The France Show, but I could not possibly comment. This great opportunity to spread the news of the lives of the idle rich in Valbonne is tempered by the fact that I will have to spend several days in London in mid January in deepest winter, but there it is, the price of fame. I must be strong.
Today I must to and beat up Santander for outrageous charges of £150 for my sons £50 unofficial overdraft then I suspect it will be to Wagamamas for lunch before the tender mercies of Easyjet take me home tonight, too late for tennis.
Chris France
Pieces of eight?
If anyone before today had suggested that the nice lady decorator had the look of a pirate, I would have had to fight them. However, after managing to stick a plant into her eye yesterday and her now sporting the resultant eye patch, her piratical nature is evident for all to see. Any suggestions concerning parrots on shoulders will be dealt with summarily, if she ever gets to hear them, despite summer being over.
I thought she said “pieces of eight” when discussing the seating plan for my book launch next Monday, but it turns out that what she was saying was “places for eight” an entirely different concept, and one that illustrated by attempting to give me a black eye when I mentioned it. It was a mistake anyone could have made. She really get her hook into me. Anyway she amused herself last night by watching half of Midsummer Murders, the left half.
Perhaps it was apt that yesterday was Halloween. She did not stand out quite as much given the attire much in evidence, a great deal of black, perhaps that was why she was trying to give me the black eye?
Sunday evening at a quiet dinner with Master Mariner Mundell and the lovely Zillah, “the sailing one” discovered on my phone a number of photos taken after the rugby, when things got a bit out of hand at my house. He was particularly keen on this one and I must admit it is rather intimate and touching? Although who is doing more of the touching is something I do not want to delve into as you will see from the picture below. The Master mariner has a touch of the pirate about him, claiming that he was going to sail into Cannes this week to lunch despite the G20 summit meaning the whole town is just about locked down. He has a scheme in mind that I cannot reveal but from what I recollect it involves flares, fertiliser orders, men overboard and a three-pronged RIB attack on Cannes harbour. However, I am reasonably certain he awoke this morning and imagines it was all a dream. I certainly hope so, but I will go and visit him in prison if he goes through with it.
Two older chaps who should know better having a cuddle on our living room floor.
So with that piratical nice lady decorator incapacitated, it is my solemn duty to fly to England alone now today and hold the fort, which means I will have to drink twice as much beer to keep the UK economy growing, vital if the exchange rate is going to hold up, which is uncertain despite my having an account and the inside track with Currencies Direct
So Guildford in November beckons. What a prospect? At least I will get to see one of my expensive children, who will no doubt tap his old dad up for a few quid if he gets the chance. There will not even be enough time to meet up with Mr Otway to discuss the literary lunch lecture he will be giving on December 12th (reservations going fast) at the Auberge Provencal in Valbonne under the auspices of The English Book Centre in Valbonne.
I do however have an appointment with Mr Clipboard for lunch tomorrow who now resides in Surrey where he has developed a very organised side, completely at odds with his persona when he lived here. I blame the weather. It is a short trip, I shall be winging my way back to Nice tomorrow evening, wet and bedraggled and full of London Pride if I get my way.
Chris France
John Otway to lecture in Valbonne
With the sun shining and the air still surprisingly warm, lunch on the beach beckoned. I had heard the Nounou on the coast at Golfe Juan was highly recommended as a seafood establishment with the speciality of the house being bouillabaisse, basically fish stew. What I did not know until after we were seated and it was too late to escape was that although very good and very comfortable right on the beach it is also very expensive, and I had to talk that nice lady decorator out of ordering the lobster bouillabaisse at a price a little over 90 euros, this is about £79 according to my Currencies Direct currency converter. I should have known, with no way to see in to the seating area and no menu to peruse outside, the trap was beautifully laid. The meal however was exemplary, John Dory in a wonderful lemon sauce for me whilst that nice lady decorator tucked into Dorade Supreme baked in salt. The surroundings were also very pleasant although there one or two pieces of furniture and er…”art” which perhaps would struggle to find a place in my house. In fact I have a picture of one such item to feature today.
A cobra made largely from the petals of pine cones. Whatever will the French think of next?
The memory of the bill was sufficiently engraved on my conscious mind to was to ward of sleep at siesta time, which was a pity as sleep was more necessary than normal as we were invited to supper by Master Mariner Mundell and his godlike wife Zillah at their palatial mansion up in the hills behind Plascassier.
Earlier in the day I had taken my morning constitutional walk into Valbonne to collect the Sunday Times. The questions lurking in my mind at the moment concern the speech I must make at the sold out launch of my book “Summer In the Cote D’Azur” which will be attended by actor and improvisation artist Stephen Frost and the enigmatic John Otway. That I must follow Stephen, a professional and brilliant comic to speak is something that has exercised my mind somewhat recently. I think the idea will be to say something short and sweet and sit down before the heckling gets too intense and allow the self-styled rock and roll failure Mr Otway to say a few words and play a couple of songs and to get the flak.
Speaking of John Otway, it is my great pleasure to announce that he will be the guest speaker of the next Valbonne Literary Lunch at the same venue, The Auberge Provencal on Monday 12th December. Some of you may know of the antics of my oldest friend, a man who despite minimal musical talent, a poor singing voice and an idiosyncratic song writing style coupled with massive self belief and a chaotic and often hilarious live show has built up a fanatical following. If you are unaware, let me give you some examples; in the year 2000 the BBC ran a nationwide competition to find the best pop song lyric of the millennium. The Otway fans organised themselves and it is a fact (recorded at the time on the front page of The Sunday Times) that the 7th best song of all time is his “Beware Of The Flowers ‘Cause I’m Sure They’re Going To Get You, Yeah!”. He has sold out shows at The London Palladium and The Royal Albert Hall, once told Paula Yates, after she had dumped him after one date, “that’s your last chance with a rock star”, failed to recognise Paul McCartney despite The Beatle recognising him and asking for his autograph. I could go on for hours, but John has a wonderfully funny Powerpoint lecture which he will be presenting on the 12th covering all his successes but mostly his failures in the music business, and promoting Otway the Movie.
Price 30 Euros including lunch, reservations by email; chrs.france@gmail.com First come first served!
Chris France
Nice lady decorator reads book shock
A chorus of abuse greeted me today as my faux pas yesterday came to light. The extremely poor joke about the wonderful Kate Adams having a nice pear fell deservedly on deaf ears because a pomme as in La Pomme Rouge is of course not a pear but an apple. I deserve all the opprobrium I get because it was a desperately poor joke anyway and only got past the editor (me) because I had imbibed rather too freely at this rather swish establishment. There ends the case for the defence.
This piece is especially for my readers in England. Although summer has gone, the autumn days are still warm enough to sit out and sunbathe and perhaps to read a book in the sunshine. I took this picture yesterday of the lounger in which that nice lady decorator had been sitting a few moments before and guess what she was reading? As Rolf Harris would probably say, “Can you see what it is yet?”
Looks like a very fine read to me
This could go either way. Either she likes the idea that her lazy husband has actually got around to nearly publishing his first book and she will pleased and happy, or, on the other hand if she focusses on the contents, which is a more or less a compilation of the err….best bits of this column she has mostly not read, and the contents do not find favour then I will be in the dog house. So far she is at page 9 and the jury is out.
Next Saturday is Firework night, November 5th when I shall be playing golf with the REGS at St Donat, but in the evening I shall now be considering staging a firework party. This is because dear old Max, the amiable and gentle and not smelly family dog has just been confirmed as stone deaf. Whilst this is very sad and nothing can be done, it will enable me to buy some very loud fireworks to celebrate this momentous day in British history without worrying about his being scared. Banjo, the appalling giant, smelly, loose boweled cocker spaniel disgrace to the doggy fraternity has wonderful hearing, and although I do not like him, I accept that he will inevitably eventually take over as senior dog in the household, thus I have decided to try to work anew on our relationship. With that in mind I have invited him to come and witness the firework display. I do hope he will enjoy the spectacle and sheer exhilarating sound of fireworks being let off at close quarters. I realise however that he may get over excited by the event so I plan to tether him to a tree nearby so that he gets the best possible view. I do hope this will cement a new era in relations between us.
Not a mention today for Currencies Direct as I have some respect for the sabbath. I always was a Tommy Iommi fan. Instead, we shall almost certainly go to the beach in Juan Les Pins to make the most of the sunshine and warmer than usual temperatures and to top up the tan before our trip to Kenya at the end of November.
The coming week fills me with some foreboding as it is my duty to go to Guildford on Tuesday, flying back on Wednesday. Leaving the poolside sunshine for gales, frost and sleet is not my idea of fun, but ones duty is to attend one sons parents evening at the college, so one will have to take solace in beer after the event. At least my son James is now old enough legally to come to the pub. I wonder whose round it will be, any guesses?
Chris France
Literary neighbourhood shock
Lunch, one of the most important words in the Cote d’Azur, especially when taken on a Friday is a delight. Yesterday, I was able to combine lunch with work allowing me the righteous justification to take the afternoon off to compensate for working through my lunch two and a half hours. I can almost feel that collective metaphorical sigh from those living in the less fortunate wastes of England where one must remove the two from two and a half to calculate a UK lunch half hour. Anyway, a working lunch was taken at the Auberge Provencal in Valbonne Square to go through the final details of the big launch of my first book “Summer In the Cote d’Azur” at the same venue on November 7th. I was accompanied by that nice lady decorator and my sponsor Matt “Tsunami” Frost from French Mortgage Xpress.
After a siesta, required after such an exhausting lunch and a hard walk around the Valmasque forest yesterday morning, where I took the picture below, I was invited by my book editor, the lovely Dawn Howard from the Roquefort Informer, to try out a new establishment in Valbonne called La Pomme Rouge Deli opened recently by the renowned local caterer Kate Adams possessor of another beautiful pear (sorry that really was bad….I could have edited but, hey, you know not to expect anything too high brow in this column). It is a restaurant, a deli, even a place just to have a few drinks just opposite the Mairie and is now on my list of favoured establishments.
Saw this in the Valmasque and was struck by quite how red the leaves of this bush were
Over a few glasses of wine I was excitedly telling Dawn about my unofficial appointment as the acting president of the Valbonne Literary Society. I outlined some of the possible future guests such as John Otway now confirmed for 12th December (of which more next week) and Jerry Shirley, drummer in Humble Pie and expressed the view that the local high brows may be able to learn a thing or two from the guys nearer the engine room of life as it were and her reaction was, I suppose fairly predictably, “There goes the literary neighbourhood”.
I met for the first time delightful and bubbly local artist and indeed now art teacher at a swanky Monegasque art group, the name of which I failed to record, Jilly Ballantyne. I cannot recall why we got on to the subject of bad behaviour in restaurants so quickly after meeting for the first time, but although a very convivial evening she refrained on this occasion from performing the Samba on the table tops, an activity for which she is apparently widely renowned.
I don’t expect the newly open restaurant and deli, who we’re offering an interesting menu including an excellent Asiatic platter amongst many different dishes and snacks, had before been on the receiving end of smashed bottles being knocked over by a clumsy client, but I fixed that for them. I do like to be noticed.
Today I shall be doing my best to avoid gardening, an activity that has rather irksomely become something of a norm on a Saturday, well it happened last Saturday as week, so that’s regular is it not? I suspect the bad back routine will once again fail miserably so unless I can find another excuse, I expect I shall indeed have an aching back before sundown.
I have just realised that so far in today’s column I have not mentioned the advantages of opening an account with Currencies Direct. That is because it is a Saturday, which should be a day of rest, so I shall not be mentioning it.
Chris France
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