Work commitments in place of leisure?
Great characters abound in Valbonne, but we seem to have lost one. Derek Barrowcliff, originally from Warwick but a fixture in Valbonne for the last 30 years has disappeared. Have a look at this Facebook page, has anyone seen him recently? the old chap is in his 90’s and concern is running high for his well being.
There are some characters I could well do without in the village, notably the horrid hound Banjo who ability to deposit faeces in the most inappropriate places in my garden and strategically where I had intended to walk on our daily marches around the Valmasque forest is legendary, now if he was missing there would not be the concern there is for Derek, merely loud cheering, certainly from me.
Today I have been summoned to a very important meeting at the Cafe Des Arcades to discuss the literary lunch or “paunch launch” as it has been rather unkindly called by a regular reader of this column whom I cannot name, but for arguments sake I will call Peter Lynn, of possibly Valbonne’s soon to be most talked about publication, again certainly by me, my book “Summer In the Cote D’Azur“. It is currently only available for Ipad and kindle devices but that will all change on Halloween, 31st October when the paperback will arrive and you will all be given an opportunity to come for lunch and buy a copy. I am not proud, you can buy copies for people you don’t like, I just want your money. What a great Christmas present for a boring auntie or the mother in law? Need something to prop up the bed, a door stop? The meeting will be to iron out the details of the big day, and as soon as all is finalised , the invitations will go out and fiercesome plugging will commence in this column, but keep Halloween lunchtime free. I have even attempted to get successful rock and roll failure Mr John Otway to be my guest of honour. So far he has not responded to my calls and emails, but there is still time, I will catch him soon, most likely when he comes to stay with me in Valbonne for his birthday at the weekend. After all he will want a bed and a fair exchange is no robbery.
My picture today is of a more intelligent that normal Peachy Butterfield taken last weekend. His adorable wife Suzanne has been on at him to eat more greens and he seems to have taken that to heart, along by the look of him in this photo with a gut full of Rochdale Rioja.
Now eat up your greens young man
Careful advance planning and a great deal of bribery with the celestial powers that be has ensured that the usual south of France weather to which I am know to be partial will be available to me during my three day stay in England starting Thursday. I have deliberately impeded and had saved up all the good weather during the UK summer to be certain that it was reserved for when I come back to blighty. I may have had to sell my soul to the devil, but as I know the Reverend Jeff, I feel sure I will be pardoned or exorcised or whatever those religious chaps do when you do something selfish.
Tennis has been postponed tonight due to Greg Harris of Cote d’Azur Villas and something called “work commitments”. This is clearly a preposterous concept, work getting in the way of leisure activities in the evening? poppycock. Running scared after last weeks mauling no doubt. Perhaps he will be having a couple of private lessons to iron out that laughably weak backhand, as opposed to backhander?
Chris France
She went hemispherical
That nice lady decorator has insisted on spring cleaning. I pointed out that this was not exactly spring but she said it was spring somewhere in the world, I think she is becoming hemispherical. If I said that to her however, I think I would feel the sharp pain of a slap which starts just around her hip and does not stop until it comes into contact with something (or usually somebody) yielding. I do not understand why the female of the species become so sensitive to any implication that they may have anything other than the perfect shape. As we all know beauty is in the eye of the beholder and at my age anything you can get to behold is a bonus.
Anyway, back to the spring cleaning. It is a fact that all those useful leads, tools, screws, bulbs and tools for getting stones out of horses hooves and sundry other items that I had carefully stored away in one small drawer for that moment when you need them, are vital to my well-being. It is equally certain that the garage full of rubbish that she insists on storing is never inspected, except when she intends to do a car boot sale. These are of course disasters, because being a collectormaniac or whatever the word is, she is by nature a hoarder and so cannot resist a bargain. The result is inevitably that the attempt to off load some rubbish onto those poor unfortunates that scour these events is off set by the number of so-called “bargains” that she able to secure, with the effect that she usually brings even more rubbish back that she had when she set out. At least she will say brightly, “we have enough to do another car boot sale now”. Female logic; a contradiction in terms?
As it happens I have a picture today of the car boot sale taken in Valbonne last Sunday. There was an interesting hat on this stand, I wonder if that nice lady decorator was tempted?
Today I journeyed in to the centre of Antibes on vital Currencies Direct business and am happy to say that I have saved another poor unfortunate from the evil grasping tentacles of their banks when it comes to foreign exchange transfers. The firm have become so impressed with the power of my rhetoric and my general promotional ability that they have suggested that their stand at the rather aptly named The France Show at Earls Court in London in January should perhaps pay host to my signing copies of my book, “Summer In the Cote d’Azur” available now for Kindle and Ipad from Amazon and available in paperback from Halloween onwards.
On Wednesday, we should be able to finalise all the details of the literary launch, or literary paunch as that nice lade decorator refers to it at a meeting at the Cafe des Arcades. Already we have enough people clamouring for tickets and the opportunity to purchase a first edition of my first novel that we have sufficient numbers to fill half the capacity of Les Temps des Mets and that is without commencing the burgeoning advertising campaign that will shortly blitz the whole area. I shall be meeting with the local literary brains, Viv and Matt “Cornish Tsunami” Frost from French Mortgage Express to fine tune the details of the lunch and the advertising campaign. He was most put out that the meeting was not to be staged in the Valbonne wine bar La Kavanou or the Queens Legs, but as I explained, there is plenty of time for that when the real details will be decided.
Chris France
Caught in The Mousetrap?
As I awoke yesterday, I should have known that the glowering skies that have suddenly replaced our sunny ones, albeit temporarily one hopes, that the omens were not good for the Peachy Butterfield lunch, but I was wrong. He and the lovely Suzanne were hosting lunch at their villa in Valbonne including the naked politician and his wife, plus Simon and Sarah Howes and sundry children which meant that there was a good chance of Montechristo No 2’s and Chateau Gloria, supplied by Simon, and something special emanating from Worksop from Peachy, and was correct on both counts.
It seems that the nice lady decorator and I have a reputation for a short siesta, often during long drawn out lunches. I was not aware of that reputation until I came across these signs strategically placed signs on two sun loungers close to the pool yesterday as my picture today illustrates. It therefore seemed the right thing not to disavow our hosts of this erroneous impression they had mysteriously gained and we dutifully peeled off for a short sojourn at the appointed time.
His and hers matching siesta help pack
Luckily with the poor looking weather in the morning, the idea of Peachy’s barbecue of any animal he could find in the vicinity did not come to fruition (is that the right word or do I mean incineration?). In its place the lovely Suzanne produced a magnificent repast without a hint of pigeon, whippet or ferret, and a great day was had although the naked politician remained fully clothed throughout due to close attention from the “handbrake” as his beautiful wife is known.
Today I must journey into Antibes for important Currencies Direct business, to save some lost Norwegian souls from the ravages of their bank when they buy a house in the area. I shall be meeting with Icelandic goddess Gudrun from Remax-Cannes and am hoping that it is rather a long meeting allowing me the chance of lunch under the sunny skies that have mercifully returned in Antibes.
Thereafter I am determined that my body will become a temple and I will engage in a period of worship. That is until Thursday when we fly off to dreary old England for a few days to “celebrate” twenty years of marriage and to see (if they have time in their busy schedules) our two sprogs who are both studying in England now. I suspect they will be pleased to see us if merely because it is near the end of the month and they will both be broke and will get fed. On Saturday, the big day, we are going to see The Mousetrap, that ancient Agatha Christie whodunnit nonsense of the type favoured by that nice lady decorator. It was an entirely democratic decision. I wanted to go and see something funny or lively, she wanted to see The Mousetrap, so with one vote each, the chairwoman had the casting vote and The Mousetrap it was. In some ways it might be argued that it is an apt caption for our marriage. Who is the mouse? Show me the cheese and all will be revealed. I am told that I am looking forward to it, so I must be. What I am definitely looking forward to is a few pints of London Pride, hence the reason for a couple of days off the juice (to be confirmed) as I want to be on top form and ready for that first pint. Astonishingly the weather forecast for England for next week is great, with 25 degrees and sunny skies predicted. We shall see.
Chris France
Barking? well he is Welsh
He said “Good Morning” and then proceeded to show me on the golf course why it wasn’t. Chris Bark Jones was his name and I think it says a great deal. I had been chosen to captain a team at the International Club Of The Riviera annual golf tournament at an impossibly early hour yesterday morning and was given a team that included him. Charming man that he was, he is still Welsh and always will be and with something close to barking in his name, well, need I go further? A lumberjack working through the day with a chainsaw probably inflicted less damage to the forest around the Victoria Golf Course that Mr Barking, who, by his own admission had a bad day, and by the end of the round I swear that every tree within a hundred metres was ducking when he got to his back swing. The reason for my chagrin? I had made what turned out to be an unwise wager with the captain Australian captain of another team, who rather conveniently for an Australian was called Bruce (aren’t they all?), unwise in that I had failed to consider the possibility of captaining a team with, shall we say, unrealised potential. This meant that I had to buy drinks for them, which, as regular readers will realise, is not something that I enjoy doing. The situation was rescued a little later when I managed to persuade Bruce to become a customer of Currencies Direct, so clearly the expense will be admissible as a justifiable expense to set against my tax liability? I shall talk to my accountant on Monday.
A good lunch did much to restore good humour, until Mr Barking managed to distract me and steal a full carafe of wine from under my nose. I jest of course, it was a thoroughly good morning and a wonderful lunch marshalled by George the Curry, but sadly without a curry dish in sight.
My picture today was taken when camping in Bluebell the camper at Castellane last weekend. I retain a glowering resentment against Banjo, the hapless hound that the nice lady decorator foisted upon our household (and with my money to pay for him I seem to recall) last year. He is a thief, disobedient, smelly and dribbly and I am only happy when he is in prison when we are away for a few days. Imagine then my distress when walking around this pretty town when she drew my attention to the mangy mongrel in this picture and suggested that I should be kind to Banjo and perhaps we should buy him a pram too. I am certain it was a deliberate attempt to wind me up and do you know what? it worked.
I wonder if the little chap is comfortable?
Today we are off to Peachy Butterfield’s in Valbonne for lunch. He is renowned for ability to barbecue anything, particularly such northern delicacies as road kill. I think I will suggest that the little chap above might be better dealt with in this gruff northern fashion. This event is only one for people with strong stomachs. I have already seen the smoke rising from the vicinity of their house and suspect that he is even now building up the pyre for whatever northern delicacy awaits us. Can you make sausages out of ferrets and pigeons? if so, then I have a shrewd idea that we may be the lucky recipients of something similar this afternoon. You shall have a full report in this column tomorrow, before I trot off for a mornings work in Antibes.
Chris France
Sheep dog trials?
Change is said to be inevitable, except perhaps from a vending machine and it must be a welcome change for Peachy Butterfield to leave behind the north of England where he has been for a week, that totally different world where sheep dog trials are common (do they put them on trial because they chase sheep?), and return to the beautiful weather than sums up the south of France in September.
That I am looking forward to Sunday lunch with him and the delectable Suzanne is in no doubt, but what to take as an offering is more tricky, perhaps I should look in his and her Dreembox? It is an on-line portal of Peachy’s invention where you can reveal to your friends what presents you actually want rather than accepting that grim, fly infested potted plant with a fixed grin and the phrase “just what I always wanted”.
This got me to thinking about what kind of things they might have in their list of desires. She will be easy, anything fizzy and alcoholic, he is more difficult (in more ways than one). Perhaps some new earrings for his pet ferret? What about a new sheep dog whistle, or is he an old traditionalist using the ancient whistling through your teeth technique? Perhaps something more modern like a GPS device for his best pigeon? If he ever lost “pidgy”, his all time favourite, he would be inconsolable. I will have a look today and see what inner secrets are revealed.
This will be my last picture taken on L’Exocet during the Bistro Rally earlier in the week. It shows Tim Sharp, web designer for many local portals including Cote d’Azur Villa Rentals doing some service or other for Greg Harris, head honcho there and one of his main clients. This picture speaks volumes (or should I say spits volumes?) about the lengths (sic) he will go to keep his clients happy. Old fashioned service at its best.
Will that be all sir?
Bad news. I discovered last night that The International Club Of The Riviera golf tournament starts at 8am today. How we will be able to play in the dark is a mystery, because as far as I know 8am is several hours before dawn. My attempts to cry off were met with an absolute refusal by George The Curry, the Sri Lankan organiser and the creator of many a great curry as he has appointed me captain of our team, thus by the time you are reading this probably from the comfort of your bed, I will be struggling around a golf course feeling a bit like Stevie Wonder (sorry, that was a bit below the belt) but with a miners light strapped to my forehead to see where I am going. At least such an early start will ensure we are well finished before the aperitif at 12.15 and lunch shortly thereafter. The things I am forced to do to network in my pursuit of customers for Currencies Direct.
Yesterday, it was mentioned to me that the lawn could do with a cut. It was mentioned in that dangerous, lowered voice kind of way that when emanating from that nice lady decorator, I know it is an imperative, not a request, so I dragged Terrence the tractor out from his comfortable little hole and do what was expected of me. There are however some small compensations; Banjo the loathsome hound is afraid of Terrance, especially when Terrance drives at him at top speed, and with that nice lady decorator at a girls lunch and not able to keep an eye on Terrance’s behaviour, or more truthfully, his driver, some recompense was had.
Chris France
Away in a danger
Being in Cannes in the late summer sunshine for important business has its rewards. The thing I love the most is the shorts skirts and low-cut tops, but I must admit they do make me look a bit gay. I was in Cannes to meet my old pal Vincent Gence who is now a senior manager at HSBC Premier in Cannes, the biggest branch outside Paris, and his English is perfect, so if you ever need a friendly neighbourhood bank manager who can speak proper English and without bullshit, email him: vincent.gence@hsbc.com
So after the rigours of Cannes, and a slightly thick head after the tennis dinner on Wednesday night, I settled down in the hammock to write today’s exciting episode and was reminded of some uproarious conversations we had over dinner at Capricio in Chateauneuf (as opposed to the Caprice) about creating some recordings for Itunes in time for the Christmas market. Christmas carols are an obvious starting point but when trying to decide which ones to record, we began throwing ideas around for the title of the album. When considering how daring it would be for anyone in their right mind to purchase such an item, various titles were suggested, most of which I have forgotten (they say a clear conscience is the sign of a lapsed memory) but of the ones I remember I think my favourite was “Away In a Danger”.
My picture today was taken yesterday in Cannes on my way back to the station after lunch and I hope shows all my friends back in the UK (if I have any left) that we too have it tough down here. Can you see how hot it is? oh for some cooler weather.
I hope that are all wearing lots of sun tan cream
The International Club Of The Riviera golf tournament takes place on Saturday at the Victoria Golf Course in Valbonne, after which lunch will be served, and guess which part of that particular event that nice lady decorator has volunteered for? Thereafter I must prepare for lunch on Sunday with the redoubtable Peachy Butterfield, who, having just returned from dreary dank England, will not doubt have some northern culinary delights that he has smuggled past the dogs at customs with which to amuse us. Perhaps pigeon burgers or whippet waffles? Maybe some tripe terrine or ferret fudge? One thing I do know is that there is likely to be some Chateau Gloria supplied by Mr Howes who is also rumoured to be attending, and I plan to ensure that Peachy does not get his hands or rather his northern jowls anywhere near it. I shall guide him towards his own fine wine selection, emanating mostly from the Worksop area. I shall go now and prepare my crash helmet and goggles ready for this onslaught.
An invitation to go to St Tropez for a couple of days next week is received from Wayne Brown from FR2day and the lovely Lucy from Red Radish and we are minded to accept, especially with London looming later next week. It is the perfect time of year to go to St Trop, so I feel we may be tempted, perhaps even in Bluebell.
So tireless toil will continue today when I must organise some clearances for old pal John Otway. He is flying back from the UK with us on his birthday, Sunday 2nd October and I have promised to have done something by then, and there is also the ongoing question about my work with Currencies Direct. Not a question mark about it you understand, just the questionable nature of my effort with the weekend approaching fast.
Chris France
MOGS triumph
The resumption of tennis hostilities flared up again last night. After a frankly rather poor show over the summer with any number of excuses being employed to avoid running around in the heat, the arrival of more comfortable September weather enabled the resumption of the MOGS (the moustachiod old gits) supremacy over their much younger rivals, but more of that later.
Earlier in the week, all four tennis combatants had been crew aboard racing yacht L’Exocet for the Bistro Rally. Celebrations surrounding our victory were as intense as they were drawn out. The first beer was taken aboard on board before 11am just as the race was getting underway and it was nearly 3am the next morning when myself and that nice lady decorator stumbled into Bluebell, parked in the port, to sleep.
Amongst those celebrating to the fullest extent was the owner of a well-known villa rental and management enterprise, whom I cannot identify here. Clearly thirsts were running high, so high it seems that the wine, stored in bladders from wine boxes (it being deemed too dangerous to allow bottles on board) was in danger of running out. In an entirely unrelated picture, I managed to capture a photograph of Greg Harris from Cote d’Azur Villa Rentals finding an interesting way of removing the last vestiges of wine from one of these bladders.
Greg Harris practising what looks like a blow job
So, back to the tennis. You may think that a scoreline of 6-2, 6-1, 6-0 was a thrashing of the highest order and you would be right. Modesty precludes my relaying to you who were the winners, but as was discussed at dinner after the match, had I been on the the losing side there would have been no mention of it in this factual account of the daily lives of the idle rich in Valbonne. This is as cruel and vicious an accusation as it is true, but as I explained, sometimes there are competing items of news or of local interest which squeeze out the reporting of bad results, but I am happy to find sufficient space today.
Of course discussion about this column sent the wingco’s lip curling and I distinctly heard the word “ghastly” amongst the rumblings emanating from the area somewhere beneath his moustache. He does so hate this column, but also detests the fact that it is often talked about in his company, and often admired. Indeed the more perceptive amongst my readers will already be aware that it has been adapted into a book “Summer In The Cote d’Azur” available now for Kindle and Ipad, and in paperback from Halloween onwards. It seems that Amazon do not like the French banking system, as I have heard from distressed potential buyers that some French bank cards do not work when ordering on line. I have taken this up with Amazon and expect a solution shortly. In the meantime it can be bought through Amazon.com in US$.
It is my lot today once again to be on the commuter train to Cannes with my metaphorical oil can, easing the wheels and cogs of industry, but I fully intend to have completed my tasks before lunch, and will deservedly allow myself to lunch on the beach as a reward. As the working week stretches towards the weekend, I feel I shall deserve a rest after today’s trials and tribulations.
So far, I have not mentioned today the services of Currencies Direct. I thought that you perhaps deserved a day off from receiving the message about the best way to move foreign exchange around. I will say however, that I have been provisionally invited by them to the France Show next January to sign copies of my book!
Chris France
The literary launch lunch
This will shake the very foundations of the literary fraternity to its foundations. The launch of “Summer In The Cote d’Azur” in a paperback version will be on October 31st at Les Temps Des Mets restaurant in Valbonne at lunchtime on Halloween.
There, in a spectacle so grotesque that Halloween is the perfect date, the soon to be renowned author, myself, will speak at a luncheon (before I became all high brow and literary it would have been lunch) to celebrate its publication. I shall be talking about the inspiration behind its writing, the lives of the myriad characters with whom I come into contact and generally about the lives of the idle rich in Valbonne.
There will be a limited number of tickets available for the lunch priced at a very reasonable 20 or maybe 25 Euros which will include a champagne reception and a set menu before my speech, and will offer an opportunity for all attending to buy some signed copies of the first edition of “Summer In The Cote D’Azur” previously only available for kindle and Ipad, perhaps as Christmas presents for people you don’t really like. I shall be announcing sponsors in the fullness of time. That means that I don’t have a sponsor at this moment in time but would dearly like one or more. It may well be that I will persuade the powers that be are Currencies Direct to contribute but if any of you are interested in sponsoring this event, please get in touch! Matt “Cornish Tsunami” Frost at French Mortgage Express has yet to commit despite huge pressure from his lovely wife Viv, who alongside the voluptuous Lin Wolff from the English Book Centre in Valbonne are the cornerstones of the local literary establishment and ultimately responsible, and should be held to account for my wonderful opportunity to show off and be at the centre of attention. More details on prices and ticket availability tomorrow I hope.
My picture today is of the wingco taken on l’Exocet during the famous victory in the Bistro Rally earlier this week. As you can see, the wingco is getting into the swing of things, I think he was singing “we are sailing, we are sailing” although at that stage it is true to say that we had not yet left the port.
Altogether now; We are sailing....
It is fair to say that today I have been somewhat below par. It may have had something to do with the celebrations on Monday, but I am not sure because I can remember very little of the evening, so yesterday was a pretty tame affair but with the last vestiges of hangover refusing to leave town, the hair of the dog theory required testing. thus we went early doors for drink
Today is a full on work day until at least lunchtime, when every decent inhabitant of the Cote d’Azur breaks for lunch. Cannes beckons on Thursday for another irksome meeting but at least it is with a bank who are going to give me some money, so the commuter trail will be my cross to bear. Thereafter, I must prepare for the International Club Of The Riviera golf tournament and lunch on Saturday at the Victoria Golf Course, a modest 9 hole course without much sophistication which many who have seen me play may say sounds like it is ideally suited to my game.
Later next week, I will have to leave the beautiful sunny September weather for three days in London. It seems I have children who need visiting, even although I have spent the best part of 20 years with them. That nice lady decorator has spoken and I will obey, it is the law.
Chris France
Chocs away
Wind? no one told me about the wind. The mistral down here in the Cote d’Azur often blows away bad weather, and is often very welcome, clearing the air and producing sparkling sunshine, but when one is on a sailing yacht expecting to be basking in the sun and drinking for most of the day, the last thing you want is wind. This of course was not how the hardened sailors saw it, they were revelling in the opportunity to put sails up, and splicing the main brace, and shouting “genoas to the fore” and all that jargon about which I know nothing. I had in mind a few glasses of champagne on the poop deck (I think that is what it is called, perhaps that is where the toilet is positioned?) being able to stand as we left the harbour legs slightly apart, hands behind the back swaying ever so gently as the stabilisers took effect, preferable adorned with a cap saying “Captain” and issuing orders to the crew like, “chocs away” (although why sailors think they need to hide the chocolate is a mystery to me), “contact” (another expression that taken out of context could have alarming results) and that sort of thing. What I actually got was something quite different.
I am not usually a good sailor, so being on a racing yacht in winds gusting to force 7 was an almost racing certainty for one to deposit ones breakfast over the side rather quickly, but a strange thing happened, I really enjoyed it, even at a sixty degree tilt at 10 knots there was not a sign of breakfast revisited. I even managed to stay calm enough to take some photos, such as the one below.
L'Exocet roaring to victory in the Bistro Rally
By now you will know that to me winning is everything, so you will be delighted to know that, under my careful and understated stewardship, judiciously pointing out the best seas and warning of incoming gusts, Currencies Direct client John Mundell sailed l’Exocet to victory in the Bistro Rally. The rally is something of a race, usually involving floating out to the Isles des Lerins about 3 miles off Cannes. Yesterday however, because of the wind, the course was extended to go around the Islands. I feel certain he could not have achieved this without my help, despite the fact that he has won the race for the last 5 years in a row.
The WAGS had taken charge of a rib, which is fairly apt for women, having a spare rib, and had spirited a magnum of champagne and several bottles of wine aboard, together with their red white and blue outfits resplendent with red and blue pom poms, as my second picture of the day shows below.
Wags and pom poms on a spare rib
After much celebration with the rest of the crew during the afternoon which included Greg Harris from Cote D’Azur Villa rentals, the wingco, who once again described this daily column as “ghastly”, but I know he will take a peek today, plus BA pilot Dave Rogers who managed to navigate us very close to some rocks at one stage, I think he had forgotten about the undercarriage as he described the keel, we attended the celebratory dinner at the Bistro on the port.
Being awoken by the most wonderful sunrise after an overnight stop in Bluebell in the car park of port De La Rague is the reason for a late posting today, that and a sore head, rumbling stomach and fierce hangover, so its back to bed for me as soon as this is finished, which is now.
Chris France
Salty sea dogs, a kind of burger?
As Mr Humphrey’s (he was free) said on Facebook yesterday, we have been waiting for months for some rain, now its here I don’t like it. Today however, the riviera weather is back to normal, bright and sunny and so let the rally begin. The Bistro Rally, now in its ninth year will for the first time be paying host to a soon to be famous author, myself. Starting at 10am sharp, (or 9am sharp as the wingco, the man without a watch has been told) l’Exocet will float out of harbour, crewed by a team of salty sea dogs on the way to the Isle des Lerins, a full 3 miles away, where we shall tie up, exhausted by the crossing under sail and enjoy a relaxing drink or two just to unwind. The flotilla of WAG support craft have apparently readied themselves with pom-pom outfits and a colour coordinated salute for the brave sailors who will undertake this difficult enterprise, and we have been promised food and drink aplenty once we arrive. I fully intend to act like any hardened sailor returning to port for the first time in ages and enjoy the firm ground beneath my feet and the charms of the local female population. At least that was what I dreamed, I will let you know tomorrow how close to reality it was.
My picture today was taken in the pretty streets of Castellane before the deluge started in early evening on Saturday. If you look closely you can see the building in the middle bulging somewhat and I know exactly how that feels, however, I now have an excuse; I am in training for my prospective employment as a male model for Marina Kulik’s painting classes, indeed I had a message yesterday to say to prepare for the call.
An early example of urban sprawl?
It is not yet confirmed, but I urge all of you to keep lunchtime on Halloween open for a major literary launch announcement in Valbonne and news of the author himself rising to speak for the first time in his career. For the less bright amongst you, or indeed the blond contingent, that is the 31st October. More news and confirmation by mid-week.
So how will I spend the coming week amongst the idle rich of Valbonne? the answer is I don’t really know. Clearly promotion activities for my book Summer In The Cote d’Azur will be to the fore but I must not neglect my duties in other areas, such as with Currencies Direct as there are still many unfortunates out there, even amongst my own coterie of friends and associates who are leaking money to their banks for every foreign exchange transaction they make, thus I must attempt to be vigilant for them. Then there is that wonderful investment opportunity that is Medina Palms and also my work with John Otway and his movie and on the forthcoming documentary about the legendary Gene Clark from the Byrds. All in all then, an intensive and fulfilling week of solid work lies ahead. Even today, whilst some may think that I shall be aboard the boat for personal gratification, nothing could be further from the truth. Indeed the captain of the boat himself is a client and, I may add, a shining example of what a client should be, rewarding the chap who saved him money in a rather splendid way. No, I shall be seeking new customers wherever they may be, so in answer to your unasked question, yes, I do consider today to be a working one.
Chris France
Church builder deranged
Castellane is beautiful village on the route Napoleon on the way to Digne. What was not beautiful the first afternoon was that nature of that nice lady decorator, who, when I suggested I might have a brief siesta after a two-hour drive, lunch, some beers and a bottle of wine, had one of her dark moments, so dark that I decided to explore the village alone. Our campsite was very relaxing, at least until that darkness descended, nestled as it was beneath apple and walnut trees, although the latter are dangerous, an opinion I formed after lacerating my thumb in a determined effort to eat one. No pain to gain, certainly no walnut.
Finding a comfortable spot on a river bank I snoozed for an hour or so which is usually enough time for the temper tantrum to pass and returned to Bluebell and that not so nice lady decorator who had indeed recovered her composure, and although it is an uncertain and fragile state, all was well until I discovered I did not have the keys to the camper van, which were certainly in my pocket before sloping off. As you may not be shocked to hear, this did not go down very well, so a quick jog back to the place of rest to retrieve them was required to restore relative calm.
Castellane is quite a lively place, a number of bars and restaurants abound, as we had discovered upon arrival at lunchtime, and we even discovered a bar promising to show the Ireland versus Australia World Cup Rugby tie, and they may well have, had we emerged from slumber in Bluebell in time.
My pictures, yes, there are two, today were taken from the village up to the top of Notre Dame Du Roc, the chapel on the top of a huge rock above the village and from the top looking down.
I know, lets build a church on the top of that rock, then any number of mugs or religious nuts will want to walk up it.
Why on earth the french have to put their churches in the most difficult to reach locations defeats me. Are they punishing people for being religious? After all, religion punishes the world by being at the root of most wars or conflicts, imagine no religion? In its place just decent moral codes, what a better place the world would be. Regular readers will know that when I delve into religious bigotry it is usually when I have not had any comments from this column resident god botherer the Reverend Jeff for a few days.
Anyway, I digress, that nice lady decorator was determined to walk to the top, and for the sake of a quiet life I went too. Forty minutes later we were looking out over the world. Imagine how many people were within sight who move foreign currency and are not yet Currencies Direct customers? it is a sobering thought, and determined to break sober mind-set we descended into Castellane for lunch yesterday.
My legs ache. View from the top of Notre Dame du Roc
Light showers possible in the afternoon was the forecast in the mountains, but an electrical storm of biblical proportions starting in the evening and was still going at 7am this morning made the O’Sullivans decision not to go camping a very wise one. In the camper van we were safe and dry, but in a tent? So a quick cash home for the Sunday fry up under leaden skies. The forecast is for the mistral tomorrow, and me , not a good sailor and a non swimmer supposed to be on a sailing boat. This could be the penultimate column..
Chris France
Brewski or Bruceski?
After the meeting at the new offices of Currencies Direct on Thursday, new office manager the lovely Cosette suggested what sounded like a Brewski. I think she meant having a beer after work, and I admit I could have mistaken the expression for an Australian expression which I imagine means much the same but is spelled Bruceski. Perhaps Cathie the Culture can help us out with this one? As she (Cossette) is Canadian with French overtones, and thus her English is slightly accented, I am not certain which interpretation was in play, so decided to go for a beer to talk it over with some fellow missionaries at The Australian pub in Sophia Antipolis. I asked the owner about it, but the familiar gallic shrug, that I have come to love told nothing that I wanted to know and all I needed to know.
Last night, after a couple of beers, I had the rare treat of watching television, a sign that the evenings are beginning to draw in, indeed the temperature today was a little cooler, peaking at just 27 degrees, just about perfect then, it has been a little too hot lately. Sad to say that due to our camping trip we will be missing the red radish guerrilla beach event tonight in Cannes. From what I hear there will be a good turnout, maybe next time, if there is one this summer.
Bluebell was resplendent in the sunshine this morning and fully supplied for the camping trip as my picture below shows, and so the next big camping adventure got under way. The trip could not be said to be in tents, in fact it was in Castellane, in the camper van on the route Napoleon, one of the most evocative routes in France, their equivalent of Route 66, probably invented by the chap who invented the brandy of the same name (Napoleon not Route 66). It was the ancient pass leading across the Alps and has some beautiful unspoiled villages along its course and we intend to explore a few of them.
Bluebell, ready to rock, yesterday morning
Before setting off, it was my delightful duty to drive the black Maria as I like to call it, taking Banjo into custody for the weekend. I took my time and was able to savour his naivety as he thought he was going for a walk. Like the condemned man he ate a hearty breakfast but I was able to get him into the vehicle before he was able to play his customary trick of defecating all over my lawn, especially near my hammock. I do hope he will be subjected to hard labour. If I had my way I would throw away the key.
So after in intensive camping experience at the weekend we shall be coming down the mountain on Sunday to ready ourselves for the Bistro Rally, which will no doubt enable me to make the very bad joke.. Ahh Bistro, which of course will not be understood by anyone under 40 or English or not into gravy.
This assumes that the nice lady decorator does not get too cold in Bluebell at the altitude of 900 metres or so, in which case expect some backsliding and an early reappearance near the coast. I did not move to the south of France to endure cold, unless it is on the ski slopes in winter and is accompanied by a nice grappe and a steaming plate of spaghetti bolognaise. Indeed it is quite difficult to envisage that in about 8 weeks time some of the ski resorts will be nearing their seasonal opening. Bring it on I say, its been too hot!
Chris France
Ear chewed due to grim comment
I have a sore ear. Sadly that nice lady decorator was alerted by some snitch that reported that I had mentioned yesterday that I had said I had woken up feeling grim, and for some reason she took exception. I have my suspicions as to who may be guilty (apart from my good self for the comment of course), but will not name the obviously guilty party, however Melissa Graves should be squirming in her seat as she reads this.
I graced the new Currencies Direct offices with my inaugural appearance yesterday and was pleased to note that tea and cakes had been laid on (how English!). The crowds were not as large as I had anticipated for the arrival of their most famous author (Summer in the Cote d’Azur – available now) and my autograph signing pen especially stolen form my John Otway collection of autograph pens did not require much use, but the tea and cakes were good, and the champagne afterwards to celebrate a very good initial meeting was very welcome. It is a practice that the English would do well to emulate.
On Monday next week is the Bistro Rally. It cannot be called a race for insurance reasons, so it is a sailing boat rally that commences at 10am in the Port De La Rague at Mandelieu just along the coast from Cannes and involves around 10 sailing yachts racing to the Isles des Lerins about three miles off the coast. I say racing, and certainly l’Exocet has won on every previous occasion, but it seems the race or rather rally apparently is more about floating in the right direction than sailing as there is seldom any wind, as long as you discount my own personal contribution. I shall be aboard this wonderful racing yacht , guiding the skipper John Mundell whilst his lovely wife Zillah will me marshalling the WAGS in a flotilla of small support vessels who will arrive ahead of us as they are under power and will I hope have lunch prepared as we cross the finishing line.
The fact that enormous amounts of food and drink are being ordered and stored for the trip gives me a slight indication that there may be a good deal of drinking going on rather than hard sailing, which frankly suits me! My picture today was taken of the wingco a few weeks ago. For some reason he thought it was a good idea to “wear” the light shade as a hat aboard l’Exocet late at night after his exertions with guitar. Perhaps the impetus for this decision was that his t-shirt matched the lamp shade? This is my guess but in reality I don’t think we will never know.
Life is about light and shade, beautifully illustrated by this picture of the wingco with his head in a light socket
This morning, after taking Banjo to prison for the weekend, and unless the weather in the mountains is showing signs of breaking, we shall be heading off up the Route De Napoleon, destination Castellane for a few days relaxation and recuperation. The day time temperatures are said to be 27 degrees, but night time as low as 13 degrees, so a taste of England in the usual form of the usual English summer is possible, albeit at night.
Thus I will have to leave my duties with Medina Palms for a few days, but as it is such a good investment, I feel sure that not much selling is required by me. It may well be, in the wilds of the High Provence that I shall not find an internet connection, so your daily diet of dreary diatribes may be a little later then usual over the coming weekend.
Chris France
Feeling grim
I have just seen an advert which came up on my computer screen; “Learn French In Cannes”. That’s amazing, I have been trying to learn it for years, I am going to order some today. Its amazing what they can do nowadays. There are many days when I deserve to feel under the weather, probably 4 or 5 days a week, but last night was very quiet with just a small beer and a small glass of wine but I woke up this morning feeling grim. Anyway after she had got up and made a cup of tea (blimey I hope she doesn’t read this today) I staggered downstairs to watch the Scotland versus Georgia match from the Rugby World Cup. A little later I ventured outside for a spot of sunshine and discovered a dog has pulled a rubbish bag apart, leaving rubbish strewn over the garden. To my mind it was an open and shut case, Banjo was to blame and I went in search of my black “hanging” cap to pass sentence when his custodian, that nice lady decorator, pointed out that he was in the house, so could not have been responsible. I said I didn’t say that it was his fault, I was just blaming him.
It seems that Marina Kuliks painting courses begin again towards the end of September near Valbonne, and excitement is understandably building. Anticipation of exactly when I shall be first a portrait model and then, if it all works out, a nude model for her painting class is building steadily. Also building steadily are several bulges in my anatomy which it seems is what the painters want, except for the gay fraternity who seem to be represented amongst the painters ranks. Marina tells me that the gay guys always exaggerate the size of the models manhood, so if I get to do it, those are the only pictures I would want to see.
Before that though, today, I must visit the shiny new offices of Currencies Direct in Sophia Antipolis, the silicon valley of Valbonne to ensure the team are keeping up the good work of educating the masses about what they can save on their foreign exchange movements.
Today’s picture I took recently when visiting the Malpasset dam which collapsed about 50 years ago over near Frejus. It is of some Roman aqueduct arches which look like they could do with a bit of tender loving care. However, it is interesting to note that part of the structure built presumably 2000 years ago remains, whereas the dam the French built lasted less than 10 years..
I may have to get that nice lady decorator to run up the top with some cement
Camping at the weekend has been thrown into doubt as John O Sullivan has realised that Ireland are playing on Saturday morning. At least now I will not have to transport the several cases of Baileys up to Castellane for Jude, the less than secret Baileys drinker. We however are determined to go unless the weather closes in. I checked on Google and it should take 1 hour 25 minutes to drive there, but in Bluebell the camper We will be shall be expecting a two and half hour drive. Perhaps she will overtake her third vehicle in 4 years since we bought her? If we do, I will lay fairly substantial odds it will be on the way down the hill rather than up it, Castellane is at 800 metres above sea level in deepest High Provence. The wonderful thing about this trip is that Banjo will go to prison for the weekend, as I insist that dogs not being conducive to camping, some dogs being more unsuitable than others.
Chris France
Humping; a Mountfield?
After my piece about Peachy Butterfield humping his mower a few days ago, the Reverend Jeff wonders if it was a Mountfield? My feeling is that it may have been a Hayter, after all I would hate having to hump a mower, seems more like some kind of northern pastime.
That nice lady decorator has been the source of a number of unsettling rumblings recently, and I don’t just mean physically, she has begun to talk in terms of the cement mixer. She has started to say things like “how much sand do we have?” and “how many bags of cement do we have?” and other worrying indications that I may be pressed into doing some physical hard work. I thought Manual Labour was a Mexican golf professional, but it seems I am shortly to be disavowed of this opinion.
Old friend Kate Robbins says on her Facebook page that she has put some Wild Bird Fat Balls in her garden. I have known some wild birds in my time, some of whom may have been a bit porky, but as far as I remember none had balls. By the sound of her the garden is the best place to keep her.
Into Cannes again for the daily commuter grind. By daily I mean at least once a month, sometimes twice. I suppose later this month or more likely in October I will begin looking out for an occasional long sleeve shirt, although shorts will remain normal daily wear until the end of October at the earliest. Anyway I went to work in shorts and short-sleeved shirt as usual, and after a very successful meeting about the value of opening an account with Currencies Direct, I returned to Valbonne exhausted but just in time for lunch.
On the way back from Cannes I took this picture from the train, after my working days end and on my way back home for a working lunch, well it was working for me.
Looking a bit autumnal to me
Today, after the exertions of yesterday, I shall be spending time in my office promoting my new book Summer In The Cote d’Azur a must for every right thinking man or woman and what a great Christmas or birthday present? I have even put it on my Dreembox.
Tomorrow evening tennis is on the cards with no doubt more triumphalism from my good self in the event of the almost certain win and I was sitting last evening with a beer considering tennis the future and everything when I saw Banjo, the barbarous and brutal beastly hound chewing a tennis ball. Not much wrong with that you may think, but the tennis ball looked as if it had recently been in quite decent condition. Banjo, is his usual lovable demonstrative way was chewing the green cover off the ball, and as the sun went down on another perfect day in the south of France I mused to myself about where he may have found this tennis ball. It was at that moment I realised that I had left the boot open on the car after fetching the shopping (at the behest of that nice lady decorator), and that is where I keep my new tennis balls, note the name, tennis balls, in order to play tennis. Yes, the monstrous meandrous mongrel had stolen several brand new tennis balls from my car and was enjoying chewing them up in front of me. For some incomprehensible reason, that nice lady decorator found this vastly amusing until I took the tennis racket out of the car and let him have a few first serves. The whimpering afterwards was just about worth it, and after I had finished whimpering I opened a bottle of Rioja.
Chris France
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