Freedom of the press – ironing
I believe that nice lady decorator thinks that the expression “freedom of the press” means I should do some ironing. She said to me this morning “you never write anything bad about me in your column, do you?” I was able to reassure her that this is indeed the case, after all good and bad are subjective terms right? There is a degree of freedom of the press which I enjoy, but not to its fullest extent on my weekly Happy Mondays blog for Angloinfo, published each Monday. Yesterday’s version has yet to be edited by the thought police that apply a vicious anti entrepreneurial ethos to anything they publish which has not been paid for by advertisers, despite the fact that I write the feature each week for the single reason to promote the services of Currencies Direct and this blog from my comfy chair. (Actually that’s 2 reasons, “fear, surprise and a ruthless dedication to the pope – I’ll come in again” with thanks to Monty Python fans, others will have no idea of what I speak). Thus I must be devious when inserting the link, as an obvious link is edited immediately. I think this weeks issue does the job though, at least for the time being.
So not a drop of drink passed my lips last night, the first day this month, which considering it is the 31st of the month amply illustrates how I have been led astray by that nice lady decorator. However, as I must be in Cannes this morning to meet the wonderful Icelandic whirlwind that is Gudrun, owner of Remax-Cannes, the biggest estate agency brand name in the world, if she decided our meeting will involve lunch, then she takes no prisoners, lunch it will be. My picture today was taken in Cannes at the weekend when we forced some poor unsuspecting French cafe on the sea front at Cannes La Bocca, to cook us eggs and bacon, the very important first part of the hangover cure, before we managed to spend 42 Euros on 2 Bloody Mary’s at the Majestic Barriere beach restaurant a little later. The combination worked a treat, and in a way that a continental breakfast does not.
Just like Brighton beach, if you have a vivid imagination and can imagine stones instead of sand
Word reaches me of a near disaster this week, when one of my daughters classmate took his family speedboat and half his class out to the Islands off Cannes, on a school day in the middle of the final run up to the exam period. Luckily we were tipped off by a teacher concerned that my daughter was not at her art lesson. That nice lady decorator “invited” her rather abruptly to get off the boat and get home immediately. Later the boat stalled and was washed up against the rocks outside Cannes harbour. No one was hurt, but someone is getting a big bill for the boat. How life has changed, The worst trouble I got into as a kid was for blowing up spiders nest with fireworks. Dangerous, but not quite as dangerous as wrecking a boat in brisk seas.
Various social occasions are being lined up for later in the week as I speak, with Thursday being a French Bank Holiday, and with the customary “pont” (the bridge effectively taking Friday as a working day out of the equation), I cannot imagine that my determination to avoid strong drink will last past tonight.
A very sad occasion occurs on Wednesday with the funeral of much-loved golfing pal Dave The Fade in Nice. He will be sorely missed; perhaps this will be his greatest fade of all.
Chris France
Fathers day not recognised
As it was Mothers day again yesterday, which seems to be celebrated on different dates in UK and France, it was decided, why not celebrate both dates? That was the conclusion reached by a democratic vote (1-0) after a big night out in Cannes on Saturday evening.
For Fathers Day though, there appears to be some confusion; when I suggest to that nice lady decorator that there should be some “perks” in the bedroom department on Fathers Day, I was told that the English Fathers Day had already passed, and that she did not recognize the french version, and not to be so silly.
But first, Bloody Mary’s were necessary after the previous evening revelry, and were taken on the beach at the Majestic Barriere Hotel in Cannes, and were a mere snip at 21 Euros each (about £17 at today’s exchange rates). The setting was however some recompense as my picture below of the nice crudities they provided as well, I hope, illustrates.
First of the customary 5 a day
So after a big night out, and Bloody Mary’s to start the day, what next? To the Cafe Marche des Fluers in Cannes of course for some rose in the sunshine. This is the Sunday morning fruit and vegetable market which also has the most buzzing wine bar in the town, where we meet Bruno the caterer who regaled us with tall stories about catering for Russian oligarchs and the great and the good around Cannes. He introduces his catering friend who is a French comedian and also has a company called, and I jest not Sex and The kitchen.
Sexandthekitchen is a catering company, based in Cannes which I think would be better named sexinthekitchen, but maybe it is me getting it wrong? After all there is the old saying about the way to a mans heart is through the his stomach. Sex and food pretty much does it for me. Of course any mention here of that nice lady decorator is too dangerous even for me to contemplate. She does not read this column at the moment, but one can never be sure about the future.
So having successfully avoided almost all contact with the boy racers down the road at the Monaco Grand Prix, we took the train home and then got sticky in the web bar until after sundown. However later my daughter texted to say that her and some friends who had been invited to the naked politicians’ apartment in the Principality to watch the Grand Prix on TV with the apartment doors open to get the atmosphere, had, with a mixture of climbing through windows and over terraces, managed somehow to gain access to the drivers area and had been happily ‘chilling with drivers” as she put it.
This caused that nice lady decorator to begin to reminisce about her earlier days when she had managed to gain entrance to gigs by Dr Feelgood and Mott The Hoople, in one case by impersonating a journalist that was on the guest list, and only being discovered when being invited by the manager to meet the band for an interview. A number of lurid details began to emerge of her relationships with some of the great and good of rock ‘n roll in those days, which seemed like a good cue to head to bed.
Today, I must get up almost before I had gone to bed in order to deposit my first-born (that I am aware of) oo the other side of Valbonne as he has secured some gainful employment. Thus particular activity is still something of a rarity after losing his gardening job due to “playing Jeddai Warriors with lawn rakes”. That’s my boy.
Chris France
Padstow or Palestine?
Next weekend we are taking Bluebell the camper to Aups. At first I thought that nice lady decorator had blown a fuse; “you want to take a 1969 unreliable old VW camper van up into the Alps?” But it turns out that Aups is in the Var in deepest Provence about an hours drive for a car, nearer two for the camper. We have been invited to a garden lunch over there, so have decided on a bit of camping at the same time, but this most not be taken as any kind of reference to Neil (Mr) Humphrey (who is no doubt free). Talk of camping reminds me that in my music promotion days I once booked a group called Guy Ropes and the Tent Pegs, however, they were nowhere near as good as their name. Guy himself was very camp, and was always a bit intense. The members of his group were also round pegs in square holes if you get my meaning. They were at least a better band than another band I booked around the same time; Lydia Dustbin and the Refuse Collectors.
Yesterday, we were listening to the BBC news and heard an item about the Palestinian border being opened to allow people to leave, but that nice lady mis-heard and asked why people were being allowed to leave Padstow. She has a point. Perhaps the renegades can bring some of their local Cornish beer with them called Ginger Tosser?
My picture today was taken in Cannes yesterday evening when we took advantage of an offer of a free apartment courtesy of old pal Wayne Brown of FR2day. This is an efficient and cheap way of him giving that nice lady decorator a belated birthday present, but I felt sure there would be the offer to put a sumptuous lunch of his bill at Z Plage. Perhaps he is waiting until this morning to tell us the good news?
Cannes beach close to sun down
It may be a bank holiday in England on Monday, but the wheels of commerce cannot be halted, and so I shall be continuing to follow up all those people whom I met at either Le Tour De Finance or the Internations events in the area last week who are clamouring for more information and application forms to open an account at Currencies Direct in order to save themselves up to 3% on each foreign exchange transfer.
A little sun downer at 42 Le Croisette in Cannes was the precursor for dinner in Le Suchet, the old town part of Cannes, one of my favorite places on earth.My turquoise linen shirt, which I hitherto had been certain was a winner, was replaced by a black shirt at the behest of that nice lady decorator, which proved once again, apparently, that I have no idea when it comes to choosing the correct attire. I don’t think I helped matters by constantly pointing out turquoise shirts being worn by what I considered to be very smartly dressed people as we walked around Cannes. Her opinion, which of course must never been challenged, was the shirt I had chosen did not work. Had she been walking around with the hottest clothes designer in the world, I am sure she would have made him change.
To dinner then in my second choice black shirt, but where to go? In the end despite my several suggestions, an entirely democratic choice was made. You must understand that in these matters, man’s emancipation is still something to look forward to, so no vote for me then, yet. Maybe I should chain myself to some railings in protest? However I suspect that if I did then a week from now I would still be there.
Chris France
Blathering “not acceptable”
Henry Youngman once said “my wife and I were happy for 20 years, and then we met”. Any suggestion however that I am not still blissfully wedded to that nice lady decorator, and that I am anything but ecstatically happy, could not be further from the truth. She has told me this so it must be true.
Although it was a Friday, and customarily the start of the weekend, I have been having a continuous weekend for the last three weeks, so I decided to take it a little easier last night and just have a few beers in the web. Discussions evolved around the theme of wives and sayings that men have created to illustrate their idea of wedded bliss; Rodney Dangerfield said “A good wife always forgives her husband when she’s wrong” not that the nice lady decorator is ever wrong, but I think my favourite is Sigmund Freud who said “I had some words with my wife, she had some paragraphs with me”.
I am admonished in the comments section of this column (you can always leave a comment and I will print it unless it doesn’t suit me) by old friend Moya Janko who was unhappy about the repeat publication of my picture a couple of days ago of the pig, so I dare not make the same mistake again, thus today I feature a photo I took when in Venice, enjoying a beer on the Giudecca side, when this monstrosity of a cruise ship was being guided up the strait between Giudecca and St Marks Square, which is now subject to a big campaign to get the practice stopped. Whilst it offers a great photo opportunity to the happy on board punters (and also me on this occasion) the bow wave from such a massive displacement cannot be having a good effect on this ancient city which is apparently sinking by a millimetre a year. Should be still there by the time I pop my clogs then.
If you were driving, how much of a temptation would it be to floor the accelerator? then watch people on the banks run for their lives
Whilst on the subject of comments, Peter Lynn takes me to task for using a northern expression “Blathering” which means to spray or spread thickly over something, as in the case of the chilli sauce all over the kebab I described yesterday, as the word does not appear in the English dictionary. I have had to apologise profusely and offer the explanation and excuse that I have spent rather a lot of time with those uncouth folks from up north recently, and I am afraid some of it has started to rub off. I know this is unacceptable and I shall be careful never to repeat such a faux pas in the future, especially if I hear of any trouble up at the mill for instance.
After the extended period of rest and recuperation, a full 36 hours no less, we shall journey to Cannes on the train today to take advantage of a free apartment in the famous Rue St Antoine courtesy of qualified wheel grinder and FR2day main man Wayne Brown. It is a long trip, some 17 minutes from nearby Mouans Sartoux station, so doubtless we will have to take with us sufficient sustenance to keep us going until our arrival. Thereafter, I would suggest, a couple of drinks on the beach to see the sun go down and then dinner somewhere nice. I cannot tell you how happy I am to have a day off from work with Currencies Direct. Life can be so tiring, but I must not be downcast, the world of commerce needs me next week, so I must be strong.
Chris France
Kebab lust in Cannes
Neil Humphrey will no doubt be at “church” this morning at Cafe Latin where he will be boasting that he has tickets for George Micheal in September. Now, regular readers will know that Neil is my fashion guru, and his interesting use of mauves and pinks and cardigans in particular mark him down as a man fully in touch with his feminine side. It seems to me that this engagement with his softer side can only be enhanced by going to a concert given by one of the most important gay icons of our age, so I will be watching carefully to see what colours and styles will be in vogue in the run up to this very important event.
Last night to the wonderful Miramar beach Restaurant on the beach at Cannes for the Internations event sponsored by Currencies Direct, or me, if they wont pay for it. There really is no better place than Cannes beach as the sun goes down to stage a reception, but I want to ensure that none of my readers think that this event was anything but work for me. Networking, that is talking to people over a drink, can be an extremely exhausting activity, and it is true that by the end of the evening I was tired and emotional enough to consider, and then quickly become determined to buy and eat a kebab. As I have said before, kebab’s are monstrously unattractive as food until, miraculously, late in the evening when you have not eaten, suddenly they become very alluring indeed. The worst thing is that when buying the offending item, and being asked if you want it blathered in chilli sauce, your mind screams no, but a voice from deep within you says “yes please” and lots too”. This is a picture I took of the networking event venue earlier in the evening before the landscape changed, quite literally;
The Internations networking event taking place The Miramar beach in Cannes. I don't usually like to take pictures of workplaces but have made an exception here
A little later on in the evening The Internations event was brought to a close by the sudden arrival of diggers on the beach. No, I do not mean kids with spades building sand castles, or a bunch of unruly Australians, but big mechanical diggers which were digging up and emptying huge bags of sand which must have been placed there in the spring to stop stormy weather from damaging the beach restuarants. This is all perfectly acceptable, and environmentally sound, but surely timing is everything, and to get these machines on the beach just after sunset, with people arriving for dinner seems a tad perverse, why not at 9am when no one is around? I do love the French sense of occasion.
Man on the phone complaining to police about mechanical diggers on the beach
Wayne Brown from FR2day has kindly loaned me one of his apartments in Cannes for the weekend, so it would seem churlish not to take up that offer and enjoy a rare social night out, as I have been working almost every night this week and I need a break. The town should be fairly quiet as most people will have decamped to Monaco for the Grand Prix. I shall not be going to Monte Carlo for two reasons, firstly I consider it to be an over blown festival of boy racers all drinking too much and showing off in their cars and yachts, a disgusting exhibition of the idle rich enjoying conspicuous consumption on a truly horrid scale, and secondly because I have not been invited.
Chris France
Gin and tonic paunch fears
Within the first two sentences of a conversation with a lovely visitor I had just met from “up north” at Peachy Butterfield’s barbecue, I was regaled with a story about her picking up dogs shit, putting it in a bin at nearly head height, and then getting stuck on the rim of the bin, where she nearly over balanced due to what she herself described as big boobs, nearly toppling over into the bin. Actually I lie, she did not so much tipple over as get suspended on the rim.
I think this amply illustrates the warmth and down to earth nature of these simple folk from the north of England. Whilst finesse and style escapes them completely, their general good nature cannot be faulted, indeed I encourage this openness as much as possible. I guess that if they actually spent time thinking about where they lived for much of the year then they would become depressed, so part of this bonhomie is a natural defence against the catastrophic landscape they inhabit.
The barbecue in Mougins was a lovely affair, really warm people and really warm weather, sufficiently warm for that nice lady decorator to strip off and dive in the pool after we arrived home. Earlier we had been treated to lamb and sausages, although I cannot be certain what was in the sausages, they were very tasty, so I decided not to ask for fear of receiving an answer I did not want. It did occur to me that there might not be very much pork in them, and that gives me a chance to use one of my favourite pictures again, as I was unaccountably reminded of it.
Pig taking owner for a walk
Other examples of northern wit to which we were treated were such gems as; “If the world had an arse hole, Widnes would be it”. The sentiments tally with my own entirely, in fact but for the inappropriate language, I could have written that myself. There was a mountain of food, which Peachy managed to climb and conquer, as is his want, in fact such is his girth that he told me that whenever he flies with Easyjet, he has to buy Speedy Boarding, the priority system allowing one to get on the free seating plane first, so that he can dash onto the plane and get his seat in row 11, the emergency exit row, which has a little more leg room than the other rows, or in his case a little more stomach room. He does this because it is the only row in which his fold down table does not rest on his paunch, so that if he fails in his quest, the 3 or 4 large gins and tonic that he habitually consumes on the flight are in danger of falling off the tray should he feel the need to burp.
But enough of the antics of gruff northerners. By way of complete contrast, I shall spend the early part of this evening at the Miramar beach Restaurant in Cannes with the Internations group, where I shall be once again presenting to the assembled throng the tantalising possibility of saving money on their foreign exchange transfers by opening an account at Currencies Direct, whilst entertaining the guests with a glass of champagne.
Thereafter, tomorrow, I have no plans! What a relief, I can choose to do nothing, unless of course that nice lady decorator has once again failed to inform me of a vital social occasion which we cannot miss, in which case, as usual, choice is not a word I am often able to use.
Chris France
Barbecued road kill?
I think it was French philosopher Jacques Derrida who said that truth does not have to tally with observable reality. I think he must have had his roots in the north of England as this seems to be the permanent state of mind of a number of chaps from the that area, who consider that their tundra strewn, midge infested wilderness where they live is the best place on earth.
But generous natured and good-hearted people are they, almost without exception. I shall be in their midst this evening as a few of them have escaped to Mougins where we are invited to a barbecue this evening. I suppose they have been out looking for unsuspecting wildlife, such as shown in my picture today taken at the Grand Bastide Landlubbers golf event last Sunday, to roast on their peat fires. Alternatively they are probably out collecting road kill to set upon the flames as tripe and black pudding are hard to find here in civilisation, so it should be an interesting evening.
If there were anyone from up north nearby, he would be in the pot quicker than you could say Geoffrey Boycott
Peachy Butterfield, who with his stunningly attractive wife Suzie, are our hosts this evening has a previously featured taste for wine in quantity rather than quality. I wonder what exciting “new world” wine offering he has in store for us tonight? Regular readers will already have had their eyes opened (better than being spooned out, but only marginally) by Warrington Wioja, Pennine Pinot and Crewe Chardonnay, and I am sure they must have a sparkling white wine offering, perhaps Stockport Sparkling? which I am told is a cheeky mix of Babycham and a splash of bleach.
Peachy has told me of a fascinating way of exercising birth control up north, apparently it is called the Lytham Method, but details are too graphic to go into in this column.
Last night was the final leg of the Tour De Finance staged at the Boscolo Hotel in Nice, which was very well attended despite the 30 degree heat outside. It is always rewarding when one’s missionary efforts on behalf of Currencies Direct are rewarded with gratitude by those whom one has saved from the clutches of the major banks foreign exchange departments.
Amongst those in attendance were Wandy Hardacre (with a k) co founder of Angloinfo who reveals that my angloinfo blog Happy Mondays, is the second most popular blog not just in the Provence area but in the world, surpassed only by another that is posted daily (mine is weekly). This is on the most popular ex pat website in the world, but as I have been told that boasting shows that I did not go to a proper school, I cannot mention it for fear of revealing my humble scholastic roots.
Dinner was once again taken in Valbonne square, where a raucous and happy collection of Le Tour exhibitors were still revelling when I left at midnight, despite the fact that there’s was the last table and the waiters were sweeping up around them. Thank god they are off the to Alps today for the last leg.
Thursday evening I will be at the Miramar Beach in Cannes where I shall be dispensing champagne to thirsty Internations members from 6pm and where I shall also once again be searching for other unfortunates similarly in distress with their overseas banking needs. If you are in the area, come along, it’s an interesting international networking opportunity, and a chance to enjoy a free glass of proper sparkling wine, not from up north, well not from the north of England at any rate.
Chris France
Warrington Woija?
I think we are in a hard water area because the ice in my fridge is solid. Ice is in real demand at the moment because it is suddenly hot. I was most upset today to speak to someone in the frozen north of the UK, somewhere called Warrington, and hear her complain that it was blowing a gale and the rain was lashing down. They must be having an early spring.
On Sunday at golf, a number of players were bothered by ducks. The one in my picture today was very keen on my sparkly silver golf shoes. Many jokes were made; maybe he was suffering from a mallardy? Perhaps he has brought the bill? if he keeps doing this he will be up before the beak, you know the kind of thing and it was a very enjoyable day out although a little roasting, however I have no idea of the score and it really matters not, it was just a nice day in the sunshine with some dear friends.
Look at those duck boots
Tennis however is completely different. I can remember the result of every tennis match I have played in this year. Modesty once again forbids me to reveal details, but regular readers will know that I am undefeated. I suggested this to fellow moustachioed old git and often tennis partner, the wingco, but he said boasting about success was a trait that illustrated that I did not go to a proper school. Nothing much changed last night, I can still be accused of not going to the right school.
Tennis was a triumph for the Mogs, those tennis old gits united in moustache’s, despite Greg Harris from Cote d’Azur Villas pulling in a ringer in the form of Paul the film maker, who was accused of making something called wank-movies at dinner after his sound defeat. I know little about the film industry, but I do remember the Rank organisation and perhaps whom ever used this phrase has problems pronouncing their R’s? Anyway despite this blatant attempt to raise the standards of his tennis partnership, and despite the ringer playing brilliantly, it was not sufficient to overcome the Mogs, who were once gain overpoweringly awesome.
Dinner was taken in the square at the Cafe Des Arcades in Valbonne, and I noted on a visit to the urinals that they have Dyson hand dryers, which are absolutely brilliant, drying ones hands completely. They reminded me that one of my friends recently emailed me to say that he would shortly be out of hospital. Apparently, the Dyson Ball Cleaner does not do exactly what he had hoped.
The Tour De Finance completes the Provence leg of it tour this evening, so I will be in Nice at the Boscolo Hotel this evening between 5 30 and 8 30, bravely continuing my missionary work with the ex pat community, saving them money on their foreign exchange transfers. Of course it would be churlish of me not to join these soon to be happier hordes in a glass if wine at Currencies Direct expense, so I think the term dutiful will be on my lips a lot today.
We have an invitation to dinner on Wednesday at Peachy Butterfield’s, when I hope to sample a Warrington Wioja which he has promised, and then on Thursday evening there is the Currencies Direct sponsored champagne reception for international networking group Internations, at the Miramar Beach restaurant on the beach at Cannes at 6pm. I venture to suggest that there will be no Warrington Wioja available on Thursday, such is the exclusivity of the Wednesday night event.
Chris France
Le Tour De Finance peaks
I remember when Madonna went through a phase of wearing an absurd outfit that enhanced, or perhaps that is the wrong word for it, reshaped is probably better, her breasts into a conical shape, and I was unlucky enough yesterday to be able to photograph Paul Thornton Allan doing his best to emulate her in his own peculiar way. Lunch in the web had been convened at very short notice (to me) to the point where I was unable to collect the usual juicy gossip and lurid photographs I normally hope to secure after playing golf with the Landlubbers, as I had to leave straight afterwards to attend. The fact that Paul had cut the end off a Monte Christo Number 2 cigar, arguably the best cigars known to man, in order to illustrate this illusion should be taken for what it is, an old man has had too much to drink (amongst the treats was a bottle of Chateau Boise, a little dig at me I think as I am sometimes known as Boycie) and makes a fool of himself for the amusement of his friends. He was destined to be the butt of humour all afternoon, unlike Pete Bennett from Blue water, who got away very lightly whilst wearing pink as my picture of him in the background illustrates;
Man with cigar fetish gets the "Madonna" look wrong
Talking about trying to amuse ones friends, my theme for today’s Angloinfo blog is my Italian exploits earlier in the week, when that nice lady decorators car was towed away and we managed to fuse the electricity supply to half a hotel trying to get a French plug out of an Italian socket.
Amusement is over now though, the working week requires my attention, well at least until lunchtime, up until which time I shall be continuing my promotion of that most wonderful of tours Le Tour De Finance. Whilst not on the scale of a tour by, say, ZZ Top, whom I note are appearing in Nice in July, it is in the same town, but I expect it be a rather more genteel affair with none of that nasty loud rock music, merely a number of well-informed experts from every conceivable financial field on hand to advise you about how to avoid the many financial pitfalls that await the unsuspecting in France. Even better, you get free wine and nibbles courtesy of Currencies Direct. The last tour date in this are takes place on Tuesday between 5 30 and 8 30pm at the Boscolo Hotel in central Nice, and probably afterwards upstairs on the hotels fantastic terrace overlooking the sea.
I may go on the train to Nice, although I am still a bit traumatised after last time by an odd train of thought. I sat on the train opposite the gorgeous Thai girl and I kept think don’t get an erection, don’t get an erection, and then she did.
So the Cannes Film Festival is over, next up the Monaco Grand Prix next weekend. At present I have not yet accepted any number of invitations not to attend the big event in Monte Carlo, so unless I get one, plan B will come into effect and we shall take the camper van up to Castelain to see if she can be trusted to behave herself , as the plan is to head off into the wilds of south-west France in July. You may think linking the Grand Prix with a camper van trip a bit incongruous, but to my mind, both involve many hours of pushing machinery to the brink in the fiercest of conditions and both events will no doubt end in a lot of partying and drinking.
Chris France
Italian socket in Vallebona
Italian plug sockets will usually take French plugs, although it is a tight fit. So I should have known that when the nice lady decorator wanted to borrow my shoe to hammer in the kettle plug into the Italian socket for her morning cup of Earl Grey, that it might end in tears. All was well to start with, my shoe survived the hammering, the plug was eventually forced into the socket and the kettle performed perfectly yesterday morning before we left Vallebona, but the trouble started as we were about to leave, as the plug refused to leave the socket. Much tugging and swearing ensued and eventually a spoon was used to try to prise it out. Before I could say, “that’s a shocking course of action and not wise, you might fuse the circuit”, there was a blinding flash and my prediction came true, although at least the plug came out. Sadly with my Italian, which is non-existent, and with the hotel staff speaking no English or French, I was unable to explain that the whole block had been short circuited by the insertion of a spoon into a live socket. Thus we left town rather swiftly. I was able to snatch this shot of the quaint old roads in the village on the way running down to the car.
The roads of Vallebona in the hinterland behind the Italian Riviera. Not much electricity in evidence at this particular juncture
The fact that we were not stopped at the border and accused of misuse of electric sockets must have been the result of what the French consider to be the very lucky deposit that nice lady decorator received out of the sky yesterday from a hummingbird (well it certainly hummed a bit). However, she claims it came from a great height from the giant arse of a mutant giant eagle or such like.
So we arrived back in the late morning, but as usual, there is no peace for the idle rich, so yesterday afternoon to Gerald and Pippa Maile’s for a the first of two barbecues of the day, the first one with the great and good of Currencies Direct in attendance. A team from the UK are here for close to a week to cover both Le Tour De Finance events, last week in Mougins and the upcoming one this Tuesday at the Boscolo Hotel in central Nice at 5.30pm. No excuses will be accepted this time for non-attendance, I know here you all live so be there, or risk the wrath of this column.
Later at a second barbecue at the splendid Bastide St Mathieu, Bill Colegrave claims not to have lost to me at on-line chess. When I show him the email from the web site confirming my win, he says he handed the game over to a friend to complete. This is a very poor line. Even I, as a very bad loser myself, would be ashamed to use this as a defence, in fact that defence was as poor as the chess defence he employed in that game: ie full of holes.
The Reverend Jeff responds to my column on Thursday when I suggested that by dodging the grim reaper by hitting it with a vacuum cleaner was Dyson with death. He suggests the I must have been hoovering on the brink.
This morning I will be getting gently roasted at the Grande Bastide golf course with the Landlubbers golf group, now that the weather is getting hot, and then I hope a quiet afternoon of contemplative solitude after the recent frenetic activity, unless of course that nice lady decorator has other ideas.
Chris France
Vallebona and Viagra unrelated
A friend mentions that he is “back up the docs” today and my first thought was that it was something to do with backing up his hard drive, but what he probably meant was that he was collecting his new consignment of Viagra on prescription. God I love the french health service.
Last night we stayed in Vallebona in Italy, near Ventimiglia, but I will fight anyone who suggests that there may be any connection between the first and second sentences of this column. Regular readers will be rightly convinced that linking the words Viagra and Vallebona is merely coincidence and that there was no attempt at toilet humour or innuendo just for a cheap laugh.
Talking of a cheap laugh, the exact opposite occurred when we stopped at Ventimiglia on the way, just over the Italian border. By way of a number of what I considered to be cunning ruses, I had managed to delay our departure until midday in a failed attempt to arrive at a market with that nice lady decorator, that I thought finished at 1pm.
Disaster loomed however as the market continued well into the afternoon, and despite a small diversion for lunch on the beach, as my picture today illustrates, that nice lady decorator managed to fill at least a dozen carrier bags with a wide variety of detritus.
Prosecco on the beach
The most criminal of the stalls we visited was the one that collected a full 27 euros from me. It was the “everything for 1 Euro” stand. Amongst the 27 unwanted (by me) items of which I am now the proud owner are; a hairbrush, six tubes of super glue, a padlock and key (it is her birthday, so this was, at least, slightly more intriguing), some playing cards, a set of screwdrivers, a corkscrew, ( a cuddly toy, a fondue set – this especially for fans of popular Bruce Forsyth TV show The Generation Game), an egg slice and oh, I forget, by this time I had almost lost the will to live.
So we struggled back to the car with my arms as long as an orangutan under the weight of these gleefully (on her part) purchased items, only to discover there was no car. Yes, it had been towed away by the gendarmes.
Earlier in the day when we were “enjoying” the shopping, that nice lady decorator was lucky enough to experience what the french consider to be a very fortunate event, when she was shat on by a bird. Personally, judging by the size of the lucky deposit, I thought she had been visited upon by a rather small sparrow, but she was of a different opinion and wanted all albatrosses, or at least any bird with a wingspan of 12 feet or more still in existence to be exterminated immediately.
Almost immediately, she was looking to profit from the situation where her car had been impounded. “My car has been towed away, its my birthday, I want a new one” was one of the themes discussed, but I manfully summoned my best Italian and asked a nearby policeman in English where the car pound was.
So some hours later after a visit to the police station, and a walk of nearly a mile to the car pound, I was 140 Euros lighter, my arms were so stretched they were dragging on the floor, and the wonderful array of items that we bought had become a much more expensive purchase. It was at that moment that I wished I was the victim of the bird attack, perhaps I would have had the luck to avoid being towed away.
Today after a walk around this charming Italian village of Vallebona, we will brave the motorway tunnels, stock up with prosecco and Barolo (if we can find the latter at a decent price) and then on to a barbecue with several senior executives with Currencies Direct, who have just taken over Tor fx. We shall no doubt be discussing the fun we had on Thursday night when the police removed the direction signs for the venue for Le Tour De Finance, and the final plans for next Tuesdays “Le Tour” at the Boscolo Hotel in Nice.
Chris France
Le Tour in traffic police fracas
Le Tour De Finance kicked off in style at Mougins last evening after a visit from the police who were a tad upset by the area being festooned with directional posters. In their wisdom, they decided to take them all down, and, furthermore, with the venue’s entrance about half a mile away and in a different road to the parking area, and not now marked because of the police action, gps was of no real value. The venue effectively having 2 addresses allowed a wonderful irony; It was pointed out by Currencies Direct french supremo Pippa Maile to the traffic police (whose primary job, I imagine, would be the to keep the traffic flowing around the many small and pretty lanes around Mougins at rush hour) that they would then suffer the consequences and have to deal with 500 cars driving around the area looking for the signposts the police had removed, and that as a result of their actions the police would then be engaged in trying to guide people to the wonderful, but quite difficult to find Oiseaux Des Paradis, the venue for this tour date.
So after the traffic police had removed all the signs guiding in those grateful ex pats so that they could all sign up for Currencies Direct, the turn out was lower than expected. But all is not lost, you still have a chance to go to the next date for Le Tour De Finance at Nice in the very central Boscolo Hotel next Tuesday 24th May.
My picture today is taken from the terrace of the venue looking across the old Mougins village centre. If you look closely you can see lines of cars going around and around the area, looking for where we were.
Old Mougins village viewed from le Tour De Finance
Today I shall take the nice lady decorator to Italy for a Vallebona birthday treat. Vallebona is of course a quaint Italian village with a renowned restaurant, well it was recommended by Wayne Brown from FR2day, so the jury is still out. It is set in the hills behind Ventigmilia on the Italian Riviera and is about an hours drive across the border from Valbonne. We shall be taking the skip (otherwise known as the 4 x 4) as she has designs on a dozen cases of prosecco, and if there is any space maybe I will be allowed to squeeze in a couple of bottles of barolo.
The weekend has no prospect of any rest, a barbecue tomorrow afternoon and a party at Bastide St Mathieu in the evening, where I will be able to discuss my chess supremacy with owner Bill Colegrave. At present the position stands at 3-1, but to whom, modesty forbids me to say. That he has at least won one game is a testament to my generous nature, and if he does the decent thing and resigns an indefensible position in the 5th game before Saturday, it will give me a further dimension for our discussions.
Then on Sunday, my first round of golf with the Landlubbers for many weeks. The Grande Bastide is the venue where once again those legendary silver golf shoes of mine will be shimmering their way around the course. I shall be able to check the state of play in one particular romance, but after my last mention of this event I was inadvertently, I am sure, omitted from the email list announcing the last few Landlubbers golf events. Now happily restored, I shall not be downcast by this oversight, and any suggestion that my campaigning journalistic style will in any way be cramped by the threat of further omission is as outrageous as it is true.
Chris France
Dyson with death
So I was not at my best yesterday, after the fine array of wines drunk the night before, indeed I felt like death this morning, it was so bad that I though the grim reaper had come to get me, I had to beat him off with vacuum cleaner, talk about Dyson with death.
Wayne Brown, founder and head honcho at the rather wonderful local on-line news portal FR2day is more educated that I thought. Nowadays he wears any number of hats as my picture below shows. Yesterday on Facebook, he listed his academic achievements, which amount to a diploma from Tottenham College Of Technology. The fact that Tottenham has or had a College was not known to me, nor was the skill required for the “Abrasive Wheels Regulations 1970”. The diploma goes on to say that he is “competent to undertake the mounting of grinding wheels”.
Now I don’t want to belittle the man, but what kind of career path is that? I can’t see the careers office at school (assuming he attended school) saying “Wayne, what you need to learn about is the mounting of grinding wheels”, mind you it was Tottenham and I guess careers locally were more likely to lead to prison than to gainful employment.
Wayne Brown, famous now for grinding and mounting
Last night to dinner with Blue Water supremo Peter Bennett and delectable wife Julie, but before that, several other guests who had planned to descend on the Web (our outside bar area) for a sharpener before trotting off around the corner to the Bennett residence, chickened out. They must know that once in the web, it is very hard to leave. Pete was trying to reduce the stock of magnums of2006 Crand Cru Classe Haut Medoc which he bought at auction at the recent Mougins School Gala, and found willing accomplices to help him drink a couple of them in myself and Mr Paul Thornton Allan of The Big Picture, who was like me still feeling the effects of Tuesday nights wineathon. However, we are both made of stern stuff, so we soldiered on.
Yesterday I received some intemperate comments and emails about my tongue in cheek suggestion that top quality red wine was too good for the fairer sex. For some reason I cannot explain, there seem to be some women that claim to like a decent red, so in future, to satisfy this previously unsuspected and preposterous proposition, I need to look out for some extra small wine glasses. This theme was debated at dinner last night, whilst the chaps were enjoying a proper cigar on the terrace after the meal. I wondered where it would all end. Are the girls going to take up the smoking of fine cigars next? After all, as was mooted last night, but even I dare not attribute this to anyone, but tradition dictates that it is the men who smoke and the girls that wipe the ashtrays. That should get a few more comments coming in! Girls, there is a comments icon at the bottom of the page, I will publish any comment that is not obscene.
I shall be making the final preparations this morning for Le Tour De Finance sponsored by Currencies Direct this afternoon starting at 5.30. If you are in the area, come and see what is happening and get a free glass of wine. There will be loads of experts in almost all financial field to help you live in France more easily, and Helen Humphrey will be there demonstrating some painting and will have some of her sought after canvases for sale, Its at Les Paradis Des Oiseaux, opposite the Etang in Mougins, near Le Parc de Mougins. See you later!
Chris France
Camper van outshines Ford GT40
A few comments were received yesterday on this column about Silicone valley, maybe SillyCon valley would be more apt. Anyway, there I was, collecting Bluebell from her spring makeover from Phil the Mechanic (who did a great job and was very reasonably priced; mechanic06@safe-mail.com) and on my way around to put up a few more posters for Le Tour De Finance this Thursday at Mougins, when I stopped at Super-U supermarket in Placassier. When I came out I found that someone had parked a new Ford GT40 next to it, as my picture today shows. It is always wonderful when one sees two classics side by side don’t you think? Apparently there are only 7 apportioned for sale in France, GT40’s that is, not campers, you cannot buy a new camper in France, so tell me, which is the more exclusive?
I just hope that GT40 stops following my camper van around.
Last night was a red wine feast. We were invited across the road to the Thornton Allan’s for dinner, and Paul had told us that he had an interesting wine that he would like to try. It was a terrible mixture of styles and tastes, but I managed to cope.
I thought my magnum of 2006 St Esteph Cru Bourgeois might be the centre piece if the nights drinking activities, but our host had something special in mind, and produced something he had been storing for years, a 1982 Barolo which was sublime. Thereafter, he came up from his cellar with a great Bordeaux 2000 and then, although personally I am more of a Bordeaux fan that a Bourgogne lover, delightful Gevrey Chambertin, so the four red wine drinkers (there is little point in allowing women to waste a good wine – they were happy with their Chablis) did not even get to the Chateau Talbot 2000 grand Cru Classe, or if we did, I was too far gone to notice. I have no idea why a supposedly quiet mid-week dinner got so out of hand, but suffice to say the compilation of this column, which I know is eagerly awaited by my legions of fans, has been a struggle to write this morning.
I know it has been a big night when my blackberry notes (which I try to make when I hear something funny or interesting that I think might make some material for this daily missive) are illegible, here is what I had this morning; “Tont aquavia, blumber in bath”. If anyone can decipher this for me I would be very grateful. I spent some time this morning trying to work out what on earth it all meant, but it did not even trigger the remotest recollection of what it referred to.
That we have another dinner lined up tonight is, at the time of writing, not something I can honestly say I am looking forward to, but no doubt after some work on Currencies Direct this afternoon and a siesta, I shall be up and running again.
Simon Howes, who was a guest last night told an interesting story about his youth some 30 odd years ago. Son of an admiral, he was expected to go into the services, and the Navy was clearly the favoured option. When he rebelled against this chosen career path, he decided to go somewhere far away, and chose Australia. He was given £100 and told there would be no more. The problem was, that in those days the cheapest way to get down under was by ship from Singapore and the boat had a casino, so he managed to get to Australia with just £8 left. Doesn’t seem to have done him much harm though.
Chris France
Banjo in sunburn shock
Valbonne resident Dr Henry Brew’s worthy attempts to bring clean water to Africa have been outlined on a youtube documentary, which is well worth a look. I think water would be an interesting addition to that nice lady decorators liquid intake, and am amused that Henry’s surname would seem to be pointing in a different direction!
As I write this in the late afternoon, there is still no sign that this evening will develop into anything except a quiet evening in the garden watching the sun going down then an early night. We will be able to enjoy a tidy garden as the slave (my son) has been working in it today, which means it will be spot the fag-end. That nice lady decorator correctly castigates him from smoking, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she herself was a considerable consumer of cigarettes at exactly his age. When I suggest that it perhaps a decision for him, as he is after all 18, she snorts with derision and the laser beams are put on stand by so a swift change of subject is in order.
Regular readers will know that I am always banging on about the values of Currencies Direct, and their ability to send money across borders very quickly, however, I have been alerted to an even swifter form of money transfer than electronic banking, it is called “marriage”. It appears that after the undoubted success of the first Le Tour de Finance in this area in Mougins this Thursday, I am taking that nice lady decorator to Italy for the day and night on Friday as a surprise celebration of her birthday, which seems to be her 37th again. The surprise of course was for me, and how delightful, and the surprise was all the more thrilling in that it was not me who thought the idea up, but it will be me paying for it, which is not a surprise. It seems that we shall be going to a market to buy prosecco, barolo and parmesan and then staying at Vallebona, although that bit sounds fair enough to me.
My picture today was taken this morning on my morning constitutional in the Valmasque and is looking up towards Gurdon and the gorge beyond over Sophia Antipolis, the so-called silicon valley of France.
This looked so stunning when I saw the view, but I can't believe the picture is so bland.
Polo anyone? There is a new polo holiday scheme with chukkas, champagne and an equestrian art exhibit entitled ‘Equus’ (from Canada) sponsored in connection with the Cannes film festival tomorrow 17th May, 4 30pm at Montauroux, more details on their website.
And talking of horses, that horse sized dog Banjo, so beloved by that nice lady decorator (but no one else) seems to be suffering something akin to sunburn. The dogs are always clipped at this time of year when it starts to get hot, but it seems the colossal contentious canine’s cut was a tad too close to the bone. Any suggestion that it was I who was responsible, whilst completely understandable given my well documented distaste for this animal, is misplaced. However, I will reward whoever did the clipping with magnum of champagne if he or she dares to come forward. I suspect now though, I shall have to guard closely the stores of sun cream and sunburn treatments, and to that end last night I collected up the whole caboodle and have stored them somewhere safe. Any suggestion that I have hidden them to ensure they are not wasted on the cocked up cocker are as unfair as they are true.
Chris France
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