Listening to the Cricket

I like listening to the Cricket but listening to the Crickets (one of which is pictured) in this part of the South of France must be like having acute tinnitus. I could never j'accuse TMS of ear bashing but this Cigala Balmy Army in such numbers fans the most extreme of crunching radio crackling not heard since the days when a radio was known as a wireless and the din excused as Continental interference.

People who are not of my generation will be banzjacked as they will be used to picking up the cricket wirelessly and after umpteen overs of spin from both ends in the traditional blame game will be realising that the main players will have long since packed up their kitbags at Lord's and left us to it. Their lingering legacy of porky pies won't end but will exacerbate our troubles and more worryingly Maybung back THE Troubles.

The camp rep , a woman - not an observation on my part, joined us sur terrace for an informal yet informative chat. Her experienced eye Homaired in on a seagull perched on the Van der Post's next door’s caravan with its Steely eye spanning for a change of breakfast from the usual croissants or pain au chocolate. ‘Not like the St Ives ones I hope.' I ventured, ready to disappear into the interior. ‘Worse' was the reply from a respected representative of the holiday industry.

She suggested that the oiseaux de Mer or the bloody oiseaux de Merde as she classified them are likely to dive and fly under the shade of the koolabob canopy raiding any tasty morsels on offer such as a piece of the large Babybel (pictured) that you couldn't buy even in pre-Brexit Britain.

Mind you a Herculean effort on its part would be required because of the juxtaposition of our plot being close to a precipitous grassy bank leading to the next level of static, we hope, caravanic campers. It would be on a par with the manoeuvres portrayed by 617 squadron in pulling out after their dam busting bomb runs during WWII.

If it failed to negotiate the steep rise a catastrophic chain of events like you see unfolding in Aircraft Investigation on Discovery Channel could well follow involving us in propping up the banks, so that those at a higher level won't dump or offload or quantitatively ease their bullshit on to us remainers from a great height. ‘Not to worry’ offered my helpful lady wife ‘We can always organise a referendum to leave Eurocamp’.

‘If it succeeds’ said the courier amusingly ‘it will fly off with the gull equivalent of crowing to announce its success in taking your tasty aforementioned ‘moelleux & genereux’ piece of fromage ‘Riche en Cacium'. ( translated by the French makers as ‘rich in Cacium’). I must say that this in itself is a bit riche coming from a packet that is otherwise entirely made up of French and German. Except for the cheesy name itself of course .

‘If it does succeed it had better not shriek Tory Tory Tory or it will get a response that will live in infamy.’ I said seriously.