Sepukangri, a mountain to climb

So that nice lady decorator caught her flight. Perhaps I should not have got her to the airport so early, but I really did not want her to miss the Royal wedding.

I have begun to play on-line chess with opera impresario Bill Colegrave, who has given himself a rather obscure nickname, .  Most people have normal nicknames, like Chazza, or Fatty, but Bill, he has to be Sepukangri. I asked him what he meant and it appears that it is the second highest unclimbed mountain in the world. Given his history of playing me at chess, where I have a 100% record of winning, he perhaps should have chosen the name of a mountain or maybe only a hill that is easily conquered, maybe Ivinghoe Beacon, the highest point in the Chiltern’s at 800 feet, and conquered by children every day would have been more apt? However, as he is a Currencies Direct client, I won’t mention it.

Rock roses in full bloom spotted on a walk in the Valmasque forest yesterday., obviously in celebration of the royal wedding

So there was fleetingly, the delicious prospect of a quiet night at home, without a drink and with the TV remote in my hands for a change. I had just begun to prepare for dinner, which means that I had looked at the take away menu of the pizza van and the Indian in Valbonne, and then the phone rang. I should not have answered it. Rupert Scott, renowned party animal was in town and had a question to ask; did I fancy a quick pint and maybe a pizza or an Indian later? Of course what I should have said is “thanks but I have had such a full on time the last two weeks, I just want to curl up in front of the telly and do nothing”. What I in fact said was “that’s great, just try to stop me, what time and where?” and so I am afraid I must report a massive fall at the first self-imposed temperance hurdle this week.

The Queens Legs for a couple of pints of Guinness, followed by a visit to the Kashmir, for a rather good Lamb Madras turned out to be exactly what I needed, even although my idea of what I thought I needed at the start of the evening was entirely at variance with what it turns out I actually needed. I am not certain that makes sense, and equally I am not certain that pints and a curry made sense in my life last night, or that I was making much sense after it, but I can tell you I enjoyed it.

So as I write this at 5am, the combined effects of cardimon seeds and coriander being the best legal way of ensuring you cannot sleep, I am giving thanks to Rupert for providing the impetus for keeping me awake.

I am afraid to report a few backsliders in respect of WANKROYWAG, the William And Kate’s Royal Wedding Avoidance Group. Many, whilst claiming to have sympathy with the groups aims, appear to making excuses to be near a TV at mid day on Friday. No names, no pack drill but I would think the wingco may be squirming in his seat if he were ever to read this. Luckily as his opinion of this column is “Ghastly” he will never know that he has been marked down as flaky.

Talking of the wingco and flaky, I am still awaiting delivery of the promised ride-on mower.  If it does not come soon then I will have to machete a path through the garden so that I can still see the hills currently obscured by the pampas grass sized forest masquerading as my lawn.

Chris France