Buddah in beer shock

It’s too hot.  Today we have a level 2 heat wave alert which I know must be a difficult concept to grasp if your living in the UK, particularly if you live up north. I met a guy from Northumberland yesterday who said that each year where he lives they have ten months of winter and two months of bad weather. It is nice to see a realistic view of the weather up north.

So with a heat wave upon us, it would be unwise for me to work too hard, thus I shall, for the good of my heath, stay inside and watch the England cricket team grind India into the dust.

My picture today is dedicated to the worship of beer, 1664 in particular, as someone left a beer unopened in front of my Buddha, clearly an act of worship, and probably the reason why he is a bit porky.

the worshipping of a beer belly

Two weeks from now,  my darling children will begin to fly the nest. They are both returning to England to various colleges, and I cannot wait, as the strain on my beer and wine supplies is close to breaking point, however, that nice lady decorator is beginning to realise that she might miss them, she hasn’t shouted at either of them now for a full 24 hours and I am getting concerned. Is there really a mellow and loving side to her that has hitherto never been discovered? Watch this space, because if she happens to read this then I am certain that mellow and loving are two adjectives which I shall be spared.

Three days of rest now, in fact the next social occasion will be on Wednesday 24th when we are invited on to a sailing yacht to see the fireworks in Cannes from the sea. This fills me with some trepidation as I am not a swimmer, and get seasick watching sailing on the TV. I am assured that quells or some form of medicine will be available to me to keep sea sickness at bay, but I well remember coming back from St Tropez a couple of years ago with the promise that two special rubber bands on my wrist would preclude s ea sickness. well, suffice to say that 90 seconds out of St Tropez harbour, I had deposited a rather nice lunch into the sea, ensuring that we were followed all the way back to Cannes by a phalanx of seagulls, anxious to taste my regurgitated lunch for themselves. I am told it will be dead calm. It’s the dead bit that worries me, but that nice lady decorator is determined to go, so I will have no choice. Seemingly it is the turn of Italy to provide the pyrotechnics this week, the last show of the summer, so perhaps we shall see pasta shaped explosions as part of the show? or maybe a smoky image of Mr Berlusconi, perhaps depicting that he will burn in hell when he is gone?

Talking of St Tropez, that is where the Reverend Jeff is staying. He has promised to call me about his golf challenge. I do hope he has not got cold feet. Reverend, I know you read this every day, I am waiting for your call.

With no social occasion until the middle of the week, I will have to find other ways of alerting people to the benefits of using Currencies direct for their forex transfers, so I suppose I may need to use the old-fashioned communication techniques such as the phone in order to get my message across?

Chris France