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Toyah impersonation shock

August 23, 2011

I am getting old. No, it’s no use denying it, the evidence is overwhelming; It is illustrated by memory loss, falling asleep at tables, dribbling uncontrollably (although these two are not always at the same time), but probably the most telling effect is that when watching a porn film you think “My, that bed looks comfy”, or, you notice things like a nice bedside lamp.

I receive an email containing my picture today which was accompanying an allegation that the nice lady decorator is impersonating Toyah on stage in Henley, which as you can see is an easy mistake to make. I sent it on to her, but not before leaving the house to avoid what I consider may be a tempestuous response.

That nice lady decorator's alter ego

Later in the week, we have been invited to Tony “I invented the internet” Coombs house to witness the much vaunted, and until I see it, mythical terrace that he claims to have been building. Once again I thanked for inventing the internet, which has proven so useful in my day-to-day life. He is so selfless, he has never made any money from his invention, preferring, as he likes to claim, to work on newer technologies, however I am almost certain that if he has a real job, it may well be selling burgers in Macdonalds. Luckily, he seldom reads this column, so will remain blissfully unaware of my comments.

Last night, that nice lady decorator expressed once again her desire to see shooting stars. Once again I had to fight down the comment that rose in my throat about how I could give her a practical demonstration of what they looked like, although in truth I am far too much of a coward to hit a woman, especially a woman who once knocked out one of my teeth in my younger days when I was chatting up a pretty girl (she called it leering and in her opinion the girl in question was a complete slapper) in a pub.

It seems that somewhere in the hills above Valbonne there is a place where people go in the evenings where there is very little light pollution and there is a short season when shooting stars are common, I suppose this is like the so-called Northern Lights, the system used up north of England in those places where electricity has not yet been invented. I shall research this tomorrow as it may mean a trip into the hills for Bluebell the camper, and will help escape the heat wave which is still continuing here.

The 32 degree heat is at least ensuring the swimming pool is getting close to a temperature where even I may dip into. Below 28 degrees the water is far to cold to consider entering. It does not stop the rest of the family and that lovely old retainer, Max the springer spaniel from enjoying it as well, a fact that I welcome, but when that smelly beast Banjo, the horrid hound much beloved by that nice lady decorator jumps in, I can feel my lip curling.

The summer excesses have so depleted the coffers that I fear I may have to seek some more gainful activity, (I don’t like to use the word “work”) to restock, despite the outrageous success of my work with Currencies Direct. I am thus hereby declaring my availability for any writing jobs any of you may have. You will realise that due to the strength of the prose regularly exhibited in this column that I will at least be mercifully cheap.

Chris France

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