Great way to get rid of kids

Several pints at The Three Pigeons in Guildford High Street was just the start, thereafter at the behest of the oldest sprog lunch was taken at Wagamamas for a frankly underwhelming noodle nosh up. It was however just what was required to allow me actually to look forward to an Easyjet flight whisking me away from the scudding clouds and drizzle of deal old England in a late autumnal afternoon.

What I had not bargained for was the mad woman who had to be removed from the flight. We were all sitting uncomfortably in a full plane looking forward to getting away from the heavy Gatwick rain that was blowing horizontally across the gleaming tarmac when a delay was followed by a tannoy announcement for a lady to make herself known to the cabin crew. After she was removed, they decided that the plane had to be disembarked so they could undertake a search of it. After we had reboarded an hour later I asked the steward what had been the problem and he told me that the woman who had left the plane had put her two young teenage children on to a flight to Switzerland then boarded the flight to Nice. My first reaction was that there have been times in my life when I may have dreamed of doing the same things to my kids. So this particular action caused a massive amount of disruption to a plane full of people and she still did not get away with it. When I asked why the plane had then to be emptied and searched,  was told it was standard procedure, but I bet anything you like, had this been a flight leaving France there is no way they would have applied such rigour to ridiculous health and safety nonsense.

The day of the book launch is looming ever nearer, almost in equal measure to the receding confidence I have in my speech which I have already rewritten twice. I admit to being worried, I am normally a back room boy and thus not usually in the limelight. Add to that the fact that I am to be upstaged by two seasoned performers in Stephen Frost and John Otway and you have a recipe for disaster, my own personal disaster.

Argentinian cowboy with no idea how to spell

I am still suffering from the sheer full on meat experience of Tuesday where Mr Clipboard, the eternal carnivore insisted on the biggest Argentinian steak at Caucaucau, in the high street in Guildford served by a real Argentinian Cauboy as my picture today shows. Mr Carnivore Clipboard when in France recently asked his hosts if there was likely to be any meat in risotto promised for dinner. When he received an answer implying a negative, changed his lunchtime order to a steak just to ensure he got his normal daily intake of red meat on board every day.

Lunch today at the Auberge Provencal with Lin Wollf from the English Book Centre in Valbonne and Viv Frost, my literary mentor and the first person to suggest that this column could be adapted and turned into a book, to finalise the organisational details that have been taken over with Ayatollah like fervour by that nice lady decorator. Some late cancellations has allowed some lucky people who were on the waiting list the prospect of witnessing the actual launch of my first book, or perhaps I should use the word novel? on this coming Monday. One item we must decide upon is exactly how to distribute the wine so generously donated by Currencies Direct, some employees of which will be on hand to explain the advantage of opening an account for free to take care of all your foreign exchange needs.

Chris France