Pretty in pink

Once again I was set up to be one of the Village People. Yes, I was required to meet the great and the good of Weston Turville and it says much about the village that the best they could come up with was fridge magnet salesman Paul North. Too say that he is a touch unsophisticated is like saying John Terry is a little indiscreet. The farmers boy from Quarrendon is cleverer than he pretends but not as bright as he thinks.

Lets start from the beginning. Another depressing day discovering relics from my rock and roll past damp and disorganised after a flood. I think the neighbours were a little disconcerted by the 30 or so gold discs drying against the wall and in fact I think I am in need of drying out as well. A decision was made to go to the Village Gate pub to meet some Village People at 7 sharp, a collection of old friends, none of whom deigned to appear much before 8.30 by which time the London Pride had stepped in and made its mark. My picture today is a suggestion of what have been an appropriate car in which to visit the village People

A suitable car to go to see The Village People

It was then that one of the biggest of the Village People, Paul North, cast a large shadow over the door. A former butcher, his wit could never be described as subtle, although there is subtle humour in his job which as I said earlier is a fridge magnet salesman. Let me give you an idea of his light humorous touch. He thought it was funny to throw my golf shoes down the garden late last night although why is still a mystery but I was able to retrieve them this morning ready for an impromptu round of golf with him this afternoon at the dull and uninteresting Weston Turville golf course. He will doubtless still be claiming his girls handicap of 28, and if he wins will almost certainly take the wagered bank-note and stick it on his head in that childish fashion that so suits him. Of course if I win then it is a noble gesture and celebration of success and not at all tacky.

The prospect of returning to my beloved France and especially Valbonne is looming into view and frankly I cannot wait. Before that though, there is the small matter of golf this afternoon and then drinks at ours before heading to The Raj Indian restaurant in Wendover. Amongst the people attending will be Peter and the fabulously attractive and blonde Janie Savin. Janie will be well known to readers who have followed this blog from the beginning for it was her that spent the week when staying with us in France last summer of watering my plastic fake banana palm, and getting her reward at the end of the week when I secured a bunch of bananas to hang on the tree. Also, she cannot say the word Riviera. To her it is always Riveriera, as in Riverieria Radio. This is of course far to tempting a target for me and so I like to have fun inveigling the word Riviera into as many sentences as possible. She is always pleases by this, often to the extent of threatening my physical bodily harm. Some women are so unpredictable.

I have just noticed that I am into the last paragraph of this daily missive and I have yet to mention the services of Currencies Direct so do you what?  will not mention their wonderful foreign exchange services, but will leave it for another day, almost certainly tomorrow

Chris France