Voyage of disc recovery

It was over breakfast when I mentioned in passing my intention to take time off from house clearing and my work with Currencies Direct in order to play golf with Mr Fridge Magnet Magnate aka Paul North. The look came immediately. You know that look you get when you have been startled by headlights? No that was not her, that was me when she had considered my idea and as a result I had received the laser beam stare and torrent of invective which usually means I have either done something wrong, am considering doing anything wrong or look like I am about to do anything wrong, or in this case because I had stupidly made a decision all on my own. To be fair, with the clearance of our UK house as it has been sold after only 7 years on the market (really quite brisk) upper most in her mind and her continuing to work like a Trojan from dawn to dusk (after dusk it’s to the pub obviously), I should have seen it coming. Possibly the biggest mistake came when I jocularly suggested that perhaps I would be better off out of her hair. This did not go down well, so golf was postponed. Mr Fridge Magnet Magnate can keep his £10 and his girls handicap for another day.

When one is awarded a silver, gold or platinum record as I have been fortunate enough to have done in the course of my music business career, one does like to display them, especially if one is an insufferable show off like me. However the kind of display featured in my picture today was not quite what I had in mind. The flooded barn had damaged a number of them and so they were left out in the unseasonable sunshine to dry off before the process of repairing or scrapping them is undertaken.

Those that have said in the past that the music I have represented was a bit wet get their reward.

I am invited to attend an evening of Cuban music in Sophia Antipolis shortly after i return to France but have declined saying that if I heard “Guantanamera” one more time in the near future I was going to kill someone, which was probably a little ill-judged as that is where they are still keeping all those Al Qaeda suspects, in Guantanamera Bay.

So after another grueling day of tip runs and wrapping up boxes, I was looking forward to a curry last night at The Raj in Wendover after a few beers in the very noisy but forgiven as it is now a Fullers pub, The Red Lion in Wendover. Upon hearing the accent of our Indian waiter which was more Tottenham that Taj Mahal, she said “you must know Wayne Brown” our erstwhile news hound behind successful Cote d’Azur on-line lifestyle magazine FR2day and gourmets delights Red Radish, but curiously he did not. The food and service were excellent and showed just why the best English cooking is Indian.

What looks as if it will be another astonishingly good day today in terms of weather for March in England will be beautifully counterpointed by an astonishingly bad day being a removal man and revisiting one of my earliest jobs when I was a dustman during my A level summer holidays. As Winston Churchill might have said: Never in the history of human nest building have so many items been collected for so long by so few.

And so, as you read this I shall be knee-deep in lady decorator detritus. Please pray for me.

Chris France