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Putting your foot in it

March 26, 2012

The plan, hatched whilst  was following up some Currencies Direct leads to help distressed ex pats from paying their banks more than they should for foreign exchange transfers, was to go to the Bell in Aston Clinton. This is the pub which was a famous restaurant and, I think, a hotel, the haunt of pop stars and film stars in the 60’s and 70’s. In my youth I recall a story about Mick Jagger being refused entry because he refused to remove the mink hat he was wearing. It was one of the places at which to be seen until the late 1990’s when the owner died, I think being run over in a tragic accident outside the pub which was on the original route of the A41. It was then taken over by one of those horrid pub chains intent on making each of their establishments indistinguishable from another, a homogeneous disaster, removing all sense of honest history and character and instead applying an appalling sanitised fake horse brass style, anathema to anyone with a true love or understanding of old original English pubs.

Recently however, an attempt has been made to restore it to something of its former glory and we had planned to go and cast an eye over it and check the progress of its recovery.

On the way we were invited to the Savins, Janie, her of the watering of the fake banana activities and Pedro, famous for losing to me at golf so often. Champagne was suggested as a lure, and was accepted with alacrity by that nice lady decorator and before I knew what had happened, Slash and Burn  Thornton Allan had returned to my house to pick up some redundant bottles of Chateau Musar and Chateau Muriel Grand Reserva, and the intended trip to The Bell failed to materialise. A barbecue was rustled up from nowhere and the afternoon plans changed shape for there really is no place else on earth to be on a sunny and warm spring on a Sunday afternoon on a delightful English garden with a glass of champagne, a very decent red wine finished off with an XO brandy. If the weather was like this every day then I suspect I would never have moved to France.

Realistically though, we all know this is a blip, a small and soon to be forgotten gap in the unrelenting dreariness of the UK as it is normally. Summer will soon be over and normal service will be resumed in the very near future. I am just thankful that I have been here for the few days during that blip.

Obviously with the quality and quantity of the liquids available there were going to be casualties and my picture today captures repairs “on the hoof” as it were. Slash and Burn managed somehow to place that nice lady decorators chair between his foot and terre firma and was jumping about with a damaged toe as a result. Ice was prescribed by us, the onlookers but with none immediately available (one cannot criticise our hosts for having none to hand in England in March), so the old Monty Python adage “adopt adapt, improve” was applied and the champagne cooling sleeve was applied with, it has to be said minimal practical effect, but it did provide this daily missive with a photograph for today.

A clear case of clubfoot, Canadian Club that is.

I hear that my style guru, Mr Humphrey’s, is not free at the moment as he is in New York mainly for shopping it appears. His Facebook page betrays an alarming message, in that he may not be quite the right style guru for me. Even in New York it seems, carrying a man bag (which is his chosen mark of manhood) is viewed in some quarters as rather daring, but it was the revelation that he caught a shop assistant sniggering as he left the shop clutching his latest sartorial discovery. I will not be downhearted, he is my guru and  will follow him to the end of fashion.

Chris France

One Comment leave one →
  1. April 20, 2012 2:39 am

    This writing has inspired me to start working on my own blog


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