Pigs ear or Trotters?

So we left the sleepy hamlet of Harrogate behind and headed for the village of Leeds in a vain search for some sunshine. Before we left we had one last look around and once again I was struck by the awe and majesty of “Trotters” bar which I show as my picture today. It is clearly a high-class establishment with an up market clientele that I know would just work in Valbonne. Sadly our busy schedule, my attire and ridiculous moustache  precluded us from entering the establishment due to one simple reason, fear. I am sure that the regulars adorned with tattoos and many resembling tramps and ruffians are all wonderful friendly and accommodating people, but they just didn’t look like it so the busy schedule excuse was employed.

Peckham comes to Harrogate

Threading our way through the floods which mark the wettest drought I have ever encountered, we eventually arrived in Leeds, another little known outpost in the north of England and then to an even smaller settlement with the touching and quaint name of Scarcroft where we will be imprisoned for the next two nights. I have in the past mentioned the charming and evocative names for northern towns but Scarcroft does not do it justice. Perhaps it would have been a better name for the Jewish area of Allwoodley, through which we went on our way to Leeds and where my lawyer, sometimes known as Al Yiddley, was born. Would it be too much of a banana skin to mention that few foreskins will be found in this area near Scarcroft? Probably so I will end this here. I will be circumspect from now on.

Later over dinner at the New Inn, which was formerly called the Bracken Fox before the management changed the name in order to elevate the establishment into a higher strata, which in turn allows the management to be able to increase the prices no doubt, a few jokes were unleashed. For some days now whilst I have been languishing in the north of England I have been unable to watch TV and have thus been out of touch with what is happening in the real world so I was naturally shocked by the news that Vidal Sassoon, hairdresser to the stars had passed away. When I asked for details I was told I needed to watch the high lights.

Today being Sunday, and thus no necessity to mention the wonderful services of Currencies Direct from which one can benefit if one ever has the need to send or receive money from abroad, I shall be having a day of rest, well a morning, before a birthday lunch. It will take place at somewhere called East Keswick and in order to work up an appetite some tennis has been arranged, indoors obviously.

It seems to have been the longest birthday celebration in history. That nice lady decorator kicked off proceedings with a joint birthday bash last Wednesday but her actual anniversary is today. I cannot reveal her age but she will never again be 37 again, at least not until next year. It is astonishing that each year the gap between our ages increases, how can that be? It is a mystery.

Today is the last full day up north, we fly back to summer in Valbonne tomorrow arriving at lunch time and I have a sneaking suspicion that I will be hijacked on the way back from Nice Airport to enjoy a late lunch on the beach. Later in the week it is the two theatre performances of Deathtrap by the South Of France English Theatre at Espace Antipolis on Wednesday and Thursday. I shall attend the Thursday performance where once again I shall be endeavoring to satisfy the almost non-existent demand for my book “Summer In The Cote d’Azur”.

Chris France