Egg on face or face on egg?

So as I manfully fight off the worst case of man flu I, or probably any other man in history has ever suffered, I have been languishing on the sofa, having to watch yet more Jubilee nonsense.

This enforced period of “relaxation” has given me time to think back over what has been going on over the past few weeks. One thing I had forgotten until today was that last week when our invitation to dine with some Germans was brought forward from 7 30 to 6 30, Peachy Butterfield said it was because they did not want us to arrive fashionably late, between 19.39 and 19.45. This cannot be construed as a mention of the war and if it was then I think we have got away with it.

Sprog 2 departed yesterday back to England to do some work experience at Flying Pictures who do most of the aerial stunts for James Bond and Harry Potter amongst others. Before she left she kindly made her mark on the eggs in our fridge as today’s photo shows. I think I can see the bad one. I think it is called Banjo. That nice lady decorator described him as a natural gun dog. For me the gun part works, as long as it was pointed at him. You may think I am being a bit harsh here but I am fed up with going to the supermarket each day to replace the cheese Banjo has stolen and eaten the day before.

Egstatic

So no lunch for me, just trying to get back in some sort of shape for the next saga in the tennis wars tgis evening, and here saga could be an operative word. My partner in the MOGS, the Moustachiod Old Gits, the Wingco and I are unashamedly into our sixth decades but our partners, Blind Lemon Milsted and “Dancing” Greg Harris from Cote d’Azur villas exhibit a little more vanity than the MOGS. I don’t want to say too much but I have seen evidence of hair colouring. You will note the link to Cote d’Azur? This is because Greg has given me carte blanche to be rude about him as long as I include a link for his company. He is of the deeply flawed opinion that he and his partner are better tennis players than the MOGS which is palpable nonsense and a fact that I intend, despite my ailment, to make clear tomorrow evening.

That Jubilee nice lady decorator has been earning a crust today by decorating, but she was in front of the telly the moment she had finished the first bottle of Bourgogne Aligote as the sun went down. She then excitedly proceeded to talk me through some of the more notable events. At time like these she is the master of the bleeding obvious, perhaps it is the blonde hair. It seems for instance that a Hurricane is not a wind. This gem of information was relayed to me as a Hurricane aircraft flew over Buckingham Palace. Another piece of advice she despatched was not aimed at me but at one of the trumpeters, who was advised to keep his trumpet horizontal to stop the rain entering the spout. Did I mention the rain? One last point, a bit of bad timing and the fusillade of shots from the soldiers could have downed that Lancaster bomber.

Normal service will re resumed tomorrow. I shall be diligently seeking to save more lost souls from the ravages of their banks whilst single-handed keeping the music industry functioning. I will not mention Currencies Direct because it is obvious what a right thinking person will do having read this column and realising how much could be saved on foreign exchange transactions.

Chris France