James cleans up

Being a removal man in the rain must be one of the most thankless tasks in the world, so imagine my rejoicing when it was revealed that the shipment of crap beautiful personal effects and furniture from France had not arrived in Wembley, from where I was on notice to collect it all.

I gathered myself up to something more than my full height, took a deep breath and used my most direct, plausible, persuasive and imposing verbal style to berate the removals company, Cadogan Tate and demand in an imperative sort of way that in the circumstances and in order to avoid a bad press day in this column, they deliver the shipment direct to us in Arundel, but astonishingly this threat failed to achieve the intended result. We must await the shipments’  eventual arrival when they finally get around to bringing the stuff over from the Cote d’Azur. Suffice to say I would not recommend their services to anyone. I think they have just Cadogan their own grave.

However, this meant that for a fleeting moment I was off the hook. Thoughts quickly developed of a nice siesta in our very comfy new beds, sliding next door for an early evening pint followed by a spot of snap and an early night to rest my aching bones flicked through my mind, but fleeting it was. Having earlier hired the white van for the day, that nice lady decorator was determined to put it to good use, thus I was overjoyed to be dragged to several thousand furnishing and bedding shops in a single-handed attempt by her to kick-start the UK economy.

Sprog 1 has a name. It is James. I name him here because yesterday, when on the spending spree of the century, amongst the items we bought was a vacuum cleaner. I wanted to buy the one shown in my photo today but was over ruled. It would have been so ironic to have a piece of equipment for cleaning to be named after sprog 1, the untidiest and scruffiest teenager alive. It would also have evened it up between himself and sprog 2 who was mortified and has been the subject of much hilarity discover that the bathroom toilet was emblazoned with the name “Charlotte”.

The ultimate irony, a cleaner called James

We now have a new fridge, pillows, a hoover, an ironing board (what is that exactly?) plus various other vital household items. And guess what? We are going to do all again tomorrow! My cup runneth over. I am such a lucky chap, I have been “rescued” from all that hot weather, my bar and swimming pool in Valbonne, and all the other French gastronomic opportunities that were in my grasp so that I can fully enjoy being rained on whilst wearing long trousers (not previously considered since late April) instead of wasting my life blissfully in Valbonne with all my Currencies Direct clients.

Add to this the fact that Banjo, the ridiculously needy and equally unpleasant hound has not yet done the decent thing and run off and you have a very clear picture of how much I am enjoying being back in England.

That nice lady decorator says I should say something nice and perhaps I am overstating it. The house is actually quite lovely and Arundel is a really nice little town and the pub next door, a visit to which is now part of our daily routine, serves Harvey’s and has a very decent menu. If only the south of France weather could be applied then I could be happy. Take today for instance; the maximum daytime temperature is forecast to be 21 degrees. The minimum night-time temperature in Valbonne last night was 21 degrees. You get my drift?

Chris France