A fishy smell?

The obvious problem of a combination of having a pub next door, and rare lovely weather was a perfect storm that found us in the pub at just after 3pm following a day machetying the wisteria. For the uninitiated, that means cutting back a large bush.

Being sprog 2’s 18th Birthday meant that the house was swamped by teenage locusts hungrily tucking into my provisions, and eventually 7 of us made it up to the China Palace. At first, that nice lady decorator was gleeful as she thought it was going to be another visit to a shop selling china and was somewhat deflated when she found out it was in fact a chinese restaurant. It is a little known fact that Currencies Direct can deal in the chinese currency, so as this was effectively a business dinner I have kept the receipt for the usual animated discussion with my accountant as to what percentage of the cost  might be an allowable business expense.

But before I go into that, let me discuss something that I saw being offered as an attraction on Brighton Pier the day before yesterday, a fish pedicure. Literally, if one so desires, (and in this particular case one does not) one places ones feet into a tank full of a particular type of fish, who will then attack and eat all the dead skin on your feet. Given the size of many people enjoying the low quality treats for which this iconic structure is renowned, and thus almost certainly the size of their feet I doubt if the fish there would ever go hungry. There are many jokes I could make about this practice, many ways to skin a cat, but I don’t want to put my foot in it.

Fish and feet rather than fish and chips

I mentioned this “attraction” whilst the teenage rampage was ordering at dinner.  Any suggestion that the timing of this revelation was a desperate attempt to reduce the appetites, and therefore the bill which I was paying, of the ravenous teenagers is as despicable as it is true, but to my surprise the majority had experienced such a “delight” in various parts of the world and expressed satisfaction with the results. Gone it seems are the days of the visiting chiropodist, which is a shame because that was one of the things I was looking forward to in my fast approaching old age. I am now a mere 18 months away from a free bus pass.

So after a very good chinese dinner beneath a wonderfully ornate 17th century carved and suspended ceiling, shared with the excellent Townhouse restaurant next door, a brief sharpener in the Eagle in Arundel, I thought we were safe venturing home as the pub next door, The White Hart, takes the precaution of closing at 10pm on weekdays. However, when we returned, well after 11pm, we heard some of the locals still in the yard garden testiculating (waving their arms around and talking bollocks), so decided to do join them and do some testiculating ourselves. I think that is when the trouble started but cannot recall for certain. One of those present was still in the same seat she had been at 3pm.

The weather this morning is back to English normal, cloudy, drizzly and windy so its off down to the seaside with that monstrous mutt Banjo to get blown away and wet. If I can get away with it I shall be taking a tennis ball with me to launch into the massive waves so don’t be surprised if you hear me shouting “fetch” at the top of my voice.

Chris France