Dog roast?

If it was his grave that he was digging then I could accept the destruction of part of the garden. Yes, it is Banjo again. The crap cocker spaniel who survives in this household only because that nice lady decorator acts as his protector. It is like he has a permanent minder. If I dug a huge hole in the garden without permission and then wallowed in it, dribbling and then went into the kitchen depositing globules of muddy damp dodgy doggy gob about the place, I would expect a slap at the very least, but he appears to live a charmed existence, receiving just mild admonishment for a crime worthy, in my opinion, of a little black hat and a hanging judge, or perhaps just being burnt at the stake. In fact I have a picture today which gives me some ideas.

Doesn’t need to be a pig….

Earlier during the customary morning walk we came across a golf course on the coast near Littlehampton called, rather cunningly Littlehampton Golf Club so I thought I would go in and see if it was worth joining. Golf in France is a relaxed easy-going affair with little attention to the fastidious boring rule book mentality which was much in evidence in English golf clubs when I was a member of one some 10 years ago. I reasoned that given the current straightened financial circumstances, the recession and stories of golf clubs being short of members, this might have had some effect in loosening some of the officiousness. I was wrong. I could see the eyes looking at me as I went into the pro’s shop. I did not have my shirt tucked into my shorts and was not wearing any socks, two heinous sins in the world of stuck up golf. They were just waiting for me to ask for a green fee so they could say “you cannot play dressed like that sir”. However I disarmed them. Firstly I adopted a facial expression that did not seem much in evidence, I smiled. Then I asked about membership. Suddenly my dress sense was no longer an issue. A snobby golf club with memberships still available says all I need to know. I shall not be joining.

I may be doing them an injustice, but “no you cannot play just 9 holes”, “no we don’t hire clubs” and no we don’t smile did not endear me to the place.

Later, more retail delight awaited me. At first I resisted but as I was overcome with the quality of my book that I am editing, I needed a rest so I was persuaded to join that nice lady decorator in a trip to Chichester. Now I have a shiny new office chair which will no doubt make the editing of high quality material even easier.

The Goodwood Revival festival starts on Friday and I was considering popping down at the weekend. Luckily I spoke to Currencies Direct customer Mr Clipbeard today for whom this is an annual event who told me that normally the Saturday and Sunday are totally sold out. I checked on their website and he is correct, and you have to pre buy your ticket.in adcance. Luckily he has a couple of spare tickets for Saturday, so I shall be meeting him on Friday morning, the day he is going, to collect them. It seems that it is traditional at this festival  to dress up in clothing from the 40’s 50’s and 60’s which would not represent a great change in wardrobe in his case, but would mean a sharp contrast for my good self. It also seems that he will be borrowing a 1936 Bentley for the day. Toad of Toad Hall anyone? Parp parp..

Chris France