Its in the sand

Get a leg of lamb for Sunday lunch, she said. So I went to the local butchers and they wanted £29. “I don’t want the whole herd” I said, but the joke was lost our friendly local meat emporium. We once owner a three-legged sheep when I lived in Buckinghamshire. Sidney was his name, and there must be a joke here somewhere but I can’t find it.

We are entertaining some chaps for lunch today so I asked that Nice Lady Decorator where was my port decanter, and, by implication its contents. “In France” she said. The chances then, that our guardian of the French house, Peachy Butterfield, has not already found it and decided to relieve it of its contents, are zero. It also presented me with a problem. I had rashly told James “Desperate Dan” the Landlord, one of our guests this afternoon, that I had a 1985 port which we should tuck into after lunch, so, in order not to lose face, another chunk of cash disappeared to replace the port I thought I had, and I still don’t have a decanter. Despite being a Portuguese product, port seems so perfect for an English post lunch tipple in front of a roaring fire accompanied by the aroma of a good cigar, but somehow it does not work in the sunshine by the pool in Valbonne, where you need something with an ice-cube to accompany a Cuban.

The good news, of course, is that as a result of events scheduled today, I will be able to circumvent the standing, no carb (except for beer and wine, obviously) three-line whip, at least for a few hours.That means roast  potatoes. Excuse whilst I have a quick dribble.

Actually, it is really handy to have a great butcher and a shop where you can buy a Warre’s 1985 port or a Cohiba cigar within walking distance of our house in Arundel, you just have to have deep pockets when you need something.

Yes, lunch is scheduled at ours today for a select few, mainly because we don’t have room for more than about 8 people, so I hope the one bottle of port will be enough. By that I mean I hope no one else wants any.

Elmer sands in the sunshine

Yesterday became a bit of a blur as we set off to go to Elmer Sands (pictured above today) for a walk and a cycle but somehow got stuck in Felpham between Middleton and Bognor as the village looked quaint. Whilst the walking was not so good, the pub we found post-exercise serving Timothy Taylors Landlord, the Fox, started the decline. One is never enough and then two increases the speed of the descent. Thus when we arrived back with the jobs we both had in mind not seeming quite so important, and with a lively thriving pub next door, what can a man do when his wife insists on one for the ditch?

I just want to state categorically that I do not recall going to sleep in the White Hart and am convinced it is an invention by that Nice Lady Decorator to discredit me. Nothing short of photographic evidence will be accepted.

This morning has dawned bright and sunny, if a little chilly, so what better way to start a Sunday (when I have my customary day off from working on the benefits of opening an account with Currencies Direct) that a trip to the beach with the bike to build up an appetite and a thirst. A couple of pints in the pub, roast lamb, St Emilion Grand Cru, port, stilton and a cigar? Bliss.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News