Come on Santa

Addled, ageing record company executive that I am, I have been known to be dragged kicking and screaming to the altar of modern technology and today is no exception. This daily missive is now available on kindle. You may be forgiven for thinking that it was not I that set this up, as you would be right, it was done for me whilst I was whimpering in a corner with my head in my hands mumbling “I don’t understand”. I do not yet have a kindle but I believe that Father Christmas may be remedying that position, which will be a nice surprise. The same is true of Twitter and Facebook. I have rudimentary skills but require constant assistance. I think it is an age thing. Apparently I am also twittering most days, but in the time-honoured fashion of twits, I have no idea what I am twittering on about.

The water is getting higher and the ark is still not started. I think it is too late. A thoroughly miserable (or as I would tell Sprog 1, character building) walk on the beach at Clymping in driving rain and wind was rewarded with one of the finest brunches I have ever seen, cooked by that Nice Lady Decorator of all people. At least I think it was good, or it may have been that I was so wet, cold and dispirited that any food would have looked and tasted good after such an experience.

What I really don’t want to see today on Facebook is any of my friends in the south of France alluding to sunshine, shorts, or popping up to Greoliere Les Neiges for a day’s sublime skiing. It would be too much to take as I squelch around the damp morass that is England, waiting for the rain to stop and the wind to ease (and with baked beans for breakfast that will not be any time soon).

Searching through the pictures on my phone in the hope of something uplifting to counterbalance the doom and despair caused by the weather, I came (sic) across this picture from a restaurant called Cabbages and Condoms in Bangkok, of some figures created entirely out of condoms. I thought I would slip this in before Christmas.

A festive use for condoms?

Lunch was overtaken by brunch, so I was looking forward to a night out on the final Saturday before Christmas.  An early pint at the rather disappointing Woodman’s Arms, which appeared to have been subjected to a personality bypass, did nothing to put me in the Christmas spirit. The sign on the door said that no children under 14 were allowed in the pub, something which I would welcome.  So why was the first sight with which I was confronted, a child of very tender years having its nappy changed in spectacularly smelly fashion? The only good rule was that dogs were not allowed into the pub, so to my delight the appalling Banjo (who has emptied the bin all over the kitchen on successive days, without any sign of admonishment) was stuffed back into the car, probably in the basis that he was far more smelly than the kid who had shit its pants, and was being very publicly changed in the public bar, whilst we were trying  to enjoy a pint. I guess we were asking for it, venturing into the public bar. Perhaps it should have shed an L.

Being the Sunday before Christmas, I was torn as to whether to mention the benefits of having an account with Currencies Direct, and in the end I decided against it.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News