Swanning around Arundel
January 3, 2013
I think my favourite expression of the evening was “prurient twit”. It was uttered by Thomas the bar man otherwise known, it was revealed, as Snake Hips Taylor and sometimes, when he is in a less receptive mood, as Toxic Tim, hound dog, or Terribly Tall Tim Taylor.
It is a weird coincidence that the bar manager at the White Hart is named after the second best beer in the world, Timothy Taylor Landlord. which is available at The Bridge ar Amberley. Even more curious is that yesterday, as evening began at around 3pm, which seems to be the depressing norm with an English winter, we had decided to go swanning around (as my picture today in no way captures) in search of a pint if that liquid gold.
Swanning around on the way to the Black Rabbit
The sunshine of New Years Day was now but a distant memory, a false dawn to the year, and had evaporated into the gloom, which in turn became drizzle which turned into another rain soaked night and was in turn replaced by even darker darkness.
In desperation at the darkness of it all, we had sought refuge at The Bridge in Amberley, where we have in the past, attempted to convene with the liquid kind of Timothy Taylor, the second best beer in the world when it is kept well, which had not been the case on two previous visits. It was a last chance visit but that last chance was taken and a very decent pint was served. This was a much better experience than previously and with the fire lit, the pub has re-established itself on our favoured itinerary.
We headed back into Arundel as we had been summoned by Brian Ferry’s cleaner, the self-proclaimed Wyatt Earp of Arundel, the lovely Kathryn, who was rounding up a posse or something, presumably to run another man out of town as she has been doing since 1989. Or maybe there was a rodeo on or she just wanted some friends with whom to have a drink. So that was our rather flimsy excuse for ending up in the pub next door and, with that Nice Lady Decorator wisely dis-inclined to cook, we took advantage of the in-house culinary services of Boco Nuevo.
There were half a dozen of us sitting around nibbling prawns and tapas when the stories began to come out. Laura the cook told a story of when she was younger she was camping and woke up covered in snow, but I never got to the bottom of why her nickname was subsequently “elf”. As far as I recall, she was involved in a revenge incident in which she found her main protagonist asleep drunk one nightly a party. Her revenge involved his eyebrow being shaved, and most of one side of his body. Toxic Tim related a tale of revenge when he had found someone who had done him wrong asleep and poured fairy liquid in his ears . The ears, nose and throat are all interconnected and although he was reluctant to magnify the results expressed himself content with the punishment. I would have been a little concerned about this use of Fairy liquid; I wonder if the guy woke up gay?
So that is it. No drink for me today, just head down and work. I have three new potential Currencies Direct clients, all in various stages of the account opening process, and all of the safe for the time being from the danger to which they will be exposed in this column should there be any backsliding.
Chris France
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Chris France's Blog 
In view of today’s arrest of Jim Davidson and the ongoing Jimmy Savile enquiry I thought I might highjack your blog and give your readers the pleasure of reading my latest poem .
No don’t thank me…!
THE OLD ROCK’N’ROLLER.
The old Rock ‘n’ Roller stood up and sighed
Why pray to a God that he’d always denied ?
Prayer wouldn’t change the transgressions of youth
Not with a witch-hunt hell-bent on the ‘truth’.
He looked all around at the life style he’d built
He felt no remorse , no regret and no guilt
Sex, booze and drugs had been part of the scene
Those chicks had been ‘up for it’, know what I mean ?
He hadn’t asked questions like ‘How old are you’ ?
There were hundreds of girls who were up for a scr**,
‘Groupies’ in gymslips were top of the list
Willing for anything once they got pi****!
But that was the seventies, anything went
Chicks thought that ‘Brut’ was a heavenly scent !
Doe eyed and sexy and straight on the pill
Hungry for ‘Rock Stars’ they went for the kill !
He’d boasted in songs of the conquests he’d made
Of excess and madness and schoolgirls he’d laid
And the press had indulged him and said he was ‘hot’
And the more they’d encouraged the wilder he’d got !
But now things were different and that was a shame
And that bleedin’ Savile was surely to blame.
A weird bloody paedo the papers had said
But no one could touch him ‘coz now he was dead !
But the worm can was open, the hounds had a scent,
They’d follow this story wherever it went.
Thousands of ‘victims’ were seeing the light
With money on offer they’d do what was ‘right’.
And what if those girls who had been so much fun
Now split to the papers and said what he’d done
What if they thought of the things money buys
And twisted the truth into damaging lies ?
And what if their lives hadn’t worked out to plan
And decided that someone should ‘carry the can’,
Or what if they really felt shame and remorse
And claimed that he’d raped them or used too much force ?
And what if he had ? It was so long ago
He couldn’t be certain, well how could he know?
That era had passed in a strange dreamy haze
A world that was different in so many ways.
And as he was musing on unspoken fears
The wailing of sirens assailed both his ears
And as he stood rooted stock still to the floor
A fist began pounding like doom on his door.
So how will it end this who, where and when ?
A McCarthy like witch-hunt all over again ?
And will our great heroes , those Rock ‘N’ Roll stars
All end up like Glitter….. behind prison bars ?
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Probably more readers here than the Daily Mail….
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Terrific poem – very topical – I like it !
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Well hopefully more discerning ones !
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Thanks howzaaat -.I enjoyed your New Year cautionary ode as well.
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