Magic mushroom?

The weather is still grey, I am turning grey and the shed is getting greyer with every moment. As the great Larry Grayson may once have said “what a grey day”.  That Nice Lady Decorator who,  in every other context renounces the word grey,  is getting her own back on my kennel, masquerading as my office. 50 shades of grey are under consideration for what will be the final colour. You could be forgiven for thinking  that someone as flamboyant as my good self might be better suited to  being surrounded by bright colour, but there you have it; grey, and I will warrant not a handcuff or a sex aid in sight.

After another grey trip to the beach, we managed to avoid the temptation of lunch or a pint, mainly because as we awoke so late, breakfast was only completed by 11.30. We did hear from the Wyatt Earp of Arundel, the lovely Kathryn, with whom we had consumed rather too many sherbets the night before. It seems she was having an attack of the light-weights and was feeling a little below her best yesterday morning. I have heard it said that she was actually sick after drinking for the first time in many years (not the first time drinking, the first time being sick, do try to keep up) but I could not possibly comment. If such a downfall had actually befallen her then you know that I am far too much of a gentleman to mention it in this column. I am also an inveterate liar.

Taking that theme I little further, yesterday I discovered this species growing in a pot in my garden. Is anyone out there able to identify it? Is it a magic mushroom ?

A magic mushroom?

And so, what can I say about yesterday afternoon? Nothing happened. Nothing at all. But then in early evening light was shed (do you sense a theme running through today’s missive?)  on my day by the arrival of the golden one, the great Omega, the betrothed to James “Desperate Dan” the landlord, in search of a suitcase. She had come from her home in Shoreham, presumably ready to set off for her holiday to Madeira this morning, but had forgotten her suitcase. Yes, that is what I thought, a holiday without a suitcase? a pretty fundamental oversight I would have said. However she is far too beautiful for me to pour scorn on her,  I sure am (ouch).

I have started to pack for the escape to Tenerife from gloom this Thursday,  Strange garments have been extracted from deep storage; trousers without legs which I think are called shorts, shirts without long sleeves, which are clearly useless for much of the year in England and some much more useful Currencies Direct brochures ready for the plethora of new customers whom I can bore at the Bahia Principe hotel on Cape Adeje for the following week.

I have chosen an all-inclusive package at the hotel for the simple reason that it will be cheaper. I calculate that we can drink back the entire cost of the trip in less than 4 days, then we will have 3 days free food and drink. Bring it on. Before that we have another treat in store for tomorrow evening when we shall be at the Theatre Royal in Brighton to see Rowan Atkinson in one of what must be his first theater appearances in some years, in Quartermaines Terms. It is the idea of that Nice Lady Decorator that I be exposed to some culture, but as I already know Cathie The Culture from Valbonne, surely that is enough?

Chris France
@Valbonne_News