Sausage in your G and T madam?

A spat has broken out in the comments section of this column between my good self and very old pal (with the emphasis on old) the reverend Jeff.

He was reacting yesterday to my comments about the puerile humour of Benny Hill and seeking to elevate the status of this “comic” to a higher plane than normal people could possibly contemplate. I have known the Reverend for some 40 years during which time he has provided me with a great deal of entertainment, through chasing girls together in our teens, providing sporting rivalry on the tennis court, golf course and squash court as he hates to lose as much as I, but the most humour has always been gleaned by challenging his belief in god.

The good Reverend believes the bible, implicitly and without question. all of it, every last dot and scintilla, and whilst on one level I admire the dogmatic clinging to beliefs even as they are undermined and eroded by modern discoveries and common sense, I confess that I have laughed at him. Darwinism to him does not exist, the human race began with Adam and Eve.  He probably believes the world is flat.

So yesterday’s little outburst was another amusing spat but once again I have triumphed. As if proof were needed, he writes poetry for free for the Daily Mail. I write for reward for the Daily Telegraph. That should goad him into some response today, that and the fact that I must venture north to Milton Keynes. Why so? I hear you fail to ask.  I once managed an artist called Eddie Stanton who, apart from writing a song called “Milton Keynes We Love You” was also responsible  for a little ditty called “Please Don’t Throw Me To The Christians”. Quite. Reverend Jeff , what say you?

Gin and tonic?

I now turn my attention to the photograph above which exhibits an alarmingly imaginative creation of a gin and tonic. I can hear you mumbling that it looks like nothing of the sort and you may be forgiven for thinking there is a sausage in the glass. That is because there is. It is frozen, but what is a girl (in this case that Nice Lady Decorator) to do when it is the weekend and she develops a sudden craving for a drink and then finds that there is no ice in the freezer? Why,  use something else that is frozen of course.

But back to Milton Keynes, so-called city of the trees, but for several winters when I lived nearby known as city of the sticks after an enterprising thief sold the council 4000 ash trees, which look like sticks in winter, and remained sticks thereafter and well after he had pocketed the cash and disappeared to the Caribbean.  I am going back for the first time in decades as, strange as it may seem, there is an interesting business opportunity which does not involve Currencies Direct, to explore. Trust me to choose a day with an amber alert for snow showers.

With no exercise today, I took the opportunity yesterday to flog up some more hills on the Sussex Downs to try to sweat out the weekends excess over several miles of uphill murder. Worse, I did not have a drink and worse still I did not even feel like one. I must have a couple of weeks quiet contemplation before a weeks skiing at Meribel for half term with Mr Clipboard, Slash and Burn Thornton Allan and respective wives plus a rake (old Buckinghamshire collective noun) of Sprogs. To say that this might be a frenzied party for a week would be an understatement.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News