Mobility scooter and old codger in love child shock

I was asked yesterday in the comments section why I would bother with a fad diet. One reason is, of course,  that I do not want to be really fat and the other is that had I refused to involve myself in this ridiculous charade I was in danger of getting a fat lip from that Nice Lady Decorator.

600 calories again yesterday and by afternoon I did not even have the energy to whimper. After a morning walk we headed into L. A. or Littlehampton is it is known by the locals. This town must have the highest concentration of mobility scooters in the world and, given my starved state, I began to lust after one.  I wonder what is the number for nought to sixty (feet per minute)?  Actually Top Gear presenters would have a field day there. With So many caravan parks and codgers driving at 20 miles an hour it would be like letting a hungry fox loose amongst the chickens. If the local inhabitants knew the kind of thing Jeremy Clarkson got up to with caravans, I reckon there would be a blood bath. Hells Grannies, invented by the Monty Python team could well become a reality if BBC 2 were ever to make it into downtown L A.

Some other well-intentioned comments yesterday suggested days on end of alcohol abstention, but having been a seasoned drinker throughout my life, and in my 60th year, I am in the camp that agrees that a sudden starving of ones liver of alcohol is absurdly dangerous, and this is someone who has just had all his health checks and balances in the last few weeks and whose liver function was described as normal. I think I have a few readers who are exhibiting signs of allowing themselves to be embraced by the nanny state. In fact I think I need something to top up my alcohol stream. I am also very suspicious of silly diets and when I heard last evening from a seasoned nutritionist, whom that Nice Lady Decorator respects, that this diet would lose at best 1 pound a week, a secret smile crossed my face.

Today will be a merciful release from dietry hell. Lunch beckons at the George and Dragon at Houghton, preceded by a pint of London Pride at the Kings Arms. The second outing of the Arundel Luncheon Club will take place with me on the look out for more potential customers for Currencies Direct.

Today’s picture is one of some French modern “art” which I love so much as it gives me an opportunity to expose the stupidity of the modern art world. I found it in a shop front in Beaune. What a waste of time and money. The emperors new clothes. Until enough normal people stand up and say this is crap, dodgy artists will continue to pull the wool over the eyes of bleeding heart liberals and those so lost in their own mysticism that they want to reinterpret everything they see, or look for meaning where there is none.

Encapsulating the symbiotic brotherhood between man and machine, A mobility scooter and a crusty combine…blah blah blah…

OK, as a contributor to the comments section said yesterday “sermon over”.  It must be the diet eating into my normal upbeat character. There I go again talking about eating.

I have yet to hear from Dancing Greg Harris about sponsorship of the upcoming launch next month of The Valbonne Monologues. He is playing a very dangerous game in not responding to my perfectly reasonable requests for his help and support. However, it maybe that he is away on holiday or the like, so at the moment he has the benefit of the doubt but it is hanging by a thread.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News