Melons, the search goes on

50 shades of grey, that is all we ever get in England. It was a particularly dark grey yesterday morning and with the cold it was very unpleasant. Grey and cold and Sunday in England equals one thing; pub. What else can you do when you are chilled to the bone following a hardy but ultimately ridiculous walk along the beach trying to avoid the grip of hypothermia?

Clearly I am being offered training or acclimatisation for the privations that will beset me when I venture close to the Arctic Circle on Friday. It is irrefutable, Yorkshire is closer to the North Pole than Arundel and from the reports in the newspapers of only 15ft snowdrifts I can see that their spring has already started.

Having sworn we would not go back to the George and Dragon at Burpham, news reached me that the previously appallingly run but beautiful pub has been rescued from its dunce like owners by a village collective, and so to see if that was the case we went over to have a look. Previously a desperately poor and overpriced meal, rude staff and poor service had three times been our reward for traipsing over last summer.

It is a changed place and back on the list. I am not usually one for a traditional Sunday roast, but the pork looked, and was very good, whilst That Nice Lady Decorator declared her trout to be the best she had ever had. The Arundel Bitter on tap was good so we were in much better spirits by the time we set off home and just before reaching the safety of our house was when the trouble started.

I love having a good pub next door but it is dangerous. To walk from the parking it is necessary to walk through the pub garden to get to our house, so almost inevitably we popped in…for three bottles of wine. It was supposed to be a nightcap in the afternoon but the mighty Omega was there and then the flame haired Carolyn wafted in and suddenly one bottle of wine was not enough.

I blame her for revealing that she had decided that day not to wear a bra and encouraging me to check. I am of course a gentleman and would never think of upsetting a lady deliberately so I was forced, rather unwillingly as you can see from today’s picture, to comply. She was not wrong and the sight reminded me that melons will soon be back in season.

They are in there somewhere

So last night my plans to prepare for the working week , especially in respect of promoting the be benefits of opening an account with Currencies Direct, were thrown into disarray. I awoke this morning with a terrible taste in my mouth and going down stairs found the remnants of a packet of my favourite English cheese, Wednesleydale with cranberries, strewn over the coffee table and the remains of another bottle of wine, and came to the quite reasonable conclusion that someone must have broken in to my house and had a party last night whilst I was in bed. On balance I decided that there was insufficient damage to call the police.

Yesterday then was clearly feast, and regular readers will be able to predict that that means for today. Famine has commenced until tomorrow. 600 calories in 24 hours is the limit which I could reach easily in one minute. 5 tablespoons of olive oil, the amount one might drizzle over a healthy salad would get you there without the salad. Add to that the fact that it is Monday, grey (again), cold and I have a headache (now why is that?) and I think you can see why today will not be a good day

Chris France
@Valbonne_News