DIY shock

As one of the worlds least practical men, I wish to report a breakthrough. In normal circumstances That Nice Lady Decorator takes care of anything practical that needs to be done in the house, whilst I save myself for the higher plane activities of administration, planning and the more cerebral requirements of the household. Indeed, careful reinforcement of that supposed inability to change a plug or a lightbulb has served me well over the years, and I am seldom, if ever called upon to expose my clearly obvious lack of ability in this area. So it was a surprise yesterday when it was suggested, rather forcibly because of something to do with plaster going off that I did not quite grasp, (how can a band-aid go off? but no matter) to replace a screw on a door fitting that had loosened. Once I had been handed something called a screw driver (and here regular readers would not have been surprised to expect a not so clever play on words, along the lines of a chauffeur with an interesting sideline or hobby) everything went swimmingly well. I did not break the screw, snag the wood work, damage the fitting or anything similar and the job was completed without incident.

This is a triumph and has raised my stock in the eyes of the Decorating person considerably, from “imbecile” to as high as “unreliable”, if I am not mistaken.

To celebrate this immense stride forward, and before the newly screwed (sic) fitting fell off and returned my standing to more usual levels, we took a late evening walk near Amberley. It was perhaps inevitable, given my new-found abilities in do-it-yourself that the celebration took the form of a couple of pints of proper beer.

The South Downs near Amberley

Actually, there is something that worries me about that expression; do-it-yourself. It seems to me to imply that one has not mastered the art of delegation. Therefore I began to realise that it might all have been a trap, a deliberate attempt to undermine my delegatory powers. So even as I enjoyed a few beers at the Bridge at Amberley, my paranoia was on the increase. In fact, now I come to think about it, there is another even less savoury interpretation of that expression and one which I for one do not often come across.

Avoiding the Friday evening temptation of going to the White Hart was another breakthrough, helped by the return of more typical April showers and a chilly wind which deterred the pub goers from drinking in the pub garden, through which we are forced to go to get back into the house. Had it been full of revellers, then things may have turned out rather differently. It was as well that we got an early night before the big bash due to commence this evening.

Pacing ourselves will be vital. Champagne at 6pm and dancing until 5am is, by my calculations some 11 hours of revelry, all at the expense of the Naked Politician, in one of the most expensive flesh pots in Europe, if not the world, and so it should not be taken lightly. I do not intend to take it lightly, but to remain at the helm from start to finish. The problem will start at Gatwick where I am prepared to wager that I shall be once again led into temptation, probably in the shape of the Seafood bar, Caviar House, as a warm up for the evening.

On the trip down, I shall once again be considering how best to extend the reach of Currencies Direct, which was widened a little further today with the request for account opening application for a from someone who had been inspired to do just that by reading my book The Valbonne Monologues. It is especially gratifying when something like that happens, and one knows that one has made a contribution to the good of the world. I must compare notes with the Reverend Jeff, this must have happened to him before.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News