Bluebell season

Many eulogies have been received to mark the passing of Terrence The Tractor, despite some confusion over the spelling of his name. That Nice Lady Decorator insisted that it has one “r” whereas I was right, he has two. In fact it was I who (I was going to say Christened him with this name, but that would imply that he followed the Christian religion, when I for one knows that he was an atheist) dubbed him Terrence, which I considered spelling with 3 “r’s”, just to be bloody minded. As I said, an atheist who never once to my knowledge attended church, although it is possible he cut the grass in the graveyard in a previous life. Had he tried and failed to follow the Christian code, someone would have grassed him up.

OK, that’s enough about deceased lawn mowers. Can you tell that it was a diet day yesterday? so not a drop touched my lips to help the creative process? I can usually tell those days when reading back what I have written (yes I do) that the columns are sometimes a little lacking in the incisive wit and cutting comment that is omnipresent when alcohol has been imbibed. It is very hard to write about the antics of the idle rich when you have spent all days staring at 4 walls and contemplating the higher plane reached only by Currencies Direct Customers. In short, as in keeping with most drunks, I think I am funnier when I have had a drink.

The morning walk took us to Patching in Sussex, yesterday, where I came across a field of bluebells, featured in today’s picture. This is one of the sights I love in England on those rare days (and yesterday was another one) when the sun shone and the rains stayed away (in South Of France apparently it is still terrible).

Bluebells, in woods near Patching

Did anyone see the first episode of what will quickly become a TV classic? “Vicious” is a comedy about two old gays living together and sniping at each other starring Sir Ian Macellen and is quite simply the best thing on TV. It is even better than Not Going Out. I have become a bit of a TV critic over the past two nights on which I have not had a drink on either, rather because I also have been not going out. The fast is over for today however as once again the sun is predicted to shine and so we plan to walk to a pub for lunch. I favour the George and Dragon at Houghton which means walking across the Duke of Norfolk’s estate, but That Nice Lady Decorator wants to take those that pesky dog and he is sensibly banned from his land. I put my foot down, drew myself up to my full height, took a deep breath and then quietly agreed to her inferior suggestion that we go to the other George and Dragon at Burpham.

It is less distant, about two and half miles, and she has this absurd idea that it would be a good idea to walk back after lunch, mainly because there is not a taxi in the land that will entertain the notion of allowing that evil-smelling, cantankerous thief of a cocker spaniel of hers, Banjo, anywhere near their vehicle. Thus the ridiculous decision to take them, if it is sustained, will mean her walking back alone whilst I enjoy being chauffeured home. Watch this space.

Respite will be brief however, as there is to be a dastardly second diet day on Thursday before we head to Oxfordshire on Friday for a wedding, and just importantly a reception and a few drinkies.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News