Barbecue goes up in smoke shock

You could see the smoke from the south coast. It is fair to say that the first barbecue of the summer got off to a rather smoky start, and may have started an evacuation at the pub next door, had not most of the clientèle  including James “Desperate Dan” the Landlord already been in our garden. Desperate was claiming that this should not be his nickname in this column as yesterday he was clean-shaven, unlike the cartoon character after which he is named. Well, that might have been the case when he left the pub, but by the time he sat down for his first drink, that stubble was back.

Flame haired beauty, the lovely Carolyn, although looking far too young to have children old enough to work behind the bar at the Eagle in Arundel, revealed that she has been barred by both in recent times. She claims that they do not enjoy her singing on “open mic” night, but I suspect the real reason may be what seems to happen after dutiful attention to several jaeger bombs.

Sprog 1 introduced me to these. Until then I had believed that the expression referred to some explosive upmarket female underwear, but apparently it involves a shot of Jaegermeister dropped into a pint of lager, and is designed by youngsters to get drunk quickly and cheaply. To give you an idea of the effect drinking several of these concoctions can have (or in yesterday’s case several bottles of sparkling rose) I invite you to unravel this spoonerism which our beautiful flame haired guest uttered yesterday; “are taking the wogs for a Salk ?”. Admittedly, this was after a long and splendid afternoon in the sunshine, and after Desperate had twice made dashes back to the pub to supplement supplies, even though there was a fridge full of wine. I think he had worked out that his bar was closer than our kitchen.

Also in fulsome attendance was the lovely Kathryn to whom I am no longer allowed to refer as the Wyatt Earp of Arundel on pain of, well pain. She was rather quiet for her and I suspect that her primary aim was not to give me any reason to include her in this column, which is precisely why I now have.

I hope you do not glean from all this that it was all play. Oh no, I had several earnest conversations about the benefits of having an account for foreign currency translations with Currencies Direct, although it is fair to say I cannot remember with whom. Perhaps I was talking to myself, which would have been a waste of breath because obviously I already have an account of my own. Perhaps I will open another, just to give myself some encouragement.

A cry of rape?

Earlier, in preparation for what we always going to be a big day, we went for the morning constitutional (to take the wogs for a salk?) on the South Downs Way where I took this picture of the rape seed crop about to burst into vibrant, hay fever inducing yellow. Now hay fever can make you drowsy and I think that I must have suffered a delayed reaction to exposure to all that pollen, as I think I must have dozed off around 10pm. At least, I have no recollection if going to bed, but anyone suggesting that the reason for this retirement was anything to do with over consumption of what Peachy Butterfield calls “crushed fruit” will be hearing from my lawyers, Gobble, Dribble and Denyit.

Off to London today for something called work. Back by 3.30 for a glasses of wine with friends on their way to Brighton. It is all go.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News