Hair and a hippy

I actually considered having a haircut. Two days before attending a hippy festival, Wychwood, in Cheltenham, to see John Otway and the Human League amongst others, it had crossed my mind that my hair was a bit long. It is if course entirely inappropriate to consider such a course of action, or indeed shaving, if one is to involve oneself deeply in the hippy ideal of attending a pop festival. A bit like the Muslim faith, hair is at a premium.

That I eschewed such a hair reduction scenario should tell you that I am serious about reliving my early glory days in the early 70’s (I was too young properly to enjoy the 60’s, probably the best decade ever in which to have grown up). My hair then was closer to my waist than to my ears and if I say so myself, allowed me to cut a dash across the young female contingent of Buckinghamshire. In a curious way, hair is still at a premium nowadays, but rather than considering having it cut, one is grateful for what there is left.

I know I should have embraced the idea of camping, and indeed I thought long and hard about it, but with serious Currencies Direct business to discuss, it was impossible for me to ignore my business responsibilities and immerse myself in the hippy lifestyle, much as I would have liked so to do. Instead, the corporate world took its unwelcome grip upon my life and forced me to agree to drive to Cheltenham today and stay with old pal Nigel medina palms Rowley at his house from which he can watch over his land, comprising, as it does, of most of Gloucestershire. Who am I to interfere with his enjoyment of the English idyll? As long as it results in another new customer then my sacrifice will have been worthwhile.

South Downs in spring

So I cancelled the appointment with the barber and instead immersed myself in the minutiae required when one is going to spend the next week walking around the wilds of Cornwall. The very first thing that one most consider in the list of essentials is nothing to do with warm clothing or footwear, it is to ensure that one will have sufficient quality and quantity of wine to withstand the rigours that may await. Better to be safe than sorry, my mother would have said, and I should not wish to be sorry about not having enough sustenance to keep one going through the rigours of living for a week in the West Country.

Thus, this morning, rather than visit Pegglers, the well-known expedition outfitters in the town, I shall be visiting Pallants, the wonderful deli and wine store in Arundel where I shall lay in the necessary provisions, such as the magnums of that 2005 Bordeaux to which I have formed a close attachment. From recollection, Cornwall is nowhere near as backward and as inhospitable as up north, so although it will be necessary to take some decent food, I am hoping that the odd pub may feature in our explorations. I shall also need to replenish my stocks of a 2001 Rioja Grand Reserva which were damaged, or perhaps the word should be denuded last night by That Nice Lady Decorator and a surprise visit from her cousin Peter. I thought that they could be sated by a couple of beers next door at The White Hart, but it merely sharpened their appetite for when we all came back to ours. I am almost nervous to go down stairs and see for myself the scale of that degradation, having left them cackling about old times shortly before midnight with several empties already on their way to a less than watery grave.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News