Idle or idyll?

As we drove west towards Cornwall, my mind wandered back to the events of the day before yesterday. Following the hippy excursion at Wychwood, we had retired hurt to Dryhill Farm, which had been written about, and provided some inspiration to, renowned war poet Ivor Gurney. In the hubris brought on by far too many large gins and tonic, and the gathering of those plastic glasses for our poolside bar in Valbonne, dinner was a far more grown up affair, although there were times when a casual observer would have been far pressed to make the distinction.

Amongst others, It was attended by mad dentist Roger Moore, who refused to accept that he was the subject of a very questionable video filmed a few years ago in my pool, in which he was clothed in… sadly the newly defined laws of libel, as defined in the High Court last week when the wife of the speaker of the House Of Commons was arraigned for a libellous tweet, do not allow me to go on. He remained in denial and proceeded to illustrate his, no doubt, fine upstanding character by spending much of the evening attempting, and succeeding on several occasions, to undo the halter neck worn by That Nice Lady Decorator. He was taken home early by his wife, the lovely Jackie, the other dentist in the family and here, a lesser writer than the author of this daily learned tome, may have made a very poor joke about her looking down in the mouth.

That Nice Lady Decorator was on fine form as usual, perhaps reaching new heights as a result of all those earlier (in her case) vodkas and ginger beer in the afternoon, and was happy to demonstrate her pole dancing capabilities to all and sundry with the help of a broomstick and some serious imagination. This was discussed a little on the drive down to Cornwall, but I gained the distinct impression that she did not wish this story to spread further.

The aptly named Blisland Inn in Cornwall

This is as good as it gets. I often complain about England, especially in the context of the weather, but when it was like it was yesterday, and dare I say it?, looks set to continue for a few days, there is no better place to be in the world. Bright sunshine, lush green landscape set amongst rolling hills and a few pints at a pretty pub on an idyllic ancient village green, is as close to heaven as I am ever going to get (the Reverend Jeff knows instinctively that if it exists, I shall end up in that other place). Then, when one is certain it can get no better, we arrived at the old mill owned by Currencies Direct customer Peter Blue Water Bennett, to be greeted by his wife, the beautiful and perfectly formed Julie, to be given the keys. We intend to be here until the end of the week. It could not be better, a cottage attached to a soon to be working 15th century mill, in a beautiful secluded valley with that pub within walking distance (uphill there but gloriously down hill home, exactly the way it should be), I expect this to be a brilliant few days.

Some may say that I am very lucky to have amongst my closest friends people who own magnificent houses and, more pertinently, are seemingly happy to invite me to stay, but I say you make your own luck (and friends), however, that Nice Lady Decorator tends towards a different, and entirely unfounded view, that somehow she should be given the credit for these friendships, and I just happen to be the man in tow at the moment.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News