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Prepare for the flood

June 12, 2013

My old enemy, sideways drizzle, did its very best to ruin a summer’s day yesterday, banishing any fleeting thoughts one may have entertained of living in England for extended periods and actually enjoying it. The past 10 days have been a glorious reminder of how I remember English summers from my childhood, admittedly a very long time ago, so it is especially disappointing to find the weather has reverted to type and is due to stay grotty right up to and through the weekend. That is as far as predictions go, although I am prepared to forecast myself that the next dry day will be in October.

The reason of course, is that I stupidly suggested in yesterday’s column that I may take a day off from the relentless work schedule which I have set myself, ( some two hours of nose down, no distractions endeavour to further the reach of the UK music industry) in order to enjoy a day of First Class cricket in Arundel starting this morning, or as is almost inevitable, failing to start due to rain.

The cricket ground in Arundel is said to be the prettiest top class cricket venue in England, so who am I to argue? However, there is little point in popping down unless the forecast does a Michael Fish and is catastrophically inaccurate. My picture today, was taken at Boscastle harbour last week and shows the type of thing we apparently must come to expect on our roads in the coming week. As you can see it is a car towing a boat in a river in Cornwall. Perhaps he is towing an ark, or knows something we don’t, or rather do.

An interesting study. Why would one drive down a river towing a boat?

An interesting study. Why would one drive down a river towing a boat?

Heading to France at the end of the month is now firmly within sight. From what I have heard their poor weather, graphically illustrated earlier in the week in pictures on Facebook of a tornado in Nice, is finally abating, and migrating northwards to plague the UK. Time for me to change places and head south to my spiritual home where I can indulge in tennis and golf without looking up to see what the clouds are doing.

Thus the implacable iron resolve to have two days without a drink was fatally undermined by desperate weather, so we popped out to the Swan Hotel for an early evening pint of London Pride to help create an appetite for a home cooked roast dinner.

Over a pint, we discussed the predilection amongst some of our favourite locals towards socialism. Being myself politically just to the right of Attila the Hun (thus diametrically ideologically opposed to my old deluded, and some might say hypocritical, old pal Attila The Stockbroker), it can make for some interesting pub chat. It always amuses me when I come across people with a communist leaning who run their own businesses. Presumably, if they practice what they preach then my profit would be given away? If not, could one say that they were so left-wing they had gone around in a circle? Suffice to say there is not an instantly perceived need for the services of Currencies Direct in some quarters.

So, instead of a day watching cricket, I shall have to be content with shopping for wine as That Nice Lady Decorator seems to have consumed vast swathes of my carefully laid in stocks, (hmmm… Stocks, that might be the appropriate punishment). Whilst claiming to be a white wine girl, it always seems she wants to change colour when something decent is open.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News

One Comment leave one →
  1. Rev. Jeff permalink
    June 12, 2013 4:23 pm

    Ah the perfect opportunity to resurrect my tribute to John Prescott which appeared in The Daily Mail. To be sung to the tune of The Red Flag.

    THE CHAMPAGNE SOCIALIST.

    (The Red Flag)>

    The working class can kiss his arse
    He’s in the House of Lords at last.
    Though critics jeer and colleagues sneer
    You won’t find Prezza sheds a tear!

    Chorus He’ll quaff champagne from dusk till dawn
    He’ll play croquet on his front lawn,
    He’s in the place he’s longed to be
    Amongst the aristocracy.

    Although he once worked on a boat
    He’s now got ermine round his throat,
    The oik from Hull is now a toff
    His snout wedged firmly in the trough!

    Chorus He’ll quaff champagne from dusk till dawn
    He’ll play croquet on his front lawn
    He’ll help himself to more and more
    And sod the needy and the poor!

    He’s sworn the Hypocritic oath
    To be a two faced, pompous oaf,
    And though it’s made Old Labour cross
    You won’t find Prezza gives a toss!

    Chorus. He’ll quaff champagne from dusk till dawn,
    He’ll play croquet on his front lawn,
    Ennobled now and oh so grand
    He’s joined the gentry of the land.

    He says it won’t affect his life
    He’s only done it for the wife.
    Though she’ll be known as Lady Muck
    You won’t find Prezza gives a xxxx!

    Chorus. He’ll quaff champagne from dusk till dawn,
    He’ll play croquet on his front lawn
    And now that he’s a proper swell
    His principles can go to hell!

    He’ll man the barricades once more
    To keep the riff raff from his door.
    For fairer shares he’ll fight the cause
    As long as his share’s more than yours!

    chorus He’ll quaff champagne from dusk till dawn,
    He’ll play croquet on his front lawn,
    He’ll claim he won’t betray his roots
    Then make the workers lick his boots!

    So raise a glass to John the Nob,
    At last he’s found his perfect job
    He’ll sit all day on his fat arse
    Hobnobbing with the Ruling Class.

    chorus He’ll quaff champagne from dusk till dawn
    He’ll play croquet on his front lawn
    And though the world cries hypocrite,
    He’s happy as a pig in xxxx !
    Jeff Potter

    Like

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