A load of bull?

An old school friend of That Nice Lady Decorator destroyed all the good intentions of having a quiet night in by offering to take us out for dinner. What is a dieting man to do when offered a freebie? Accept of course and so all the good work of the day began to unravel.

The usual three mike hike, which is part of my daily fitness routine, was centred around Wepham in South Downs country. Then later, with the car due for an MOT test in Amberley, I volunteered to drive it over and walk back, thinking it was another 3 miles, which was true as the crow flies, but became nearer 6 miles across the footpaths. So, flushed with This success (in more ways than one), and with a modest salad for lunch, I was feeling very virtuous. Then came the invitation.

During the longer walk, when I was thinking about Currencies Direct, I was faced with turning back and making it even longer, or facing up to crossing a field full of very forbidding looking beef with something akin to rhino horns on each side if their head. Too knackered to add further to my misery and with the thought that we all have to go sometime , I strode purposefully and manfully across the field anxiously looking out for the stile which would signify my way out of the bullpen arena. None of the huge beasts moved (with the exception of myself who was moving with new-found speed) or took the slightest interest so I went back and took this picture of one of them (not the biggest as he was too far away, or rather I was not going near him).

Quite a big chap

So to dinner. Boco Nuevo, the restaurant at The White Hart offers a splendid seafood platter and being just 3 yards away, and given my earlier walking exploits, I was happy to go there. The lovely Joanna (the decorating school friend) and her Boris Karloff lookalike husband are as nice people as it is possible for vegetarians to be. At least they ate fish, but I find with people with such twisted ideas about avoiding food, tend to take an interest in things that are often bizarre and not normal and there must be a connection. It is not that I don’t like vegetarians, I just could not eat a whole one.

The first indication was a discussion, the earlier part of which I missed, about a moth festival in Whitby. That was what I thought she said and was becoming more and more confused about why butterflies would be dressed in black and be sleeping in coffins and listening to heavy metal music, so I thought I would wing it (eek…) when I realised she meant a Goth festival. This was much more in the context of having a horror movie star look-alike for a husband, but nonetheless disturbing. Stay with me here, but any festival being staged in Whitby that does not involve trawlers and fish and chips seems a little incongruous at least don’t you think? For the uninitiated Whitby is a pimple on the large bum that is the northern and unsophisticated county of Yorkshire. It is a scruffy down market seaside town inhabited by large numbers of fishermen. Thus the concept of staging a goth festival in such a place is weird, or is it? Does it have some twisted logic?

Anyway, discussion turned to more normal activities and interests and the lovely Joanne revealed that she once owned a small chain of shoe shops, and I said that I did not wish to comment as I was bound to put my foot in it. I think it is fair to say that this little snippet was rightly ignored by all present. Tomorrow I will tell you about the Chem Trail Theory and David Icke.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News