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Get ready to duck

August 23, 2013

Two days back in England and I have a cold. How can that be? I had thought the headache was beer induced but then the other symptoms developed during the afternoon. We had ventured into the sunshine, which arrived very much later than forecast at lunchtime, to take in some of the acoustic acts on the Jubilee stage, part of the Arundel Festival and had enjoyed a couple of pints of Sussex Gold, and a very nasty hot dog, which was the best of the food available. I know what Peachy Butterfield would have said about the vegetarian falafel option. Even his road kill pannacota might have been superior.

boat under bridge in Arundel

Seen From the Jubilee Stage, this boat has little margin for error at high tide

Last night then, dosed up with paracetamol, we ventured into the town to catch Abba on the Hill, on the incline outside the Kings Arms. A poorer writer than myself might be tempted to make a joke about the group going downhill, but not me, no sir. That would be an Abbaration.

Several of you, my loyal follower, emailed yesterday to point out that I did not include the customary link to the very fine foreign exchange services of Currencies Direct yesterday, so there it is now. Just click on the link (that’s the highlighted bit). I apologise for this oversight and promise it won’t happen again. In fact you can have two links today, to make up for your denial yesterday, and don’t forget, there is a free copy of my book for anyone signing up. Second prize is two books.

Tiring of the Abborant (!) evening (not really, it was quite fun) attendance at which tends more towards enjoying an event than the music, and having extracted nothing embarrassing from the flame haired siren Carolyn Brice, who usually provides such good copy, we supped a couple with Terribly Tall Timothy Taylor, before venturing back to the Jubilee Stage, but something even more abhorrent, a northern soul evening, was in full swing, so we adjourned to the White Hart for a nightcap.

Earlier, we had happened upon the lovely Kathryn, whom I have promised faithfully I shall never again refer to as the Wyatt Earp of Arundel, who had in tow one of her brothers. To date I think I have met at least 17 of them, but then one is much like the other, so I may have met this one before. He was very charming, just like the previous 16,

Eventually however, With the drugs wearing off and a big day ahead today, we sidled off for a lemsip and bed before 11pm, something that regular readers of this column will know is something of a departure. I want and need to be fresh for Screaming Lez and the Mindbenders, who will be the headline act at the festival this evening. I know you know as well now, that by day Lez works for Acker the Log, the man that supplies logs for many houses in Arundel, and has such a yokels accent that very few can understand everything he says. Acker is however, as sharp as a knife, and the one thing that he ensures I always understand is the price of a log delivery, and it is cash, he is very clear in that. Everything else is smothered in West Sussex vowels and consonants, but I kind of like it that way.

Before that rock and roll treat, we shall be joined by Mr Clipboard and Slash And Burn Thornton Allan with their  much prettier wives and will walk to the Black Rabbit for lunch. As I look out of my window from my pit where I am writing this daily drivel missive, I can see that there has been a departure in the weather forecasting area, in that it is sunny as forecast. Dare I hope that it will stay fine all day?

Chris France

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