Dodgy ticker causes consternation

There was some banter of a suggestive nature amongst the rump of limericists that have found a voice in the comments section of this column yesterday. It is almost like their own little world of poetry where they all seem happy. In response I suggested that it was not good for someone with a dodgy ticker (meaning a slightly unreliable heart) to be exposed to a charming young lady espousing the willingness to wear provocative clothing in almost any circumstances, without realising that some of my French readers might be at a loss to understand the slang. A dodgy ticker could have been construed as a clock that does not work properly, and whist I was considering that I did not have the time to think about that, I came to the conclusion that not working properly might be a charge made against my good self on occasions nowadays. There was a time in my life that I worked very hard, but eventually I learned to delegate.

Not so yesterday, as I spent a good deal of my time on a splendid 4 mile walk around the Cissbury Ring (nope, no slang here Winnie, this is an ancient settlement near Findon, and in any case, what on earth could that be in bedroom parlance?) considering once again the benefits of having a foreign exchange account with Currencies Direct. I took this photograph showing yet another lovely morning in England. I know it was raining two hours later, but by then I was back at home, exhausted and starving.

The Cissbury Ring. nothing suggestive here.

By now, regular readers will have spotted the lack of zest in today’s missive, due entirely to the almost nil by mouth regime which I have had to endure, as part of the 5:2 fad diet, to which I have unwillingly subscribed.

But now it is all over for at least 4 days as we are off in the skip this morning, heading for Glastonbury, with a possible stop in the New Forest in late morning, weather permitting. It is Halloween and we are off to witness something just as scary, a Wild Willy Barrett show at a pub in this ancient village. I once went to the Glastonbury festival about 7 years ago with John Otway, and hired a Winnebago for our pitch back stage, and a wonderful experience it was, despite the dreadful weather, but have never before, as far as I recall, visited the village itself. As the Reverend Jeff will no doubt have predicted, we will be staying the night at a very nice and charming looking hotel, called the George and Pilgrim. I do so hate to witness jealousy, but if he had spent his life working as have I, instead of pontificating and writing poetry, he may have been able to afford to stay in a decent hotel himself, but I digress.

Whilst there, it seems churlish to rush back immediately and a walk up to Glastonbury tor later today or tomorrow is likely. I shall also not rule out the chance that we may not return to Arundel immediately, but may return to the New Forest tomorrow evening. We will of course have a gooseberry in the car, in the very rotund shape of a fat bloated cocker spaniel/Friesian cow cross called Banjo, who has at least calmed himself recently, I think he must have seen me burying our faithful old family retainer, the saintly Max, in Valbonne just over a week ago, and believes, probably with good cause, that if he misbehaves then the same fate may await him, although in his case before he has passed on. He will not like my putting a spade in the back of the car, and will be rightly suspicious of my contention that it is there in case we have to dig ourselves out of snowdrifts. Let us call it a deterrent .

Chris France
@Valbonne_News