The tide is high, I’m holding on

There is a pub near Chichester on the banks of the river called Anchor Bleu. Quite why it would have a French name is a mystery to me, but it is a lovely pub and was on our way back from the New Forest. I wanted to go there as I had never seen it at high tide and it was very high as my picture today illustrates. There is a road that runs alongside the pub which provides parking at low ride, but is covered when the tide comes in. There is normally a temptation to park there for free and hope you are ready to leave before its is too late. Yesterday we used the nearby pay and display car park. I think it was a wise decision.

High tide at Anchor Bleu

With blue skies starting the day whilst we had breakfast, the theory of Sod meant there was a mean and spiteful shower just as we left the hotel, but it cleared in time to partake of the normal morning march, this time in the often squelchy but beautiful New Forest.

Exercise dealt with, we decided to meander back along the English Riviera in search of somewhere nice to have lunch. It was a tough call as Portsmouth and Southampton don’t exactly conjure up visions of palm trees and golden sun-kissed beaches. After some exploration of the local coastline, where we also crossed Emsworth off our list of places to visit, and a quick pint at the Anchor Bleu, we went to an old favourite, the Crown and Anchor at Dell Quay, for a spot of lunch. Some writers of a lesser calibre than the author of this column might have observed that by visiting two pubs having the word Anchor in their names, we were anchoring after something, but luckily poor puns such as this are avoided in this daily missive.

It was a good lunch of roasted loin of cod (a posh name for fillet) on a fish broth with mussels and hake, but as far as I could tell without the hake. However, replete, we headed back to Arundel, where the White Hart was calling our name. In the pub was local singing sensation, and log delivery man, the man with the sideburns, Screaming Lez, together with his boss, Acker The Log, a man whose deep Sussex accent makes understanding him quite difficult, at least until there is money involved. Luckily we have already paid him for the logs, and we remain in blissful ignorance of exactly what he was saying. Articulate and animated, I am certain that whatever he was saying about the production of charcoal would have been very interesting had I understood it.

If the Reverend Jeff is to be obeyed, then today, being a Sunday, is a day of rest, so I shall refrain from exhorting those of you who have not yet opened an account with Currencies Direct from doing so. I politely declined That Nice Lady Diet Enforcers suggestion that, after the last few days of excess, we should embark on another 5:2 diet day. Luckily the bathroom scales, unusually, were on my side and so a day of misery was put off until tomorrow. In celebration, I shall be angling to have lunch out somewhere, in order to be fed up properly before I get really fed up tomorrow. I quite fancy walking over to the George and Dragon at Houghton, but unless we can get a taxi back with the pesky dog, I suspect that it is a pub too far. Perhaps we should walk to the George at Burpham? It would be high in my list as it does not welcome dogs, but at heart I am a coward so don’t plan to suggest it.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News