Mother Theresa becomes Bond villain?

That Nice Lady Decorator spent the morning wittering on about going to the beach because of the sunny weather. It has been quite an innocuous November, with far more sunshine than one would normally expect for the most depressing month of the year, so to satisfy her, where better to go than to West Wittering? It could have been East Wittering but the sun sets in the west, and I know this analogy will not be lost on my readers, the majority of whom appear to be limerick writers.

On the way back from a very pleasant 4 mile walk around the foreshore, listening to the sounds of the Witterings, we managed to put a line through three pubs in the area. The very pretty Thatched Tavern at East Wittering looked very inviting, but with three people in the pub on a lovely Saturday afternoon, there had to be a reason why it was so ill attended. That reason was that it was situated next to a mobile holiday village. Static caravans, almost certainly inhabited by static old people escaping from up north, robbed the lovely old building of its charm. It is merely a pub for old people on holiday in summer.

It was however better than The Winterton Arms just off the A27 near Eartham. It was such a pit, with most of its real ales off, and such a run down, damp, unattractive atmosphere that we did not even have a drink. The same was true of The White Swan on the edge of Arundel. A swirly carpeted, unappetising, chain hotel, masquerading as a pub, it was a cold winters day on a weekend when walkers would have been at their most numerous, but the fires were not even lit! Avoid at all costs.

Blofeld, Largo and Mother Theresa enjoy a drink together

It was clearly time to watch the rugby and then retire for a pre James Bond siesta. Awaking refreshed, I dressed. I think I was looking very dapper. I say think, because I have realised that all the full length mirrors in the house are aligned for a short arse, meaning I had to squat down in order to take in my full glory, which in turn was compromised by having to squat. It did however confirm one thing that I have been told repeatedly over the years; That Nice Lady Decorator is right when she says I seldom look in the mirror. When I complained about this clear under sight, I was told that the reason was the low ceilings in the house, which was a good riposte and hard to argue.

And so to the Kings Arms for that Bond evening to meet , Largo, Blofeld and err…Mother Theresa, as my picture today shows. although I can’t remember in which film she was the villain. She was however at her villainous worst, charging 50p for a feel of her tits. She said it was for charity but I have my doubts. It was a thoroughly good evening, complete with roulette wheel and bent croupier, who did his best to extract money from all and sundry for charity, an evening which could only really have been topped by finding a new customer for the services of Currencies Direct, and, once time had been called, a number of characters from The Bond films continued the party at the Red Lion,which was open until midnight and was serving the second best beer in the world, Timothy Taylor Landlord. Before noticing that I had asked if they had any Australian Shiraz, and, upon finding they did not, asked for a glass of Rioja. When the barmaid returned she said she only had Rioja from Spain, which was a bit if a relief, but then I spotted the nectar in draft and it was a done deal.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News