Bush tucker Christmas trial

Perhaps I should not have bought the chocolate covered ants for Christmas. When one is under pressure to find that extra special gift, and being rained on and subjected to gale force winds whilst undertaking that most irksome of tasks, shopping, one has to make decisions. Inevitably, from time to time and with the luxury of hindsight, some of these decisions may be open to question. Obviously I have left this purchase a little late to be able to get it to Father Christmas in time for them to appear in Sprog 1 and 2’s Christmas Stocking, but as we all know, Father Christmas is special and magic so he will find a magic way.

Two magic landlords, Fearless Feckless Fricker on the left and Charlie Pistorius Malcolmson with the orange hat, cunningly disguising his lack of hair, at the No Parsley Christmas lunch

We all know how the Catholic religious fatherhood has entered (sic) into fulsome and exciting (for them) relationships with young children, and Father Christmas has carried on that long tradition, bouncing young children on his knee and promising presents if they are good. That he is a magical and revered character in the world of children is undeniable and so it is with my Sprogs, at least it was until more than a decade ago when they were certain that he existed. The fact that they were awoken by That Nice Lady Decorator,who had imbibed well earlier in the evening, and who was undertaking Santa duty, did not notice that they had stirred, coupled with the fact that she was being rather more attentive than should have been expected with my good self, only came to light last year. It seems that someone was rumbled at that stage when the “Santa Clause” figure had cackled in a way reminiscent of the Decorator, and that had led the Sprogs to question whether Santa Clause actually existed. They were in their late teens at the time.

I also thought the turkey flavoured crickets had to be purchased, in case we run short of provisions on Christmas Day. That seems a tad unlikely I accept, given that fridge and larder have now overflowed into a plastic box outside containing the Christmas vegetables. It seems that all the food I have been denied over the past few months whilst on this diet has been hoarded for the festive season.

I was in Worthing being blown about and rained on in the most spectacular fashion, getting some last-minute presents, in keeping with most of Sussex when I came across the shop selling these exotic items. The weather was truly abominable yesterday and is a set to be the same for the next few days. It is like living in the north of England. Yes, that bad for those of you sunning themselves in the south of France.

The Prodigal Sprog, Sprog 1, managed to defy the hurricane force winds and fly into Gatwick from Nice last night. It was by all accounts a very bumpy flight and he claims to still have finger nail marks in his forearm from a Polish woman sitting beside him who was so frightened by the bucking and heaving of the plane. The worst bit was the landing with the plane landing almost diagonal to the runway as the wind and rain howled about them. It seems there was that spontaneous applause, usually born out of relief, when the plane finally hit land and began to slow. The trains were similarly affected and so he was home 3 hours later than expected, and, very understandably, ready for a drink. His favourite pub in Arundel is the Eagle, so in deference to him we went there to discuss the advantages of having an account with Currencies Direct. Honest!

Chris France
@Valbonne_News