Otway and the BAFTA’s

Showers, said the weather forecast, so after waking up I looked out of the window and it was sunny. I greedily scoffed the meagre rations to which I pay my noisy respects on a diet day and thoroughly unfortified in a kind of Oliver Twist way for what lay ahead, donned my walking clothes and prepared for exercise. It was bright for the first 3 minutes after we had parked in the Dover near Patching, and then the most fearsome and violent squall roared in without warning from the south. Hail stones the size of marbles, a gale force wind, trees creaking and groaning, an old man doing much the same, and it stayed like that for the full 5 miles. It must have been the most destructive and longest shower ever to have existed. But then, just to illustrate that the law of Sod is alive and well and settled in Arundel, just as I trudged along (actually squelched is a better adjective) the river bank in sight of home, dripping wet and bedraggled, the rain relented and the sun came out. It was never going to be a good day, but it got worse.

I must apologise for the tiresome and long drawn out religious nonsense that appeared in yesterday’s comments section. The Reverend Jeff, clearly nettled by having to go to a funeral on Monday that had no religious overtones whatsoever, spouted on and on and on yesterday with his fatuous arguments in favour of religion, at variance with what all sensible people understand. He once had brevity (although I given yesterday’s interminable diatribe he may not know what it means) but now his arguments are so long-winded and tangential, I dozed off whilst trying to read it all. Stick to limericks, you are good at those and they are mercifully (note the biblical reference) short. There are very few other things he is good at, but avoiding work through most of his adult life is one.

Now this morning at 7:30 the announcement of the BAFTA nominations was made and unaccountably Otway The Movie did not feature. I shall be demanding a recount and an internal inquiry.

the BAFTA committee give Otway The Movie the bird

So after drying out and preparing for a day spent cajoling people who know what is right to do the right thing without further prevarication (open a foreign exchange account with Currencies Direct), I had a day communing with VAT. Yes, it got even worse. However, the wheels of commerce must continue to revolve and it is sometimes my duty to do some of the turning. So arriving back at 11.30 and with a half hour of intense business activity in the proverbial locker, it was time to begin organising the March trip to Barbados to witness the English 20/20 cricket team.

Timing is everything and a lack of good timing (as English batsmen should know to their cost) can have a real impact on how much one might enjoy the matches. My dear deluded northern tripe loving, fizzy beer swilling pal and Yorkshireman Steve “trouble up t’mill” Jackson has made the normal balls up of organisation epitomised by those chaps from up north by deciding that for his 50th birthday he would go to the Caribbean to watch the victorious English team continue their march into the domination of world cricket, and invite some of his friends to go with him. Obviously no one living up north can afford it so he asked me. Anyone who has had an eye in the recent series in Australia, admittedly in a different and far more worthy form of the game, will know the folly of that premise. Anyway, we shall have to make the best of it as the flights are paid for, the villa booked and there can be no going back. At least there is a decent chance of some sunshine and warmth.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News