An English sunset?

Over breakfast yesterday morning I was discussing with That Nice Lady Decorator, how good a prospect would be Clive “Denis The Menace” The Accountant as a client of Currencies Direct. He may also become my own accountant if discussions go well. One often needs a devious accountant and I hear that he is very good with graphs, always plotting. I will have to insist in examining his wardrobe though. One simply cannot be represented by someone who resembles a colour blind bumble bee. I ask you, hooped sweaters? yuk.

It was one of those very rare crystal clear sunny days, the type of which are typical in winter in Valbonne that I have missed so much. It was the sort of day if one was there, one could jump in the car and be on the slopes and skiing at Greoliere Les Neiges in under an hour. It was vital to get out and make the most if it, but in Arundel, the nearest skiing is about 10 hours away, so we settled on the slightly less exciting prospect of a walk on the coast at West Wittering and, something you cannot do in France, sit in an English pub and watch the sun go down over a few pints of good real English beer.

A splendid walk around the surrounding countryside and along the sand dune strewn beach was a wonderful way to build up a thirst, which we dealt with in a most satisfactory fashion at the Crown And Anchor in Dell Quay near Apuldram south of Chichester. It is built into the estuary banks and faces south and with the weather remaining distinctly French right through to sunset, we are able to watch the sun disappear over the horizon over a couple of excellent pints of Youngs.

Sunset over the English Riviera

The law of Sod was discussed because we are shortly to jet off for Tenerife for a week precisely because of the appalling dank wet dreary weather that epitomises England in January. How much money could I have saved had the weather decided that yesterday would set the standard? In fact, I would never have moved to France at all except for the weather, well, and the wine, and the food, and the scenery and the skiing. No matter, it is booked, and then when we return from Tenerife, there will be just three months to go and I shall be back in my beloved France for an extended period. If only one could get a pint of London Pride down there, I could die happy.

No likelihood of any decent beer in the coming week. A diet day on Monday, an early start for Gatwick on Tuesday and then a week of St Miguel gassy lager and Spanish red wine awaits as we journey to Adeje in the south west corner of this pretty Canary Island, just about the only place in Europe where you have a reasonable chance of getting regular temperatures in the 20’s Celsius at this time of year. It was something to think about as the sun gradually descended to the horizon at Dell Quay.

With the drink drive limit reached, it was time to turn for home and see if we could avoid the regular pitfall of going into the White Hart for a late afternoon cap. As it turns out, we had no appetite at all to avoid it and found ourselves with a large glass of Rioja contemplating what to have for dinner. It was after the second large glass that my recall of events becomes a little less certain. I believe dinner amounted to a lot of Christmas left overs, bits of Indian snacks and other hard to identify items that has been discovered in the freezer, but very satisfying for all that. Then I remember being at home with another open bottle in front of me and then awaking this morning with nothing written for this daily column which sustains you, my dear reader. What fun I think I had!

Chris France
@Valbonne_News