Underwhelmed by undergarments

The limerick writers who infest the comments section of this column have been enjoying the possibility that I may wear my kilt at a significant birthday celebration on Saturday evening. My excuse, apart from the one I offered yesterday about the interest girls have in the under garment department of traditional Scottish dress (and I do mean dress), is that it is Rabbie Burns Night, so when better?

Yesterday was spent catching up on paperwork relating to my now less than burgeoning music business interests, reduced somewhat after a sale of some rights mostly relating to rap music, dealing with new customers for the excellent foreign exchange services of Currencies Direct and looking at the limericks and their writers who were have a field day with my hotel room mistake revealed in yesterday’s column. What with the kilt and a naked shower in the wrong hotel bathroom, there appears to be a theme running through this daily missive which involves clothing, it’s removal and a suggestion of dampness. I was going to say moist but that is somehow more feminine.

What looks like a commode thoughtfully placed close to the dinner table in Tenerife

Anyway, back to drier topics. A dry day yesterday on the food front, being a designated diet day, was actually quite welcome, but the considerably less appealing prospect of two of the 5:2 diet days back to back was alleviated by Terribly Tall Timothy Taylor, who called to say that the White Hart next door is having a Thai night this evening, and, as we both love Thai food, I am delighted to say that the intended day of fasting has been postponed or can I say the fasting is slowing? , certainly until after the weekend. The restaurant at the pub has not been in use since about October, and this event presages a reopening in February, with an oriental flavour to the intended offering. Hurrah!

It all starts to run out of control on Friday. Man mountain Peachy Butterfield, his gorgeous (far to pretty for him) wife Suzanne, Roly, and the splendid alluring Poly Bufton, and the guardian of Chateau Gloria, Simon Howes and his exquisite wife Sarah are the advance party for the big dinner on Saturday. The problem will be Peachy, and Roly, oh and Simon. They will understandably be excited at the prospect of being there on Saturday evening, but are they likely to sit in their hotel rooms the night before and spend it quietly? I can answer that one. No they won’t, and I am afraid I am looking forward to be dragged into whatever mischief they can concoct. If any of you wish to avoid a loud carouselling group of ex-pats, full of the joys of English beer and on the look out for food and entertainment, you would do well to avoid Arundel this weekend.

Various other miscreants, such as my favourite Norwegian gay chums Morten and Ziggy will arrive eventually, having booked flights from Norway into Stanstead. It is a small geographical mistake which will mean a lot of travelling, but they both have an enormous ability to drink, so I am sure they will catch up when they arrive. And that is the problem. How do I stop the weekend peaking too early? Mr Otway is putting in an appearance and with myself and That Nice Lady Decorator renowned for a lack of restraint, I can see it all going wrong, even before the Wingco and his glorious wife Maryse arrive on Saturday. And then there is the small problem of lunch on Saturday. How am I to avoid strong drink, cigars and good company when I need to be fresh in the evening? The answer is that I probably will not, and that is the issue.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News