The key bleeper and Katie Melua

For Christmas, one of my Sprogs bought me something that I had owned in my youth and wanted to own again. It is a little gadget that you hang in your key ring and, when you cannot find your keys, it bleeps when you whistle at the correct frequency. I was pleased to get it and spent about an hour on Christmas morning trying whistling at every imaginable part of the audio spectrum, but achieving just one moment of audio bleeping heaven.

Since then, it has remained stubbornly silent despite continued attempts to awaken it from its slumber. This all changed last evening when That Nice Lady consigned herself to the kitchen to prepare my evening gruel (it was another 5:2 diet day) and put on a Katie Melua album. The damn thing suddenly began trilling like a budgie and just would not shut up, and eventually had to be placed in a different room. Now I know what to do should I ever have mislaid my keys. It will be tough but I will have to listen to Katie instead of trying to whistle at the correct pitch.

So the first north versus south banter column for Onboard Online has been published. Click on the link to read it. This is the first in a series in which I explore the comparative upsides of living in the south of England as opposed to the down sides of existing in the far reaches of the tundra strewn, peat infested north. This all pre supposes that one is unable to live in the south of France, the clearly preferred option, although it seems that even the Côte d’Azur has had a very wet winter so far. It will be answered back by pigeon fancying, northern tripe eating Card Bordeaux fab Peachy Butterfield within the next week or so.

Terribly Tall Timothy Taylor comes over all Essex. I do like the pork pie hat though.

My picture today is of White Hart bar manager Terribly Tall Timothy Taylor. I told him that I would not use this picture but I forgot. He did mention to me that he would not read this column, sharing the opinion of the Wingco that it was “ghastly” and so if you don’t tell him I won’t. Anyone unwise enough publicly to announce that he will not read it leaves himself open to the same treatment. It was he himself that told me he had that conversation with The Wingco last weekend. I always like to hear that reaction because it allows me to write terrible things about them, and I know they are torn between ignoring it all and taking a sneak look at what I have said. They are both dear friends and I would like to upset them.

Today, after the euphoria if spending the morning working on the benefits of having an account with Currencies Direct, we shall head of for Findon this afternoon for the second funeral of a dear friend in their early 50’s this year. The lovely Ann King’s last wishes were for everyone attending the ceremony not to wear black, but something pink instead, in deference to her fight against breast cancer. These occasions are never happy, but I know I want people to have a good party and not be morose when I pass on. That Nice Lady Decorator has told me that she will dance on my grave, which is why I have requested that I be buried at sea. Later it is the opening party of JAK, the new oriental restaurant at the White Hart, so I have sneaking suspicion I know where we will end up later.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News