Beer is medicine; the proof

Yesterday morning, I was feeling dreadful after far too much wine, curry and beer the night before at The Kings Arms in Arundel. I was feeling somewhere between whinging and moaning. Some may have said I was minging. It had been a great evening, enlivened by a number of locals, and I was not alone in over imbibing, in fact I had to pour the beautiful and Mighty Omega into a cab as she was incapable of walking the 300 yards back to her weekend home, the White Hart. Any suggestion that it was I that required motorised transport will be hearing from my lawyers Mssrs. Lye, Shout and Deny.

Thus yesterday morning I was suffering and that theme continued through the day. I tried a long walk across the sodden Sussex countryside from where I took total days photograph, but that did not work. Even some diligent graft in connection with Currencies Direct which is normally enough to lift anyone’s spirits did not improve the situation. Paracetamol was applied but again, without discernible benefit. As a result I was not in my usual ebullient mood when we popped into the White Hart for a quick beer before leaving, and a brief look at the 6 Nations rugby match between England and Scotland. Here I must extol the virtues of beer as a medicine. A pint of Harvey’s and I was back to my normal bouncy self and, as horse racing followers (which include the Reverend Jeff) might say, I was ready for the off.

Looking from the back of the Arundel Castle cricket ground over the flooded Sussex countryside

We were heading up to Storrington for a Thai meal at a restaurant called Thirteen Church Street, which I understand is cunningly named after the number and the street in which it is situated. This did not seem so clear to some.

We were meeting up with Barry “Teddy Bear” King and his son. Barry is now to be known as “Teddy Bear” in this column in deference to his position as the publisher of that most vital of magazines, Teddy Bear Times. His son Alex, will now be known as “Son Of Teddy Bear”. You may consider that this is a bit obvious but let me explain why. We were talking about the (very fine and quite tiny) restaurant in which we were dining and Son Of Teddy Bear, admittedly after the second bottle of wine had disappeared, commented that he thought its name, Thirteen Church Street, might be a reference to the number of covers it had. A quick scan of the interior showed that there was seating for more than 20. He has some financial/accountancy background so clearly cannot count, but he seemed surprised when I pointed out that the restaurant was in Church Street Storrington, at number 13 in fact. So I decided that he needed a very obvious epithet that he could not misinterpret. Anyway, he is far too young to read this column.

It was a very fine meal, after which we adjourned to Teddy Bears house and gave his wine rack a very serious going over. After several more quite agreeable bottles of Rioja and even some Italian, I began to lose the will to live and, as I am want to do and renowned in some circles, went to sleep for an hour or so until the taxi came. It seems that the going to sleep bit is not as remarkable as for my ability to drop off mid sentence. It is not an ability of which I am proud, but it does at least elicit some amusement.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News