Reality floods back

That growing body of limericists who have infected the comments section of this column for several months now, are gathering around a more and more lavatorial tone. Several yesterday were quite tasteless and I enjoyed them hugely. I also think The Reverend Jeff’s reference to the Deathside Nursing Home (you will need to have read yesterday’s column) and serving Doombar, the Cornish bitter, was about as low brow as you could get, and long may it continue.

There was also an excellent pun in this missive yesterday when I made reference to my mid drift rather than my midriff. It was so good that even I did not spot it at first. Typos can sometimes be very rewarding. Many of you will realise that there is always at least one deliberate error in each column, an act that allows me to gauge the general grammatical ability of my readership. That and my lack of ability to do anything but speed read, and two dubious spell check systems.

With yesterday being another pesky 5:2 diet day, as decreed by the Nice Lady Decorator, to start with very little of any interest occurred. I noticed some daffodils getting ready to flower, and that the office (read shed) needs a lick of paint, and there is some green mould growing on the Merc’s fabric hood, but that was the extent of it. The moral of the story is that very little of anything resembling entertainment occurs after a great weekend, and there is no prospect of a little alcohol to unlock those interesting cerebral juices. Or so I thought, until there was a knock at the door and a courier presented me with an interesting shaped package. It had come from a dear friend at Adidas and was a cricket bat made for newly retired Kevin Pieterson, which was surplus to their and his requirements. I owe Ben a very large lunch. What a treat! I can hardly wait until cricket practice next Monday, when Colin The Pirate is threatening to join me.

The meadows of Sussex, still under water

I did some work, including writing a new north versus south banter blog for Onboard Online, a touching little piece comparing ballroom dancing to that northern version called Clog Dancing, which made me laugh when I read or back, but them I am a little biased. You will have to wait for a couple of weeks to read the full text on their website. I also concluded the signing up of a new client, a travel agent, for the services of Currencies Direct, but the evening was spent watching the ever-growing number of TV shows so beloved by The Decorating Operative, and which send me to sleep on the sofa. A Touch Of Silent Frost In Midsommer Murder On The Orient Express, starring Poirot, Whycliffe and Bergerac. I can feel myself nodding off just writing these names.

Although we have nothing formal planned for today, at least there will be no more starvation rations until tomorrow and there is a chance we might sneak out to the pub for early doors, or perhaps even for lunch, or crack open some of the lovely reds that I received for my birthday. Nothing as exciting as this happened yesterday.

I had earlier cycled down to the surgery in Arundel to collect the vital medication that should be keeping me alive but I have been without for a week due to various NHS nonsense, and was struck by the beauty of the flooded meadows by Arundel Castle, which is the subject of my picture today. Note to self: get a mudguard put on your bike before trying to negotiate large puddles or streams of water on the road. It looked like I had suffered a severe case of brown tail by the time I got home.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News