Blog power; evidence mounts

The power of the blog was once again illustrated in the clearest possible manner. Coming out of the Co Op yesterday morning, I happened upon Nearly Hairless Nick. He told me that as a result of the criticism levelled at the menu choices in this column at The George at Burpham, there was a 90 minute meeting this week between the management and the chef as to how to react to this dissection of their offerings. I am cautiously optimistic but shall await developments. I have published some guidance in earlier columns and, if this is taken on board, the George could become a jewel in the crown of the local restaurant scene.

By the time you are reading this, I shall be either at Gatwick in the Caviar House partaking of their excellent scrambled eggs and smoked salmon breakfast, or, if you are a late riser, a gin and tonic aboard the BA flight to Barbados. Either is a perfectly acceptable scenario, but I don’t want you to think this is all pleasure. Oh no, I shall be diligently seeking out possible new clients who would benefit from having an account with Currencies Direct, and there is no better way that mixing with people who are going abroad.

Three wise men in Aylesbury

But back to yesterday. A luncheon appointment with Mr Clipboard and his beautiful wife Ashley (he is batting far above his average there) was taken at the Stag On the Lake in Eashing. There had to be some light relief before the humbling experience of visiting one of my remaining two aunts in hospital. I was not there just for lunch you understand, it was to collect some fine cigars direct from Cuba, courtesy of the anully challenged organised one, just in time to pack then into my new travelling humidor ready to take back to the Caribbean. Obviously I had already laid out my collection of silk cravats, velvet smoking jacket and spats, collected together the various accoutrements a chap requires in order to maintain his moustache (or facial furniture as I recently heard it described) as you can see from my photograph today – taken at the recent Friars exhibition in Aylesbury – and the plethora of drugs required to keep an elderly author alive and kicking, well, kicking anyway.

Returning home, it was time for that most stressful of activities, namely packing. Yet again That Nice Lady Decorator and I discussed, at the usual high volume, at least from her, if ironing clothes before packing them was wise. I am of the opinion that it is a waste of valuable time because inevitably, one has to iron them again when you get to your destination. Obviously I am wrong and they need to be ironed twice, probably in case we suffer a customs inspection, in which case we will no doubt horribly embarrassed by having poorly ironed clothing, which given her insistence, must be something akin to a hanging offence in some countries. With the suitcases eventually zipped up, it was time to let the (working, obviously) holiday commence.

With no prospect of any proper English beer in the next 11 days, I was all for a farewell tasting.  I shall of course miss The White Hart, but I am sure it will be there when I get back. By that time I am certain that the talented cooks at JAK there will have come to terms with their teething problems, their delightful fusion creations that were in evidence on their opening night will come to the fore and all will be rosy in my little world.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News