One legged jockey goes round in circles?

At first I thought it was gone. Withered and dying on the stony ground. When That Nice Lady Decorator had agreed to my going to Cyprus to play cricket in a couple of weeks time with the Sussex Seniors, I had stupidly failed to interpret that yes as a no. I think she must have thought I was going for the day or something, because later on, when I was talking about what time I was planning to leave on the Thursday and what time I might be back on the Monday, she asked incredulously what I expected to be doing with the other days.

She seemed to have no idea of the intensive practice that would have been required to walk out on to the pitch for the first time in my 7th decade, or how acclimatisation to the local surroundings, the local brews and weather are so vital in terms of preparation. I think she thought I would set off in the morning, play cricket and then be back for tea.

Then she began to think about it and realised that I would defiantly being ensuring that I got under her feet whilst my cricketing friends take on the challenge in Cyprus, and she tries to prepare the house for our departure in the second week in April. It was at this stage, only early this morning, that antipathy turned to persuasion. “You must go, I want you to go” she said.

Sunset at Cornucopia in Barbados. I though the sun had gone down on my cricket trip to Cyprus

Last night, after an interesting discussion with a nurse at Arundel Surgery about blood pressure and the detrimental effect of drinking alcohol had it was decreed that we should go out for an early evening pint at the White Hart to discuss her conclusions. The first subject was the number of units of alcohol that I consumed in an average week. The maximum suggested number is 21 and I was able comfortably to claim a maximum. The lovely young nurse did not consider it amusing when I told her that I certainly managed that number as an absolute minimum half way through the week but that after a few sherberts I tended not to count. I think she was in the counting camp.

We were joined in the pub by the lovely flame haired siren, the ginger marvel herself, Carolyn, who then managed to get herself invited for dinner back at ours. Somehow That Nice Lady Decorator was able to make two fishes and five loaves (another biblical reference, the third in three days – The Reverend Jeff will be getting excited. I tell you what Reverend, get your God to sign up for Currencies Direct and I will become a believer) stretch to feed another.

As she is an expert in vintage clothing, and one of my Christmas presents was a subscription to an excellent magazine called The Chap – which extols the virtues of moustaches, tweeds and all things sartorially and quintessentially English – I wanted some advice on how to expand my wardrobe into this area, and where to find such items for sale. “One Legged Jockey” she said. I failed to see why a horse ridden by a one legged jockey, which was probably going around in circles, could be relevant but she explained that it is a retro clothing shop in Chichester. Thus, before the winter, I shall pay them a visit and see what I can find.

I must leave you now, as I must go see if I can still book those flights to Paphos and find a room.

Chris France
@Valbonne_News