Nearly Hairless Nicks car?

I just missed Nearly Hairless Nick undertaking his daily washing of his new car, but managed to get this picture yesterday morning as I headed off for my daily cycle. As soon as one sees a screwdriver in the hands of the owner one knows it does not look good for the car, which although new to him is so old it should be in a museum. Perhaps that is why it was parked close to a sign for Arundel Museum Staff Only?

There was a museum theme running through the events of yesterday, or perhaps it is more a story of where my life is heading. By lunchtime I was deeply ensconced in my second sporting activity of the day, cricket nets at the Arundel Castle cricket school with the Sussex Seniors. This is followed, almost inevitable when old cricketers gather together, by a debrief in the pub. Shortly I shall be going to Cyprus with some of my new soon-to-be-teammates to play cricket for the first time since 2012, which was only the second time I had donned cricket gear since 2003 when I “retired to play golf”. I felt it was vital, pre tour, to get to know some of the chaps a little better, and what better setting that The White Hart embellished with a couple of pints of Harvey’s Best?

Museum parking for old crocks

During the practice, a photographer arrived to take photos, ostensibly for the new Arundel Museum. He wanted an iconic shot, a smartly dressed vintage cricketer in full flow and it fell to me to be that vintage cricketer. Or rather that is how I interpreted the decision of the photographer to seat himself in the gallery and photograph my renowned Geoffrey Boycott style forward defensive. When in the changing rooms, I mentioned this to the exalted ranks of the counties finest over 60’s cricketers and was met with a few guffaws. I think that is what they were, but at our age you cannot be sure.

Today I must journey to London at what us known colloquially as the “crack of sparrows fart”. Yes, I shall be up and on the train from Arundel well before dawn, at 9.15 in fact, several hours before one can expect daylight I would think. I have important business to attend to in respect of one of my iconic clients from the 1960’s, The Small Faces. The fact that two of the group are no longer alive in no way lessens the import of my mission, which is to discuss the marketing, and take delivery of, a box set of their recordings. It will be a long day as I do not expect to see Arundel again until nearly 3pm, by which time I shall be exhausted and gagging for a pint. But it gets worse. A diet day has been decreed by That Nice Lady Decorator, despite the fact that, in my humble opinion, any further degradation of my whippet like status will put me in danger of disappearing up my own backside. She, however sees something a little more rotund, and so beer for the fat boy today.

Beer will in fact have to wait until Friday, when we are due to got to a The Victoria Institute in Arundel, newly incorporated as a charity, to witness a play by the Drip Action Theatre Group of “The Price of Everything”. I am told that it is gripping drama with twists of dark humour, which petty much sums up how today may go. The dark humour must be in the pub denial scenario, unless it is today’s picture of Nearly Hairless Nick and his new jalopy.

Chris France

@Valbonne_News