Quartermains Terms
The news that The launch of The Valbonne Monologues will be delayed due to a pixie camera problem (they are supposed to be magic, can’t they fix it?) has brought wailing and gnashing of teeth, well, from me anyway, but one good suggestion from regular follower Graham Coulson. He suggests the delay be put to good use in planning the marketing campaign for its eventual release (from well deserved captivity?). He suggests the placing of an advert for the book in National newspapers along the lines of “millionaire seeks wife similar to the heroine in The Valbonne Monologues”. He guaranteed that sales will increase dramatically.
This has raised the whole notion of marketing for the book. So far, I have in mind a launch lunch attended by old pal and famous thespian Frazer Hines, who played Joe Sugden in Emmerdale Farm and Jamie in early Dr Who, and to be sponsored by Currencies Direct, French Mortgage Xpress and The English book Centre in Valbonne.
The idea of using subterfuge to excite sales had not occurred to me, although here is true to say that I have always been a fan of Pinocchio. What worries me with Graham’s suggestion is that the heroine would presumably be that Nice Lady Decorator, whereas it is clear to me that the only person exhibiting heroism in the book is my good self, and that is mainly due to my daring to put my own name to it, unlike a certain stylish south of France friend and fellow author. I do hope that other, more useful, suggestions may be received in due course.
Yesterday then, to London to roast the hides of those PPL people. Once toasted to my satisfaction, and with a great deal of scurrying about promised, and more importantly a gratifyingly large cheque promised at some indeterminate time in the future, I sought out older pal and idiosyncratic self marketing expert Mr John Otway to help guide him in the next phase of his enigmatic career. We met in a pub in Southfields near his home in Wimbledon and discussed matters of great import over an alarming number of pints of beer, the content of which I do not recall as I write this report on my way back to Arundel on the train. I am sure all will become clear when I receive an email from Mr Otway outlining the things to which I have purportedly agreed to undertake. I can remember that it involves a guerrilla assault on, and screening of, his film Otway The Movie at this years Cannes Film Festival, plus a performance or two with his Big Band at venues to be decided. What is truly concerning is to what extent I have committed my services to such a campaign.
Today I have been told we have decided to do a circular 4 mike walk, Starting and finishing at the George and Dragon at Houghton. I expressed some surprise at our decision to which we came without my apparent involvement in the decision-making process. I was told when she wanted my opinion she would give it to me, which I have to admit is consistent. Thus I am now looking forward to it ( it says here). It must be a sign, like the one I thought I could see in this starfish.
It’s a sign
Then next week I must begin packing for our jaunt to Tenerife, which will involve funding such unfamiliar garments such as shorts and short-sleeved shirts. Before that though we (that is as the royal we) have decided that we will go to Brighton on Tuesday evening to see Rowan Atkinson in a play called Quartermains Terms, but on her terms.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Good news of Cocker spaniel thefts
I was watching the local BBC News when there was a piece about dog napping. It seems that there is an organised gang stealing gun dogs, particular cocker spaniels, from their unsuspecting owners. If you are a regular reader, you will know that the Nice Lady Decorator is the unfortunate owner of an even more unfortunate cocker spaniel called Banjo.
The bit that caught my interest was a warning to pet owners to vary their routines as some are being watched so that the thieves can see where you live. My suggestion that we set a rigid and regular agenda to ensure the best chance of his theft, which should be enough to deter the thieves from thieving ever again, was met with a withering look. In case the thieves are readers of this column here is a picture of your new target.
Dog nappers delight
Today I must venture up to London for a series of meetings with the great and good of rock and roll. Nowadays my function in the music industry, which has sustained me for most if the last 40 years, is more sporadic than those heady days when I lived and breathed it, and the chasing of hit singles, but I like to keep my hand in, not least because I have become one of the music industry establishment that I so despised when I started out. I shall be putting that erstwhile establishment, the PPL, The Public Performance Licence people, to the sword for hanging on to royalties they owe me due to their continuing to operate an antiquated IT system.
Thereafter I shall be caught once again in a web if my own making. Old pal and soon to be Currencies Direct client, John Otway has a plan that involves Otway the Movie and the Cannes Film Festival. As I have connections in the south of France, I saw the trapdoor of involvement in this scheme early enough to a avoid it, but as always, I am drawn like a moth to the flame of the next Otway brainstorm. I have said that I am no longer on the spot in Valbonne, at least not until well after May when the Film Festival is staged, but he and I both know I am on the spot, right on the spot as I have been so often in the past. Anyway, we are meeting for a beer to discuss tactics.
The weather has remained resolutely grey but I am now pleased by that. Having booked a break in Tenerife whilst in the slough of desperation with the greyness of the weather, I need it to remain unpleasantly damp and grey in order to justify the expense. We leave next Thursday but I admit to being concerned about the 0.02% chance of rain on the 5th day of 7.
I had reason last evening to talk on the phone to my guardian in France, one Peachy Butterfield. He tells me that he was on the Naked Politicians lovely boat, the D5 on New Years Day and went for a swim in the Mediterranean. I mentioned to him that I considered doing just the same here but the prospect of dying a horrible death of hypothermia had put me off. That and I don’t swim.
Now to the new book the Valbonne Monologues which I had hoped to lunch later this month. Regular readers will know that technology and I do not always see eye to eye. It seems that the decision to include pictures in this book has run into problems. I am not quite certain about the extent of the problem or why the number of pixies is important, but that is what it sounded like. Thus the launch will now take place sometime in March, once the pixie problem has been solved with an exorcism or something.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Swanning around Arundel
Swanning around on the way to the Black Rabbit
Giant Haystacks at the Black Rabbit?
The first day of 2013 is over, and boy, am I relieved. So far, that Nice Lady Decorator has not passed comment on yesterday’s photo of her standing in a dog basket, which can only mean one thing, she has not yet seen it nor read the column.
In utterly alien conditions, to which we did not know how to react, we walked on the beach of Clymping squinting in the unusual light, discussing, ironically in bright uninterrupted sunshine, the news that we had just endured the wettest year in England since records began. How we could reach such a position from 3 months of drought during January, February and March and a hose pipe ban from April 6th, is one to be dealt with by a higher authority than I.
We had agreed to convene with Barry and Anne King and our house guests the Savins, that we would go for a walk on the beach and thereafter reconvene for lunch at The Black Rabbit, from where I took this moody shot at dusk as we left.
The walk went well for some although in Mr Savin’s case, the word “amble” may have been slightly more descriptive. I am not saying he is slow, just that his rate of progress would have made some of that Nice Lady Decorators tortoises look swift. After an hours walk covering some 200 yards of beach (if you count there and back) we headed for the Black Rabbit to slake our thirst. It was impossibly daring, but we elected to sit outside for the first drink, which in my case was a large bloody mary, to ward off a slight shabbiness lingering from the New Years Eve celebrations the night before. I had not thought to pack sun cream, and although the temperature was hovering around 5 degrees, you can never be too careful with sun stroke after not experiencing any for so long.
Tom, the landlord of the Rabbit, responded to my earlier complaints in this column about the lack of a decent French red wine on the menu by supplying a very respectable 2009 St Emilion, which was not on his wine list, and which was sufficiently well received by our group to order two more bottles, one of which was on the House, a splendid gesture which seems to vindicate gentle complaint. Credit where credit is due, and being in receipt of that credit in the form of free wine was very creditworthy..
Now to the sartorial side. Step forward Mr King. Now in certain circumstances I would consider wearing a black nylon top with high visibility epilets, but only if I am paid substantially and am not accompanied by two large dribbly Spinoza’s who are shedding hair at an alarming rate. The overall effect was for him to resemble a haystack with luminous protrusions, but with added wet patches.
Lovely dogs that they are, the continual stream of dribble emanating from their straggly beards is not a pretty sight to anyone but owners of this bearded breed. Regular readers will know that I have previously promised not to be rude to Mr Haystack as he has the forms ready to open his new Currencies Direct account, but has yet to complete his application. I did not wish to be as unsubtle as this in guiding him to a successful conclusion, but sometimes gentle persuasion is the only thing people understand. If that does not work then the gloves will be off. I am confident that the completed application will be with me this week, otherwise who knows what stick Giant Haystacks will get in this column
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
In the dog basket
I have photographic evidence at last. It was not me in the dogs basket, as my picture today shows, but that Nice Lady Decorator whilst preparing breakfast on New Years Eve. Oh no, it was much later on before it was my turn.
It came about like this; I stupidly asked why, after clipping the dogs, she decided that they needed doggie coats. We were at a pets emporium buying more food for them, when she suddenly announced that they needed winter coats. Earlier in the week she had employed the electric dog clippers to give then both a haircut. I had questioned the wisdom of shaving off all their hair in the winter months and then having to spend money on coats to keep them warm. My question was contemptuously dismissed with the some sweeping statement about my not understanding dogs, which is true in part, as I will never understand the allure of her hound, the utterly unloveable Banjo. He had greeted our return from a shopping trip by dashing from the lounge, from which he is banned, where he had taken the opportunity to spread wet paw marks all over the light coloured lounge carpets. I am writing this from the safe haven of my kennel office where, despite being at the end of the yard, I can still hear the furious scrubbing and hoovering that is going on before our guests were due to arrive yesterday afternoon. I will personally supervise the required one way visit to the vets at the drop of a hat. My hat is in my hand and about to drop to the floor…
Decorator goes to the dogs
The Savins duly arrived and demanded strong drink, as their reputation bears witness, and who am I as a host if I did not join them? I would not have felt comfortable with a soft drink in those circumstances, so the celebrations began a little earlier than expected.
The inevitable rain continued until the point where we were due to leave for a sharpener next door to the White Hart. I was hoping to see a new Currencies Direct customer but no luck, so we set off for The Bay Tree for a New Years Eve dinner. The meal and service were exemplary. My venison steak medallions were a triumph and the chap’s warm pigeon salad starters were also fantastic. Sadly, my king prawns in coconut, which sounded fab, were very disappointing, no different to battered prawns, but the venison overcame my doubts. It was a very good meal,
Once the New Year had been seen in, we dropped onto the Red Lion on the way home and very quickly dropped out again. The atmosphere which was so good when I visited late one evening over the Christmas period with Sprog 1 had been replaced by a hideous post drunken slum, so we quickly departed for home, where that Nice Lady Decorator insisted on playing music far too loud for far too long, before I retired to bed with the house still shuddering to the Spencer Davis Group. Keep on running indeed.
As I complete this first daily report of the new year, I caught a glance outside and something strange is happening. The sky has turned a very odd colour which I dimly remember as blue, and there is no precipitation, By that, I mean that it is not raining, yet. A new years walk is planned, down at the beach, followed in very civilised manner by lunch at The Black Rabbit, nestling on the River Arun. If it turns out to be in the sunshine, then I may life to regret my impulsive purchase yesterday, in the miserable rain, of a holiday next week to Tenerife…
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Brad Wiggins impersonation
“The old ones are the best”, I said innocently as I asked that Nice Lady Decorator what she would like to drink last evening. It was just as the words had finished tumbling out of my mouth that I realised that in certain circumstances and with certain people, that statement could be misinterpreted. It was. She is, of course, still only 37, which by my calculations makes me a child snatcher.
It is an old joke, hence the expression, where I suggest white wine as her tipple because, as I have explained on more than one occasion, good red wine is wasted on girls. The better the wine, the bigger the waste. To be fair, that is not exactly how she sees it and with the liberal application of band aids and savlon, nobody will be able to tell what befell me last night, after this unwise statement of the obvious.
I had decided to open a rather nice 2005 at Emilion Grand Cru and was understandably anxious that it should be fully savoured and enjoyed, not just glugged and then to be the subject of a comment such as “haven’t we got an Australian wine we could open?” Luckily I received a lesson which should ensure that I understand the error of my ways.
We were celebrating (well, I was) the departure of both Sprog locusts, back to various New Year celebrations and colleges for the foreseeable future. I am glad I don’t have long distance foresight. They will reconvene in February when we shall, as a family, depart to Meribel for a weeks skiing at half term. I shall be saving hard before such an inevitably cost unconscious occasion.
Once the locust infestation had been eradicated, after several false alarms when Sprog 1 reappeared to collect what he had forgotten, and once we were absolutely certain that they were gone, we popped out for a pint at the George and Dragon (although the dragon was not in evidence) at Houghton for a pint before returning for dinner, comprising a stir fry of whatever was left – and frankly that was not much.
Clymping beach
Cycling at Clymping (pictured above) in the morning was a valiant, but ultimately failed, attempt to enjoy a seaside cycle, but was overcome by the damage inflicted by the recent bad weather and high tides on the sea defences, so I fear it will be off the list for my very personal Tour de France for the time being. With much of the work on reconstructing the foreshore, that has been taking place on the shoreline between Clymping and Middleton, now in tatters I fear I may have to find somewhere else to do my Brad Wiggins Impersonation. So far I have the sideboards and have taken to wearing my new bright yellow cycle clips, a small nod towards the gaudy unpleasant high visibility clothing these chaps all seem to wear, that I am certain Brad would favour if he saw them, but I guess he will never know.
As I suggested yesterday, a quiet evening was the order of the day so as to ensure that we are properly prepared for our house guests. The Savins, who arrive today . This evening we are to venture into the Bay Tree in Arundel, which looks nice but at which we are asking a bit if a risk, as we have not been there before. It does look pretty, just the sort of place that night be frequented by people sufficiently discerning as to understand immediately the benefit to them of opening an account with Currencies Direct for all their foreign exchange transactions, so I have high hopes. Then it will be 2013 and off we go again, another year older and another year poorer.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
New Years resolutions again
We were welcomed into our luncheon venue with the familiar refrain ” Oh shit, it’s burnt” so nothing changes. Ann, our host and the lady in charge of my old mate Barry, to whom I will be utterly charming and very gentle, at least until after he has signed up for Currencies Direct as he promised , was on top culinary form, managing to reduce the cranberry flavoured appetizers from Yorkshire pudding size to something resembling a burnt polo mint, but probably even more tasty nonetheless.
It was a wonderful lunch of pate and salad, followed by an excellent home-made fish pie, and all the better for being the first invitation received in the 6 months we have resided in Arundel. There would be no complaints coming from us. Personally I believe that charcoal can be a great taste enhancer, not fully appreciated by the culinary chattering classes. The taxi brought us back to Arundel a little before 10pm, and after that Nice Lady Decorator had rediscovered her composure after falling out if it, we popped in to the White Hart to witness a very rare occasion, Sprog 2 working. She had another shift as a barmaid in the pub. The only down side to this is that when one orders a drink, the cost of her drink is immediately added to the bill.
Lunch was not Pulborough as I had suggested yesterday but nearby Storrington, but the niceties of the distinction between the two were obscured by another day of appalling weather. When it is dark, cloudy, misty and damp one could be anywhere in England. One more day of this and the Canary Islands will be calling to me next week. I have a meeting in London on 4th January, but from the 5th onwards, I am free to make the best of the possibilities.
I have a picture today of one of the many fields around Arundel that have been entertaining the local duck and seagull population.
Today being Sunday, I doubt anything firm is arranged, merely because there is but one day of quiet living available prior to the arrival of The Savins for New Years Eve, and even that Nice Lady Decorator must surely need to recharge her formidable batteries before that onslaught.
Talking of the New Year, it is the time to consider New Years resolutions. I have one; I will resolve not to make any. There, I have failed already. One area where I could perhaps consider is to promise myself that I will not become involved in any scheme hatched by old pal John Otway, as it has nearly always cost me money in the past, but that is a forlorn hope as he has decided to enter Otway The Movie into the Cannes Film Festival next May, and I suspect he knows I have a house in the area (having stayed in it more than once). I am certain that this is the reason I have several missed calls from him over the Christmas period. I also have reason to believe that he is planning to bring several hundred of his fans to Cannes to support the promotion of his film, and that he has me in mind to sort out some of the logistics. I wonder if I should suggest payment for my services this time? That would be a departure. Anyway, if anyone down there in the Valbonne/Cannes area has any ideas about where to house several hundred Otway fans for a weekend in May and a venue where the John Otway Big Band can play, please get in touch.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
New Years resolutions
We were welcomed into our luncheon venue with the familiar refrain ” Oh shit, it’s burnt” so nothing changes. Ann, our host and the lady in charge of my old mate Barry, to whom I will be utterly charming and very gentle, at least until after he has signed up for Currencies Direct as he promised , was on top culinary form, managing to reduce the cranberry flavoured appetizers from Yorkshire pudding size to something resembling a burnt polo mint, but probably even more tasty nonetheless.
It was a wonderful lunch of pate and salad, followed by an excellent home-made fish pie, and all the better for being the first invitation received in the 6 months we have resided in Arundel. There would be no complaints coming from us. Personally I believe that charcoal can be a great taste enhancer, not fully appreciated by the culinary chattering classes. The taxi brought us back to Arundel a little before 10pm, and after that Nice Lady Decorator had rediscovered her composure after falling out if it, we popped in to the White Hart to witness a very rare occasion, Sprog 2 working. She had another shift as a barmaid in the pub. The only down side to this is that when one
orders a drink, the cost of her drink is immediately added to the bill.
Lunch was not Pulborough as I had suggested yesterday but nearby Storrington, but the niceties of the distinction between the two were obscured by another day of appalling weather. When it is dark, cloudy, misty and damp one could be anywhere in England. One more day of this and the Canary Islands will be calling to me next week. I have a meeting in London on 4th January, but from the 5th onwards, I am free to make the best of the possibilities.
I have a picture today of one of the many fields around Arundel that have been entertaining the local duck and seagull population.
The parched fields around Arundel
Today being Sunday, I doubt anything firm is arranged, merely because there is but one day of quiet living available prior to the arrival of The Savins for New Years Eve, and even that Nice Lady Decorator must surely need to recharge her formidable batteries before that onslaught.
Talking of the New Year, it is the time to consider New Years resolutions. I have one; I will resolve not to make any. There, I have failed already. One area where I could perhaps consider is to promise myself that I will not become involved in any scheme hatched by old pal John Otway, as it has nearly always cost me money in the past, but that is a forlorn hope as he has decided to enter Otway The Movie into the Cannes Film Festival next May, and I suspect he knows I have a house in the area (having stayed in it more than once). I am certain that this is the reason I have several missed calls from him over the Christmas period. I also have reason to believe that he is planning to bring several hundred of his fans to Cannes to support the promotion of his film, and that he has me in mind to sort out some of the logistics. I wonder if I should suggest payment for my services this time? That would be a departure. Anyway, if anyone down there in the Valbonne/Cannes area has any ideas about where to house several hundred Otway fans for a weekend in May and a venue where the John Otway Big Band can play, please get in touch.
Chris France
Worthing, the blue rinse capital
322,511. Not sales you understand, just the sales rank at Amazon for my first book “Summer In The Côte d’Azur”. This seems to me to be a triumph but then I have been drunk a lot over Xmas.
With yet another monotonous grey day in prospect, I cracked and began looking at winter sun breaks. All the reasons why we had fled England and sought solace in the south of France manifested themselves again in a dank and dismal morning with sideways drizzle. God, there are times when I hate England, and these feelings were exacerbated after a trip to Worthing, the blue rinse capital of the Cote de retirement in southern England. I still cannot believe I had to go there but I am certain it was not to see a retirement home, absolutely certain, I think.
On the way back we unwisely ventured into a pub called the Coach and Horses, on the way out of Worthing (yes I escaped, no Currencies Direct customers to be seen) for lunch where we were seriously underwhelmed by a poorly cooked lamb shank, one of the easiest things to cook, a horrid mess of fried stuff masquerading as the bar platter for that Nice Lady Decorator and a half decent club sandwich for Sprog 2 who had accompanied us, and as a student, was prepared to eat anything that was free. The poorly lit, scruffily decorated pub, boasted the worst Christmas decorations I have ever seen. The fake Xmas tree, gaudy red and gold tinsel everywhere, horrid candelabra with some bulbs fused, magnified the Xmas feeling in a spectacularly negative fashion.
That it took an hour and twenty minutes for this distinct lack of feast to arrive was attributed to the fact that the pub had a big influx and food order just before we arrived, and it is true that there was a party of 6 who also waited an hour for food. With that Nice Lady Decorator beginning to digest her own intestines, a major incident was avoided by just a few minutes. I doubt we shall venture there again.
On the way back I tried to take a picture of the fields around Arundel but only succeeded in taking a photo of the water in the fields, so here is one of the cathedral in Arundel taken when the sun was last out, in September.
Cathedral and pub, what could be more English
Last night we settled in front of the fire to watch the first series of Not Going Out, which surprisingly Sprog 1 enjoyed. Parents of teenagers will know that normally, as soon as one of the ‘rents (that is teenage speak for parents) reaches for the remote control ,it is a sign that they should return to their rooms, plug in their laptops, phones and headphones and be unsociable until the point where the ‘rents doze off or lose interest, I dozed off and awoke to see something called “Made In Chelsea” on the screen which has mysteriously replaced my selection after I had been momentarily overwhemled by the sleep wizard. Sprog 1 had been over ruled in his desire to keep watching by Sprog 2 for no other reason than she is a woman with all the hysterical emotional baggage that implies and he is a laid back easy going chap. That should excite some comment.
Today we are invited to lunch, hurrah! It does not happen in Arundel in quite the same way as in Valbonne where a luncheon invitation is almost unavoidable. Apart from a few pub lunches, this is the first lunch to which we have been invited since the enforced move to the UK earlier this year. Old pal Barry King and gorgeous wife Ann have invited us to their house in Pulborough, so a breakthrough, as long as they do not turn out to be vegetarians. That would be too much to bear when one needs copious amounts if good old wholesome fattening English food to ward off the horrible weather, and to stop me hitting the “book now” button in line for the sneaky break to the Canary Islands, which I nearly did yesterday morning, and may still do.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Insert into post?
Captain Condom Bar in Bangkok. What can I get you?
Busker with a mouthful
With poor weather coming, although one would be hard pressed to know the difference between bad and poor, we decided to take an early walk on the beach at East Preston towards Worthing with a pint at the Sea View, the pub without a sea view unless you are a giraffe, as a reward for honest endeavour.
With that pub booked solid with blue rinses waiting for their roast turkey dinners, we decided to have a look at a couple of other pubs we had not previously visited. The Arun View in Littlehampton has, as its name suggests, a view of the river Arun. It has the view, yes, but what it lacks is any style or class, which seems to be a the same as most, if not all of the pubs in L.A. otherwise known as Littlehampton. Swirly carpets are my pet hate so we left.
The tour to find new clients for Currencies Direct continued: The Cricketers at Duncton was pleasant, the George Inn at Eartham was closed, the Lamb at Angmering busy and interesting, but we ended up at the Black Rabbit, where dogs are welcomed into the bar. Not all dogs, obviously, only well-behaved ones. Regular readers will know that we are the proud owners of a lovely old well-behaved but deaf springer spaniel, Max, who is charming and obedient and a delight to be with. They may also know that the Nice Lady Decorator has introduced a thieving, unreliable, rubbish-bin-raiding horror of a dog into out household, and spends much of her time defending his indefensible behaviour. Such was the case yesterday when, despite being on his lead, Banjo (for it is he) the obese and catastrophic cocker spaniel managed to jumps up at a waitress as we walked in, and almost stole a sausage from the plate she was carrying to a table nearby. Had a child attempted such a crime then that Nice Lady Decorator would have quite correctly come down upon that child like a ton of bricks. Because she describes him as the “needy” dog, no visible admonishment was forthcoming, nor was there when he emptied the bin in the kitchen on several times over the Christmas, twice in a very short space of time. Of course I am not allowed to make any comment or make any recommendations as to how this appalling behaviour could be rectified. Apparently you cannot teach an old dog new tricks, however I would contend that I would like to try although some dogs will never learn. A waste of a bullet.
There was however, a moment of karma, a Moment of wonderful justice. As we were sitting enjoying a pint, a waitress attempted to access a nearby fridge managed to spill some trays of mustard over her shoes and on the floor near to us. In a flash the demon dog was on it, licking furiously at what he thought was some tasty snack. The mustard did the trick and hopefully he has learned a lesson, but I doubt it. Talking of learning a lesson, I learned one in Australia recently where a busker managed to make the same row offered by a didgeridoo, but with a Hoover, as my picture today suggests.
A busker with a difference caught in Adelaide
Before leaving we struck up a conversation with a visiting American who was taking a short holiday from teaching in Libya. He seemed a good, well-educated sort, but once he suggested that Margaret Thatcher had based here entire market forces strategy on an experiment in General Pinochet’s Chile, I decided that it was time to retire.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Christmas crashes in
The subterfuge worked. The packages that I had suggested might have been worm farms, and which had the Sprogs at least partly convinced contained something that might be alive, were in fact a pair of iPhone 5’s. A lot of disguise had to go into the wrapping otherwise Sprog 2’s noseyness could have spoiled the surprise. To be brutally honest, the main reason for getting them iPhones is that they can teach us both how they work.
With the present opening over and the champagne breakfast behind us, we popped next door to the White Hart for a festive pre-Christmas lunch pint of Harvey’s. My Christmas present to my followers is live. For the rest of today through until around 10am tomorrow morning you can download my first book “Summer In The Côte d’Azur” onto your new kindle for free! I know my friends will be downloading it and offering up 5 star reviews as I write. I will be finding out soon enough if I have any friends. I shall convince myself, if there is no uptake, that none of my friends own kindle’s.
Obviously even Currencies Direct have to have a day off, despite the value and importance of their services, unlike my good self who has once again produced this column, the 1010th in succession. I feel it is my public duty now.
Waking up yesterday moring at 9am and discovering that it was not dark, and with a high tide forecast accompanied by a gale force wind, the temptation was to head for the coast and see what carnage was being wrought. It was a temptation that was not to be denied as my picture today captures. It was the only 10 minute break in the weather all day. You will not be surprised to hear that it rained again for most of yesterday and more rain is forecast today.
High tide on the south coast
There are certain traditions which are unavoidable at Christmas. The evening before we introduced the Sprogs to the talent that is Morecambe and Wise, not altogether successfully as it turns out, but we had more success with Mrs Browns Boys. Last night was expecteded to be a real test as we had planned to watch The Royle Family Xmas special, but that will have to wait due to my over enthusiastic consumption of most of a bottle of 1994 vintage port, a very welcome gift from the Sprogs with my money. I do not have high hopes that they will enjoy this as much as I. The last time I watched it with them, they asked if that was what life was like when I was a kid, and I admit that I squirmed a little uncomfortably in my seat before issuing a firm but unconvincing denial.
The Downton Abbey Christmas special was enough to complete my Christmas Day and I retired to bed at a little after 11, stuffed full of various diet-avoiding foods as befits this time of year. I suspect that even as I doze, a foodless campaign is being planned for me. Purgatory now awaits but until then I have a few more days in which to continue to enjoy the rest of that 1994 vintage port, and the Montechristo no 2 cigars, which were a gift to myself from err…myself.
Today, Boxing Day, was originally forecast to be nicer than the last few days, and there was half a plan to organise a walk on the beach, but nothing seems settled on that as I write, I guess it should be galoshes to the fore just in case. If I feel a little moist today, you will know the reason.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Christmas decorations cause friction
Still cut off from Chichester due to the continuing closure if the A27 due to flooding, the last knockings of Xmas shopping were undertaken at Littlehampton or L A as the locals call it. The bike shop has not repaired my bike, and the other bike shop, which I wanted to visit to collect a vital gift, was closed because they were making a delivery. Who closes their shop at the busiest time of the year in order to make a delivery? The retail brains behind that decision need to be retained for the benefit of medical science. The stupid gene must be close to being isolated.
Isolated is quite a good description for Littlehampton. There has clearly been no new blood in the town for several decades, with the result that the average age of its inhabitants is somewhere over 100, and any signs of progress are snuffed out by the anally retentive commissariat that runs things in the town. The only new fangled technology that has found its way into this pensioners delight are those electric chairs so beloved by those old gits which are everywhere. Walking around the town (which sets you apart as most residents are immobile) you are forever on the look out for mad drivers of those disabled scooters. If there should be an Olympic discipline for those then L. A. would be world beaters, such is the ability on display as one attempts to access the market on foot.
Escaping intact, we were sufficiently shocked to require a pint of London Pride at the Six Bells at Lyminster, before returning to unload the car and head up to the Kings Arms in Arundel for a festive Christmas Eve pint. From there back for a short siesta before attacking the White Hart, however before departing for the long walk next door I was reminded that I had the responsibility for Christmas lunch resided with me.
The Sprogs were once again offered the chance to decide what the family should have for Christmas lunch. Crispy aromatic duck would perhaps not be an obvious choice but it was the choice of those in charge. The problem was that you can never prepare one in quite the same way as a Chinese restaurant so someone was volunteered to go out and collect said items ready for lunch today.
As you may be aware, I am not a fan of coloured lights at Christmas, so I was gratified to receive this picture from the Wingco, who is currently holidaying in Australia. My feelings entirely.
I think the house on the right has it right
Thus the big day has dawned and as you read this the Sprogs will probably still be sound asleep, dreaming of the worm farms they both think will be their main gift. Disguise has been important and it was a master stroke by me to ask them to ensure that the heavily disguised presents were kept upright. So successful has been this subterfuge that I have even had a tense moment with Sprog 2 who told me that should the gift be anything that is alive, we would be falling out big time. All will be revealed this morning.
In deference to the start of the festive season, I shall be refraining from going on about the benefits of opening an account with Currencies Direct and instead be focussing on the true message of Christmas, if only someone would tell me what that is.
Now you chaps who have received a kindle for Christmas, don’t forget that as a special Xmas present, you can download my first book “Summer In The Cote d’Azur for free Christmas day and Boxing Day. Please be kind at Xmas to review it and give me 5 stars? I will be a good boy, I promise.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Clymping down on sunshine
Lunch at the Black Rabbit with that Nice Lady Decorators brother and his wife began badly with a telephone call to say that there house was flooding. Not because of the rain but due to a British Gas plumber failing to secure a pipe, so they had to go back to Oxfordshire, leaving us with her errant cousins Patrick and Peter. Given our own issues with plumbers this week, one could argue that they are the personification of the anti-Christ.
Another very unchristian act befell us soon after when I discovered that their already pathetic wine list was minus the only decent Bordeaux on the menu. It should be clear to the moron in charge of the list that the only decent wine would need to be stocked in decent quantities as it is the only one in the menu that by self-respecting wine lover could order, but no, they are phasing out the Lussac St Emilion thus we were forced to have more beer in order to deaden the taste buds whist awaiting a very ordinary Malbec.
Noisiest of the Decorators cousins is Peter, who has on occasions been employed as a lifeguard on Bondi Beach in Sydney. He has a cheeky chappie chipmunk face which seems to find favour with the females of the species, but despite this I have always liked him. I am about to like him even more as he revealed in a moment off loose talk that he has a bank account in Australia and will be returning there shortly. It was as this moment my Currencies Direct antenna were aroused, and if he wants to continue good press in this column then I shall expect his account to be opened by the end of today.
Earlier, we had taken the customary walk on the beach at Clymping in rare and unaccustomed brilliant blue sky weather, or what passes for it in the dank and rain-soaked wilderness that is West Sussex at the moment, and from where I took this picture. This is The most sunshine we have has since the middle of last week. Even the A 27, main south coast road, was closed yesterday due to flooding and Arundel looks like an island as the River Arun has invaded its entire flood plain in an effort to contain the water.
Sparkling blue skies on the south coast, why its almost like Cannes
I have come up with a master plan, I am going to give my followers a treat for Christmas: I am going to give my first book “Summer in The Cote d’Azur” away on kindle, the new fangled book reading machines, on Christmas Day and Boxing Day. It seems that the way to generate sales is to get reviews from people who have the book. I know of many of you out there with kindles who have yet to review my book on-line and I know where you live. Currently there are 5 reviews, so I shall expect to see that figure rise significantly over the Xmas period, otherwise I shall be naming names. Lets start with the lovely Leslie Bufton. You know what you need to do to avoid some of the information about you that I have making it into this column. One codicil: a review of less than 5 stars will have the same effect.
Christmas Eve will bring the inevitable last-minute rush to collect up those final presents, drinks and foodstuffs required for the big bash. The Sprogs suspect, perhaps quite accurately, that they have his and hers worm farms as gifts, as I have told them that they must keep upright the gift wrapped packages under the Xmas tree that have so intrigued them. It would seem to be a very suitable gift, illustrating perhaps the insidious nature of their existence, worming their way into my pocket.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
Come on Santa
Addled, ageing record company executive that I am, I have been known to be dragged kicking and screaming to the altar of modern technology and today is no exception. This daily missive is now available on kindle. You may be forgiven for thinking that it was not I that set this up, as you would be right, it was done for me whilst I was whimpering in a corner with my head in my hands mumbling “I don’t understand”. I do not yet have a kindle but I believe that Father Christmas may be remedying that position, which will be a nice surprise. The same is true of Twitter and Facebook. I have rudimentary skills but require constant assistance. I think it is an age thing. Apparently I am also twittering most days, but in the time-honoured fashion of twits, I have no idea what I am twittering on about.
The water is getting higher and the ark is still not started. I think it is too late. A thoroughly miserable (or as I would tell Sprog 1, character building) walk on the beach at Clymping in driving rain and wind was rewarded with one of the finest brunches I have ever seen, cooked by that Nice Lady Decorator of all people. At least I think it was good, or it may have been that I was so wet, cold and dispirited that any food would have looked and tasted good after such an experience.
What I really don’t want to see today on Facebook is any of my friends in the south of France alluding to sunshine, shorts, or popping up to Greoliere Les Neiges for a day’s sublime skiing. It would be too much to take as I squelch around the damp morass that is England, waiting for the rain to stop and the wind to ease (and with baked beans for breakfast that will not be any time soon).
Searching through the pictures on my phone in the hope of something uplifting to counterbalance the doom and despair caused by the weather, I came (sic) across this picture from a restaurant called Cabbages and Condoms in Bangkok, of some figures created entirely out of condoms. I thought I would slip this in before Christmas.
A festive use for condoms?
Lunch was overtaken by brunch, so I was looking forward to a night out on the final Saturday before Christmas. An early pint at the rather disappointing Woodman’s Arms, which appeared to have been subjected to a personality bypass, did nothing to put me in the Christmas spirit. The sign on the door said that no children under 14 were allowed in the pub, something which I would welcome. So why was the first sight with which I was confronted, a child of very tender years having its nappy changed in spectacularly smelly fashion? The only good rule was that dogs were not allowed into the pub, so to my delight the appalling Banjo (who has emptied the bin all over the kitchen on successive days, without any sign of admonishment) was stuffed back into the car, probably in the basis that he was far more smelly than the kid who had shit its pants, and was being very publicly changed in the public bar, whilst we were trying to enjoy a pint. I guess we were asking for it, venturing into the public bar. Perhaps it should have shed an L.
Being the Sunday before Christmas, I was torn as to whether to mention the benefits of having an account with Currencies Direct, and in the end I decided against it.
Chris France
@Valbonne_News
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