Lowlife No 7 - House In the Country

House In the Country

No matter how hard I try, and regardless of what tactics I employ, I find it almost impossible to avoid a hangover on a Monday morning.  The plain fact of the matter is that the Sabbath is by far and a way the best day in the week for drinking. The next best day of the week to imbibe, Thursday, does not even run Sundays a close second.    Whereas for years the enduringly intellectual broadcaster Melvyn Bragg started the week with his BBC Radio 4 show cunningly entitled Start the Week, my week starts in a drink tainted fashion.  The hangovers are not debilitating, far from it, and are generally no more than a minor irritation and in all earnestness I cannot imagine Monday mornings without them, it simply would not be right and moreover I most probably would not function properly.   

My traditional Sunday routine is to venture up the Flaggon with Fudgkins at about 2030 hours to meet the inimitable Colly Coren and fellow 50 +er Richie Ramone (and Toby in Tents, if he is not indulging in his favourite hobby of spinning plates.)  Incidentally, I have noticed a strange phenomenon with gentlemen who attain the age of 50 in as much as they either switch their mobile phone off or simply cease taking it out with them at all, making contact and communication difficult – I am not sure if this is also true of women in their 50’s, so any correspondence on this matter would be useful.   

I have decided of late to saunter up the Flagon on a Sunday at an earlier hour, usually with Toby in Tents in toe, in order to return back to my Codger Mansion’s dwelling at a decent hour.   The tea time meet also means I will most probably bump into the Pirate, which is fitting on the Sabbath with him being the High Priest of Beer standing at the alter of my principal place of worship, being the Flagon & Horses.   The first part of the plan, namely arriving at the Flagon at 1700 hours, is executed with chilling and exact precision.  The second step in the plan, arriving home by 2100 hours in time for Miss Marple  (or whatever nonsense is currently showing on the BBC at that time), has proved more difficult.   The BBC have of course used the approach on a Sunday night of broadcasting light hearted programmes (the best example being The Last of the Summer Wine) in order to distract the viewers from the awful and nagging thought of having to go back to work in the morning.  Of course the only successful way to take the edge off the impending return to work is to go to a decent public house and have a drink.  Which effectively brings us full circle.

Talking of light hearted BBC broadcasts, I hear as I write that dear old Richard Briers, who got a mention in this column a couple of weeks ago, has sadly passed away. It was probably being associated with this column that killed him off.  His circles have finally decreased to nothing.  In reference to The Good Life many gentleman often pronounced their affection and fondness for Felicity Kendal but to my mind Penelope Keith was always the more attractive of the two, being posh, horsey and dominant.

This Monday morning’s hangover was considerably soothed when on switching on the television at breakfast time a re-run of one of my favourite BBC programmes, Let’s F*ck off to the Country and Buy a Whacking Great House, was being broadcast.  As I am sure you are aware there have been a number of presenters of the show, all toffs, but the one this morning was Jules Hudson, the bloke who looks like my cohort Doctor Powerless, (who now inhabits the Emerald Isle).  In his gentle and friendly tones he asked the potential purchasers of the country mansion such things as, “Is this kitchen big enough for your needs?” or “do you like the look of that karzy?” but all I want him to ask is “where the f*ck did you get the dosh from to buy a place like this?” or “if you are so stinking rich why do you dress so appallingly badly.”  The fella on the show today was wearing a round neck T-Shirt under a sports blazer and not even in a Miami Vice sort of way.  Shocking.

I do not know how Hudson puts up with the whingeing nit picking guests on Let’s F*ck off to the Country and Buy a Whacking Great House, I really don’t.  He must have a few stiff ones before he goes on camera just to get through it.  After great effort and research Hudson presents to the guests three magnificent rural properties that are tailored to suit their every need and requirement and often all the ungrateful guests can think to say are things like, “I am sure that is not going to be big enough for our little Melissa to ride her pony” when they view the resplendent three acre garden.  To this Hudson should of course reply, “go and find your own house then you faultfinding, unappreciative b*stards.”  But he doesn’t because he’s a true pro. 

I am not sure that I would be an ideal guest on the show.  In every gaff Hudson showed me around I would comment, “that’s absolutely cracking Jules, a much better house than Codger Mansions but between me and you I haven’t got a pot to p*ss in.”  And that, as they say, would be that. 

© Dominic Horton, 18^th February, 2013.