LUke Jam Xmas Special.

Report is a day late owing to the loss of The King of Selsey.

I don't drink much alcohol nowadays mainly because most of the activities I get involved with require a degree of mental or physical dexterity, but today's uke jam is in the bar of the Dolphin pub in Littlehampton so I, sort of, felt obliged to 'pay-the-rent' and bought a pint of a seasonal brew the name of which, over 24 hours later, escapes me though I think it had something to do with snowmen and balls.

"Do you think we'll be able to recognise any of the songs?" said a woman to her companion as they prevented the bar from collapsing.
'Bloody cheek' I caught myself thinking.

A spirited bunch of ukulele enthusiasts launched into a selection of Xmas tunes.
We were joined by tubarist extraordinaire Mr. Stanley Tofield.
It's amazing the difference having a 'bass end' to the music makes and somehow the tuba blends perfectly with the massed flailing of ukuleles.

About two songs in and I really began to enjoy myself, but couldn't help wondering what 'The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down' had to do with Christmas in a decaying south of England seaside town.

And the band played on.

By half-time I'd managed to drink two pints of (what I now recall to be) Frosty Bells and the world looked like this:

After each song a healthy round of applause rang around the pub, but for the life of me I couldn't tell where it was coming from as us uke jammers seemed to be the only people in the place.

Anyway two hours passed like two minutes and just as I was really getting into it the end arrived. 

Then the difficulty began.

Linda had insisted on delivering me to the pub and I had insisted that I would walk along the seashore back home, I think it's about four miles in total.

I'd managed to squeeze another pint of Frosty Bells into myself and the consequences were beginning to make themselves felt.

The first section of the walk home is an easy stroll through the town, cross the river Arun via the footbridge then...

Here's where I made a poor decision.

I decided to walk along a path by the golf course instead of heading for the beach because I thought it would be a short-cut.

It would have been a short-cut had it not been a quagmire between two rows of hawthorn bushes:

I got covered in mud and my Christmas jumper got snagged on the thorns.

On a more positive note I was pleased with the way I executed several astonishingly balletic moves to avoid falling over.

I should have paid heed to the warning signs:

But, if I hadn't have taken the path less travelled I wouldn't have seen this: