First published in 2007 after Freddie Flintoff had a slight problem with a pedalo and the rare Short Necked Oil Beetle was discovered living in Salcombe.
Isn’t that typical! This country can spend nine billion on the Olympics, yes nine billion, just so the British Chess team can get a bronze but we can’t back Freddie Flintoff in his bid to go round the world on a pedalo with a mini bar. I mean, the man has put a lot of effort into training for this, he’s even given up cricket for it, only to be attacked by the press when he stops to rescue his cocktail shaker from the surf. I didn’t catch the cocktail shaker’s name but I am willing to bet he was a fellow member of the team, representing England at what we do best.
Let’s just take a moment to look back, misty eyed at such other sporting triumphs achieved by England’s finest. Which other country could drink a bottle of aftershave on the roof of a French Taxi! Which other team could be caught in a Spanish hotel room with three prostitutes and fifty cans of lager just before an international match and most importantly, which other world champion could attempt nine crème brulee’s in a row only to cough on the seventh and have to pay for the cricket club’s carpet to be replaced. OK, I wasn’t exactly representing my country but I will achieve nine one day!
Anyway, on a different subject, I was fascinated to read about the discovery of the Short Necked Oil Beetles who have turned up living at Salcombe. Apparently they haven’t been seen since 1948, just like most Nazi war criminals. But they tended to head for Argentina and not down the A379.
What I would like to know is, how the hell these beetles can afford to live in Salcombe? I doubt if the last two remaining Beatles could afford a pad there, well one might, the other is going to have to check with his solicitor first.
I can only assume these beetles have made their money in oil and have now retired to this tranquil watering hole or, like most of the other occupants of that stunning location, live in Chelsea or South Kensington and only turn up on the weekends.
Every Friday these tiny creatures jump into the Range Rover and turn up to talk loudly in the local bars about Jocasta and Tarquin who are just dying to see the holiday cottage now we have a Jacuzzi! Then, with the car windows rolled up tightly just in case the Devon air removes the fug of Hugo Boss and London diesel fumes from their lungs, they’re off back to SW7. But they’ll be back next week with a couple of vegan woodlice from Hampshire, he’s a future’s trader, she’s an interior designer, lovely couple, just bought a jet ski and must try it out in the estuary.
Is this a pretty far fetched theory?
Well, the fact that they are short necked beetles, therefore don’t have chins and almost died out in Sussex from inbreeding, is another clear indication that they are typical Salcombe weekend inhabitants.
Yours, having had too much coffee
Fitz
