Polo is this town’s main entertainment. Too bad it occurs only a few months a year. You get to see Gauchos being brayed at by chinless wonders smashed on Veuve Clicquot (they sponsored the local mallet-&-Horse extravaganza for a few years). I heard Katie Price attended once. She could’ve bustled in to the local tapas place, Faustino’s and felt immediately at home amongst her fellow Sussex beauties.
The locals not invested in equine theatre can try their hand at sports last seen on Granada Television’s ‘Indoor League’ and the tossing of gizzards down a wet bank. Hit a toad and you win a prize; your weight in Simply Red albums.
There are nine billion, seven-hundred million four-hundred and eighty thousand cafes and ‘Turkish Barber shops’ in Midhurst should you wish to get an uneven buzzcut while eating a lemon slice. There’s also the ruins where you can look around and feel like a nobleman who’s just lost everything.
Finally, dance along West Street towards the Grange Centre as if you were in the ‘Midhurst Happy’ video and under duress, singing along to Pharrell Williams with tears streaming from your eyes. It helps if you visit the numerous ale houses in this section of town while attempting this and you may shock locals as you burble and blub your way through the car park saying Hap-py hap-py, hap-py i’m hap-py hap-py…
Just don’t scare the ducks on South Pond. They’re extremely litigious.
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