The adorable Mrs Smith has broken her wrist during a major health and safety infraction; in many cases babes and mud go together well, this was not one of those cases. At least the doctors at A&E have a sense of humour and have fashioned the plaster in a style that makes Mrs Smith look like Rod Hull & Emu. She now wanders the vast halls of her home, the castle Beckington, whilst barking orders at her slaves, sorry, that should read “as her willing family muck in”.

Liz has this party every year, she puts a lot of effort into it and it’s enjoyed by almost everyone (you can guess who the odd man out is, but more of that in a moment), there’s live music, good food and everyone you haven’t seen for a year. And yes, the odd man out is me. I enjoy talking with people, I don’t enjoy live, or loud, music, just talking & listening. The other problem this year is that at the moment I am going through one of my “geek” phases and to be honest my head is immersed in the wonders of PHP scripting almost every second, I joke not; I lay in bed at night mulling over the latest bit of code I’ve produced and how it can be improved! So, the bottom line is that I’m not scintillating company. I lasted 40 minutes at the party, I was visibly bored with my own conversation and looked like a man who wanted to be else where, which I was. Anyway, by ten I was back in the pallid comforting glow of ageing geek heaven. It was so bad that I missed a chance to talk to the last FMH (Future Mrs Hardy) who I spotted on the way out. She won’t thank me for saying it, though we were completely incompatible (that’s code for I was a shit as usual), she still looks the sexiest woman on Gods earth!

The former and last Future Mrs Hardy disguised for her protection.

The phrase that strikes dread into the strongest heart: “I’ve nearly finished my book…”. This, when heard at a “do”, is the equivalent of meeting “Jaws” in your local swimming pool. You reach into your deepest emotional pocket for the “attentively interested mask” – unfortunately this is so close to the “soul mate” mask that it is often mistaken for such – leading a stultifying half an hour (seeming like a lifetime) of wandering through the vacuous polemic of the deeply concerned. An does anyone ever come to your aid, I don’t think so!