Only in England

My friend Andrew had a barbeque tonight. I hadn't been to his house since he moved there a couple of months ago and I asked for directions.

"It's next door to where I used to live"

I drove up the steet looking for signs of a barbeque and eventually gave in and rang to ask which number his house was.

"145A"

I could see a 145 and a 147 but no 145A. I even walked round the back of the terrace to see if there was a secret house tucked away somewhere, but no joy.

"I'll come out and see if I can find you", said Andrew. "Where are you parked?"

"Round the corner from the Princess Royal" (the pub, not Anne)

"You're at the wrong house then - try South Road instead"

Ok - not too far to go then, and we get there eventually with only a minor diversion via a builders yard before we find the right ginnal to go up.

"There aren't that many people coming - nine or ten at most" which turns out to be an underestimate by a factor of five or six. Some of the people there were some old faces who I hadn't seen for far too long, particularly Gary and Jane who I managed to catch up with after a gap of at least six or seven years.

There was food and drink a-plenty, a couple of xboxes networked together for multiplayer Halo, an incredibly cute Persian kitten and a dog with a Burberry collar.

A fine barbeque, but only in England would it be held on a night when the temperature was a smidge over ten degrees and the drizzle was just starting to fall as we left ... :-)