On Tuesday we had the neighbours round for a meal. It was in part an effort to extend some hospitality to them over the Christmas period while they are still living in a pokey caravan at the bottom of their own garden, while Andy (the husband) co-ordinates the extension work on the house, which has been the conversion from a bungalow to a full sized house.

The other part of it was driven by my own insistence to The Mother to finally get some people over to entertain. It's not that the desire didn't exist, it's more that we just never have done it and everyone is always too busy to do anything else. But I pushed the point and eventually the whole thing happened of it's own accord.

It was a nice evening and I spent a lot of time discussing things with Andy, being a printer/retoucher by trade, there was much to talk about and I was quite interested to actually meet someone, anyone, face-to-face who actually has some idea what I'm going on about at least some of the time.

Turns out he knows Sister Two's boyfriends father (coincidence number one), and later Sister Two told me that Paul and Sam had shown up at the French Hen (where she works) and it happened to be that Sam's aunt is the person who owns the restaurant. Small world.

Aside from coincidences, I've been working solid all today on various projects (even ones I said I wouldn't) and thinking about pork pie, which for some reason I currently am experiencing an insatiable desire for.

In parts, I have been working my way through my Monty Python collection DVD (a present from Sister Two) and looking disappointedly at the state of my desk which is peppered with an assortment of Christmas cards, cables, chocolates, cameras, a guide to Cantonese, some collection of observations by Jeremy Clarkson, a bottle of toothpaste, music vouchers, art related magazines, letters and waiting correspondence, a glowing rubbery anemone thing, some other toiletries, a bag, a recipe folder, and odd receipts here and there gluing the entire monstrous pile together.

Tomorrow I carry on in stoacist form.

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