small talk

We went to the Green Man for Bobs’ 40th. Everyone was there. Hannah, recovering from the after-effects of being bitten by a Mars bar in Australia (but I may have misheard this) was back on the booze and enthusiastically offering to ‘plan’ a New Year’s Eve party at our house, which will apparently be a ‘foam party’ in the back garden. When I suggested that she didn’t do so much planning for her own New Years Eve party a couple of years back, she protested, in a wounded tone: ‘I did pizza!’

Phil and Vicki brought their new baby Christopher with them. He was passed around the pub and remained perfectly undisturbed even when he reached Mat. (Probably just as well that he never got as far as me.) Previous to this evening, I have been telling people that I’ve only ever seen baby Christopher ‘under polythene’. What I meant was under the plastic transparent rain cover over his pram, but I wonder if people haven’t got the wrong idea. Especially the social services. Why was I talking to them anyway?

Amanda showed everyone the bone she had poking out of her foot (under, not through, the skin). The doctor told her the bone was swollen, so she looked up ‘bone swelling’ on the internet, and found, as you can imagine, lots of interesting things.

Paul Jones is looking forward to getting an Optimus Prime toy for Christmas. I asked him if he still played with his toys and he said: ‘A bit.’ He and Chad agreed that, in your twenties, ‘it isn’t the same’. Nevertheless, we discovered, Paul sometimes gets so involved in his games that his toys turn against him and he has to be rescued from them by the social services.

The social services... don't they do a good job? Of giving a spurious theme to these ramblings...