"Tonight's The Night" as Rod Stewart once sang. Well, as I am not much of a social butterfly these days, but I do make a concerted effort to go out and meet other people. Every year, on a Friday, our delightful octogenarian next-door-neighbours host a 'mince pie and sherry evening.' I tend to spend the first forty-five minutes or so in their front room, sipping a glass of wine and watching the room slowly fill up with a mix of the current and former residents of our road.
After that, it becomes more uncomfortable; there's always a whole load of fannying around regarding seating and the voices begin to rise in both loudness and pitch. I often have to stifle a laugh when the conversation turns to subjects such as these:
"Did you hear about poor old Mabel?"
"Oh yes, well, me and Wilf listened to the screaming through the party wall."
"It went on and on didn't it? You would have thought that the Four Horsemen of The Apocalypse had just turned up in a Transit Van!"
"Still, it was a merciful end after all of those years spent wracked with pain."
"And a lovely send off too - beautiful hymns and Mrs Garrity's seed cake was a rare treat."
*Edit*
Actually, I didn't go - citing that my cold was too bad and I was concerned about my elderly neighbour being exposed to viruses as she's in treatment for leukemia. According to Mr Logic, the whole do was ruined by the continual boasting of the opinionated female member of the former neighbours who now live in a better postcode (actually, it isn't - it's a newish estate located in an area which used to feature a former mental institution - so stick that in your pipe and smoke it!)
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