The world from my window

I was rather hoping Mr St John had left a comment. I received a text message saying as much today. But as he has only just mastered texting, posting a comment is too much to hope for. I can see it now, Mr St John (in long trousers) at the computer while his Lady Friend guides him through the process from behind. The London Boat Show was quiet yesterday. Mr Grigg, Mr Loggins and I bumbled across the rail network from Richmond to the Excel centre like country mice. We marvelled at ticket machines, the things you put your ticket in to get past the barrier and the variety of faces on the tube. We don't get out much. This became clear when a Lord Snooty-stockbroking-type glared at us when we talked to each other. I had forgotten that people become mute on the tube. I remember being on the underground in Barcelona when some musicians got on and had an impromptu jamming session. Rather than just enjoy it, my biggest fear was they would ask for money at the end of it. But they were just do...

Despite the best of intentions, the only prizes we came away with last night were raffle prizes. We entered three teams for the wine and wisdom quiz, came first on a round that had neither points nor prizes and those on the neighbouring table were joint third. We got told off for having our tables too close together, the wine ran out and they changed the format from last year - obviously worried our pillaging team would run away with the prizes again. There is always next year. However, our B team (pictured above) broke the table they were sitting at and Mr Loggins cut his finger, spilling blood and red wine all over the floor, so maybe not. This is the man who is a dab hand with a chainsaw. Luckily, the ever-ready Mrs Sheepwash had a pack of plasters in her cavernous handbag. Mr St John has been seen in the village wearing smart, long trousers. Dark cords, apparently. This is a revelation because, whatever the weather, he always wears shorts. We understand his Lady Friend prefers lon...