So tonight I found myself back at the Lav, an institution of old that used to be a much bigger feature of my life when I lived above it. Once I'd got over hyperventilating about the fact that *someone else lives in my old flat*, shock horror, I gave in to the rather comforting sense of being somewhere so familiar that the bar staff greeted me like an old friend (perhaps I did rely on them a little too much for limes and olives then) and where they 'forgot' to add things like a steak to our bill. Lovely.
We had the additional pleasure of being joined by a real life minister from HMG, which was fun, esp when the discussion turned to exactly who is the current minister for railways. Mr Minister got it as wrong as AQA, but at least he didn't charge a pound for the pleasure of giving us such misinformation.
On top of all this fun I have been asked to be a godmother tonight. I am even more convinced than ever by this request that I will die a mad woman who knits too much and mutters to herself. However my first task is to persuade the delightful parents-to-be to change their choice of name, so that I don't find myself dealing with a bullied child in 12 years' time.
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