Another last Monday

FIRST, I have to see the doctor. Some sort of liver problem. Seems that the combination of drugs and wine I'm on isn't as good for me as I thought. He's a decent chap, though, he doesn't lecture me or give me any pep talk or anything like that. Just suggests that I become aware of how much I'm drinking and maybe tone it down a little bit. "I'm off to a dinner party tonight," I tell him. "That's all right," he says, "start tomorrow.

Nevertheless, it's on this somewhat sobering note that My Good Lady and I go off to our last-Monday-of-the month dinner. Now, I must say, some of our friends can be a bit on the boozy side at these dos. I feel positively abstemious on my pint of Theakston's bitter and my one little glass of Chardonnay.

It's still a grand evening, though. All the more agreeable to see PD and Lin after a somewhat prolonged absence, and seeing them in such good spirits, too. Fran and Den are there, of course, old troopers that they are! And Little B is in great form, too - when he can get a word in edgeways.

The surprise of the evening is bumping into an old friend. We haven't seen Stella Dave for well over a year, now, and he's looking prosperous and happy. He greets us like long-lost brother and sister. When we first knew Stella D he was something of a down and out - out of work, barred from driving, frustrated and bitter with the world around him, a brilliant young man just spinning his wheels futilely. He spent his days in the Geriatrics' Corner of the Pub, over his one pint of Stella Artois lager, angry that others couldn't appreciate either his talent or his whacky sense of humour. Somehow, we drifted together, the three of us, and over a couple of years we formed a relationship of sorts. We gave him some support and company, he gave us his friendship. We were there for him the day he got his job in IT, and we knew he's make a go of it. And he has - boy, is he a high-flyer, now! Europe, America - all over. He once gave us a broad wave from behind the wheel of his BMW... Anyhow, it's really good to see him again.

My Good Lady and I return home and pop open another bottle of wine, a rather nice Italian Pinot Grigio, and drink to the health of our whacky, wonderful friends. As for my liver, well we have much to drink to - it only slightly damaged, after all