To London on Wednesday for a social occasion, as the Parliamentary Party in the Lords, newly buttressed by its new members, was invited with significant others, spouses, grandchildren etc. to 10 Downing Street by someone described as the Deputy Prime Minister but who I tend to think of as 'that nice young man who was so impressive when I was his Returning Officer in 1997'.
I don't come into London so much these days - ghastly place, crowded with expensive beer, where you can only get decent cheese at Borough Market (and have you seen the prices?) and where people seem to think that standing right in front of the doors when you're trying to get off of a tube train is so obviously clever (I increasingly have to resist the urge to wave a walking stick at them angrily, even though I don't possess one... yet). But the prospect of meeting some old friends and, just possibly, some celebrity glitter, was enough to lure me onto a Greater Anglia train.
Sadly, Freya was off somewhere - she probably isn't Liberal Democrat friendly - but it was a fun evening anyway. There are no pictures - mobile phones are taken from you at the entrance - and you are pretty well supervised but the chance to catch up with the Family, as I lovingly think of them, made the effort well worth it.
The 'perfectly charming young man' spoke to an audience who were respectful in the way that grandparents can be towards great-nephews and the like sometimes but were rather more there to catch up with old friends, check out the soft furnishings and mark the nibbles for quality and quantity. And for the spouses, it's a chance to catch up, ask after each other's grandchildren and what they've been up to since last we met. It is surprisingly gemütlich, for want of a better word.
But, just as we were talking about quilting and swapping stories about late, lamented colleagues, it was time to be herded gently back towards Whitehall and back to our normal lives.
I'm sorry I missed you, Freya. Maybe next time?...
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