It's kinda funny how something so good is underlined by something not so good. My Monday started with precious few hours kip, a tour-de-force 5,000 calorie Ulster Fry from the skillet of the redoubtable Mrs A, a lovely gentle drive to Belfast in the company of the delicious Fibs, the latte that herself says one cannot get in Portaferry.

The the calls started, and lard futures went haywire, and to cap it all, I got Denver booted in Liverpool John Lennon (ho ho) International (ho ho) Airport Long Stay car park. After some chimpanzee in dayglo relieved me of forty quid, I was released to return home, planning my written invective all the way, and readjusting my position on Boris Johnson.

Highlights for me were two twelve hour sessions, pretty much back to back, and meeting Brendy five years after he guided me round Norway by phone. Jaysus, he's a powerful good performer, that one. The standard of the musicians was yet again awe-inspiring, and topped off by Diana and Nigel, who delighted us again this year.

As one here who coined the peon of praise would have it, 'it was really nice'.

Thanks Fibs