Yes, Archibald Leech. Cary to his friends.

The chocolate mousse is still in its vestigal stages but can be knocked up as soon as I know who is coming and when.

The view from the window here has been greatly enhanced by night falling, and I can now only see the silhouette of my neighbours' house, the houses across the street and my other neighbours' gazebo tent which takes up the entire garden. I can no longer see the knackered slide, the tarpaulin where the lawn once was, the pile of dead bracken where the paving was and the pile of old twigs, earth and concrete lumps where the patio should be.

I can still hear my neighbours though, and the firework display happening in some park about 2 miles away. And then there's the ghostly white flowers of the buddlea, the rose over the arch and the jasmine, all scenting the night air, but still failing to cover the whiskey fumes and fag smoke from the said neighbours who seem to live in the nasty gazebo tent thing most of the summer.

LTS