Friends visited me this weekend to catch up on the plethora of news that abounded from both sides. A good time was had by all, no wine was imbibed but the tea, coffee and chocolate stores were much depleted.

Inevitably, as always happens when we meet, the story of the Gloucester Docks Warehouse incident was mulled over with much laughter, particularly as this was the first time that my 12 year old daughter had been made aware of our exploits, hence her reactions and incredulity added to the hilarity.

Sue had decided that she wished to view the apartments in the nearly renovated Docks Warehouses and dragged me willingly along for the ride. The Estate Agent, with whom we were to have a accompanied viewing with, predictably, was extremely late. Whilst wiling away the time, for some reason that neither of us can remember, we decided to pretend we were lesbian lovers buying our first home together. Unfortunately the eventual advent of a fresh faced youth with the bare beginnings of fluff on his cheeks to show us around, only added to the resolve to wind him up totally and completely.

We managed – god knows how – to keep straight faces as we wandered around the admittedly very attractive buildings and conversions. We discussed the merits of our new rather large bed and whether the leather accoutrements would fit into the small spaces, we touched each other arms, held hands and gazed lovingly into each others eyes to the total discomfort of the poor, increasingly red faced, young Estate Agent. The final indignity for him was in the basement where all owners had an allocated caged space in which could be stored a variety of large articles.

It just had to be done……. Sue was, and is, a fulsome lady, with a bosom with which many ships could be launched, put that together with a love of motorbikes and the leather safety gear that is an integral part of serious biking and the caged areas in the basement………………… ummmmm. The Estate Agent couldn’t get out of there quick enough. We managed to keep straight faces only until he disappeared out of sight, although I suspect he could still hear the total hysteria and breakdown that erupted from both Sue and I, as we collapsed in a heap on the edge of the docks unable to move as the effort of maintaining the pretence pushed us both over the edge.

My lovely visitors left me with a challenge – they have never been to a Barn Dance and were disparaging about the benefits of attending one. After my protestations of how much fun they can be, a request was made that I should find a traditional full blown Barn Dance, one with callers, live music, plenty of cider and pasties for us all to enjoy.

Anybody else want to join us?!