Across the room I spied a pleasingly plump lady with a creamy Celtic complexion and long raven locks. When she glanced up the twinkle in her eye left no doubt.
"Isabelle!" I cried, delightedly. She didn't look a day over thirty five. There was a scholarly looking gentleman with a thick mop of iron gray hair and John Lennon spectacles sitting on the floor in front of her. She had obviously brought Mr. Life along. Another blogger called to him from across the room.
"Tell us who's got a bad reputation in OUR House of Lords!" [I never said this was going to make any sense!]
I looked eagerly around the room, feverishly trying to match faces with blog friends.
With dread I realised that my bladder was going to spoil my fun. As usual. I got up to go, glumly aware that by the time I came back they'd all have vanished into the gloaming.
That happens with my dreams a lot. I wanted so badly to dream on, and chat with you all, and serve you tea and cake......That bladder of mine is one malicious organ.