Friends and laughter on Christmas Eve - It doesn't get any better than that.

Last week I allowed myself to go on a Blind Date. Not, you understand, the Cilla Black variety, which would probably have turned out hideously ghastly, but the kind where a well meaning friend thinks to himself - "Hmm... She's way too geeky for me, but I've got this geeky friend..." And he can hear wedding bells already. I agreed for various reasons, not least of which was that I had nothing else planned for that evening, and I'd hate to let a potential Johnny Depp pass by without a look in!

So there I was, in the pub, chatting away with this chap. He's nice. Although I'm not sure that nice is quite sufficient for me - I think I'll have to add witty and urbane to my list of requirements. I had a moment of chuckliness when I found that he's from up North, and plays the trombone in a brass band. But I controlled myself - with effort. There was a moment of embarrassment when I realised that in their chat of restoring a Spitfire to it's former glory, my "Date" and my "friend" were, in fact, talking of the one made by Triumph, not the one made by Supermarine in the second world war. In my attempt to cover my confusion (having asked the question "Did you manage to make it fly?"), I blurted out that I had, in my youth, had sex in a Spitfire. After establishing that one had to be considerably younger and bendier than we all were now, the conversation righted itself, and continued, in a reasonably cheerful way until my "Date" let loose the information that he is the proud owner of not one, but two, Caravans! OK - I lost it. Unable to contain my mirth, every laugh line on my face crinkled, and guffaws ensued.

So what, you query, bewildered, has this to do with laughter on Christmas Eve? OK - I'm getting to it.

Last night I was attending the annual Christmas Eve bash hosted by my brother and his wonderful wife, an event peopled by the kind of friends you've kept with you over the years because, with them, you feel comfortable and happy. While my sister-in-law attempts to integrate new people into the happy core, that cheerful bunch arrive year after year and sit round chatting merrily. Last night I was compelled to mention to one of the ladies about the aforementioned Blind Date, detailing it in much the same manner as above. Her husband, a man of wit and humour (!), chuckled away with the rest of the crowd, until I told them that it was very likely that I'd meet this "Date" at the beer festival next year, he being a bit of a fan of the fest. At which point JD exploded with laughter, saying "I'm going to have to come up to you at the beer festival and remind you that I still have that Spitfire, if you want to try it out again!"

Now I'm not saying that beer fest is in anyway boring, but this would definitely be a way of making the evening more fun. I think I would have trouble keeping a straight face!

Merry Christmas to all my Readers!