Scouse Invasion of Millbrook

One of my oldest and dearest family friends has a new job which involves him roaring up and down the nation's highways, listening carefully to his Satnav (having rows with it, so he says). Once he's finished driving around he visits schools and plays at making stick models (or something) with as many children as he's allowed to. It's to do with early-years architectural understanding, apparently.


Anyway, Jon is one of my oldest buddies by dint of being only seven years younger than me, which makes him on the slippery slope into middle age; he readily admits to a growing fondness for Gardeners' World on the telly to accompany his eclectic musical tastes. I knew him when he was about Reuben sized 'coz his mum (the ever lovely Auntie Barbara) and my mum were best friends. So I guess he's family rather than old buddy, really. Even if it is hard to admit a relationship to a scouser. Hey I'm not proud: I'm an eighth Welsh - I can't afford to be.


He came to Millbrook, not for the first time, to use us as a lay-over in between doing his building stick models thing in Plymouth and drinking some ale at the D&C. He's promised to come back for the Gigspanner concert in July and is going to try and drag his bro', Jim, along as well.


In the meantime, we had a great evening at the D&C on Monday with the Tony Harris Band in fine form:
Jon has returned to the delights of Cheam (didn't Tony Hancock have something to say about Cheam?); Millbrook anxiously awaits his next visit when we'll once again see the evidence of the wonders of genetics. Jim has inherited his dad's drinking boots and can sink eleventy-ten pints without suffering too badly. Jon inherited his mum's pink fluffy drinking slippers, work the rest out for yourselves.