James

With the promise of an unknown guest at my mince pies and mulled wine gathering (the cousin of the girlfriend of a friend), I smugly turn down opportunities during the day.  The lady at the supermarket till tells me I could have got a five pound voucher if I had joined their membership scheme.  In a shop for nick-nacks I spend some time discussing with the owner the relative merits of loop bulb fairy lights versus LEDs (I go for the loop bulb).  The man who is helping out in the florists says, 'You know about as much about flowers as I do', when I ask him for 'some of those white things'.  But I remain middle-nameless.

I open the door to my friend and his girlfriend (who are vegans) but they are alone.  'Where's your cousin?' I ask.  They mumble excuses.  With vegetarian sausage rolls in the oven and mugs to be filled, I foresee difficulties in finding a moment to slip away.

Instead, I fall upon a late arrival.  'Do you know anyone's middle name who I don't know?' I ask her.  She offers up that of her ex-boyfriend, of whom I have heard tale but have never met.  I decide that will have to suffice but go to bed giving myself a stern lecture about counting chickens.