I am sure that mysweet H must be worrying about his wood so I am posting some proof for the traveller that we are hard at it, tempted though I was to say that the whole lot had been stolen by gypsies and we would have to use the expensive central heating from now on. Drummer Boy managed to organise his musicians to come and help, and managed to organise himself to not be there for the first hour, which we all agreed was very like him.
Darling D was persuaded from the television to rub shoulders with the future Rock Gods. Only one of the guitarists took up my offer of gloves...presumably concern for his finger picking overcame his need to project a macho image.
There was a sticky moment when it got too dark to continue and I realised that there was no beer in the house, but everyone seemed quite happy with hot chocolate.