I missed the party. This was just as well because I, amongst others, knew that there really was nothing to celebrate. The hostess was well aware of this too. She communicated her dismay at her failed marriage in her choice of bottle green balloons. Her husband, however, gave the impression that he thought that there was nothing wrong at all – despite his massive outburst the previous weekend.
The next day a man in his late thirties collected the party hostess, one of the guests and me in his car. He said that he was taking us to visit Redmires on Elvaston Park Road, Hexham on account of its historical significance. A former British spy had once lived there. The house was also unique because only two families had ever owned it. The party hostess did not think this bestowed any significance upon the house at all, but climbed into the car anyway.
It soon became clear that our driver was, in fact, an undercover cop and that his real mission was to track down gun-toting gangs. He took us to a pretty churchyard where we parked illegally (much to the annoyance of the traffic warden until he flashed his ID at her). There we waited for a bunch of evil-looking men in top hats who drew up to the church car park in a fleet of stretch limos. Unfortunately the party guest forgot the status of our driver and related tales of drug taking at the party the night before, much to the embarrassment of the hostess. All was well, however, when we discovered that the undercover cop was, in fact, a fake. His ID had the same magical properties as that of Dr Who.