Tonight, I lost my keys. Again. The second time in as many weeks. This time I'd left them in a loo. At the Drill Hall. Thankfully the Hall was still open and I got them back. What a relief! Their recovery saved me returning home with a posse of strangely disorientated women. One malarial, one jet-lagged and one the designated driver. They'd insisted on coming back with me in my hour of need. A sort of sympathy sleepover. "We'll kip on the sofas," quoth they. It was a trifle surreal. Earlier we'd been celebrating news that two of our party are planning a civil marriage ceremony. Next summer. In the garden. There was an inspection of rings. One a semi-precious stone; the other a diamond so discreet one had to search for it. As it happens, one of my very dear friends is a diamond dealer. Pukka stuff from Antwerp. Her last sale was a flawless ten carat brilliant. "Wouldn't you like something bigger?" I asked. "It wouldn't suit my style," said the bride to be. True. I am so inept at understated chic - or even overstated chic for that matter - that I don't recognise it until it's pointed out:-( When I got engaged, in prehistoric times, I chose a twist. That way I got two stones;-) Funnily enough, one fell out a month before the end. As for the eternity ring - an Edwardian dazzler - it's somewhere on the A1. Where I chucked it the day we told the kids. And made it official. Cornershop were on the stereo. Brimful of Asha.