How time goes.

I've almost - not quite but almost - forgotten that two months ago, for two weeks, fifteen assorted actors poured into the top floor of 'my' office and pranked about eating pizza and playing guitars.

But whenever I pop into our fourth floor kitchen, I'm reminded briefly as the bottle of Summer Fruits squash - right colour to almost pretend to be Buckfast, you see - is still sitting proud on the shelf.

I just noticed that the level of the squash is low. Maybe one serving left. Then the memory will be gone gone gone.

Well, almost.