Back to the spike - well, it was my fault. It usually is. You see, hammering a spike into the back of your own head is difficult, so to replicate the effect I drank copious quantities of beer, champagne, red wine and calvados until 4 in the morning with some old friends and colleagues. It was an excellent evening. Only one person chundered and it wasn't me. One person crashing on the floor turned into three people crashing on the floor, midnight scrambled eggs and toast and the first party in the new garden. At one point in a panic I hurled a shotgun shell in the river, fearing for our safety should we get drunker and still have it in our possession. Harry wondered if there was a bar where they feature 'chapless thighs' - we wondered if he meant 'arseless chaps' and he said that too. There was gingerbread. It tastes good with beer. I think Harry baked it himself - if so, ginger may not have been the only secret ingredient. I worked out the timer feature on my little Canon for a group shot. For posterity. Or evidence.
Harry, Ben, Yours Truly & Rob on a bench in the garden
Focussed Rob and blurry Harry still in The Chandos - still the cheapest pub near Trafalgar Sq