I'm fed up. The Smuggles from No.37 knocked on my door last night just as I was polishing up the Vroomstick getting ready for take-off. They knew I'd be 'on my own', so would I care to join them for a 'nice mince pie and glass (one? ) of Sherry' to see the New Year in? I tried to explain that I was just about to leave to go to Balmoral, but I don't think, from the looks they kept giving each other, they believed me…he even patted me on the head and murmured 'there, there dear, WE'LL look after you', so after I'd bitten his hand, they bundled me into their kitchen and kept me a prisoner for the night, plying me with Digestive biscuits, cups of tea and games of Dominoes, until I managed to escape out of the toilet window and make my getaway, this was nearly 3.00am, by witch time I guessed all you other bewitching GN's would be well in the middle of partying and jumping broomsticks. I'm going to report the neighbours for gross boredom Sounds like I missed out on a pretty rum do