One of the most surreal things that has happened to me so far this year happened on Thursday.
Let me set the scene. Last Thursday I was drinking champagne on a balcony in Somerset House in an exceptionally balmy 28C. Yes, very pleasant but nothing particularly odd about this scenario, but it gets bizarre when I tell you that I was also eating mince pies to the sound track of Bing Crosby's 'I'm Dreaming of White Christmas'
