Anyway, enough of this mushy stuff, back to the story.

AM and Sarah came to visit on Thursday, having made the journey in Sarah’s little blue Fiesta all the way from Colchester (a good 4 hour drive, not including loo stops), and arrived on our doorstep laden with hugs and presents for Samuel.  Both their presence and their presents were very much appreciated (see what I did there?).

Of course, because our previously vacant spare room is now a fully occupied nursery, they had booked a few nights at a local B&B (Belfield House, in case you’re interested).  Not sure why that’s important, but I thought I’d mention it anyway.

As a matter of fact, very little was ‘done’ during their visit.  We didn’t go and see the sights, we didn’t go to the cinema, we didn’t go for a long walk in the countryside.  We just sort of sat.  And chatted.  And that was just fine by us.  On the Friday I didn’t see a huge amount of them, in fact, because I was still working, so I left them to it downstairs to chat some more and marvel at the wonderous bundle of joy that is our son.  After all, this was the first time they’d actually seen him in the flesh – a Skype video call doesn’t quite mean the same thing as holding him in your arms for real.

AM came with two surprises up her sleeve.  First was a taggie blanket.  If you’ve not come across them before, you’ve clearly never lived.  They’re a simple blanket, except that all around the edge are as many tags as possible.  The idea sprung from some bright spark’s observation that little children always seem more interested in the silky label on soft toys than the toys themselves, and exploited the fascination by making something that was more label than toy.  Hence the taggie blanket.  Of course, Anne-Marie being Anne-Marie, this one was hand-made.  Every single tag is made of a different material.  Some are narrow, some are wide, some are frilly, some are lacy, some are stretchy, some are stringy, some are silky, some are furry, some are green.  Brilliant.

The second surprise we didn’t get until the Friday, because AM hadn’t finished it.  Or, rather, she’d almost finished it but hadn’t put it in the frame yet.  It’s a beautiful cross-stitched picture of Noah’s Ark, with Samuel’s name written underneath.  It’ll look lovely hung on the nursery wall.

We also went round Tesco on the Friday, which is something the four of us haven’t done in years.  Causing havoc in a supermarket: Check.

When it comes to local attractions, in all honesty there isn’t a lot to choose from.  I guess that’s one of the inevitable downsides to living in the middle of nowhere.  So when we took the girls to Wells, it wasn’t much of a surprise that they weren’t exactly bowled over.  It is, after all, a far cry from some other cities you could go to.  In fact, calling Wells a city is something of a gross over-exaggeration.  It’s a small town, but anyone else’s standards.  It just happens to be one of the most concentrated areas of civilisation in our rural corner of Somerset.  And it has a cathedral to boot.  It’s a nice cathedral, though; far bigger and more impressive than you’d expect from such an otherwise miniature town.

So we all hopped in the car and went to Wells.  We wandered through town, and I made a point of telling them to take in the sights, just in case they missed them.  Through town was just a short walk, and we found ourselves in the famous Wells marketplace, a bustling hive of stall-based commerce.  At least, that’s what the locals would have called it.  I don’t think AM or Sarah were convinced.  It didn’t take long to wander round, and there wasn’t much to hold their attention.  I saw some pretty clocks.  Sarah found some gaffer tape.  Anne-Marie bought a little 2010 diary.  And that pretty much exhausted Wells.  We did wander round the cathedral for a while though, not all together though because Samuel decided to choose that location as the best for a good scream (maybe he’s got an ear for acoustics).

And when we got back, I fixed Sarah’s car.  She’d been on the lookout in Wells for gaffer tape because she had decided she needed to tape up the glove box door to stop it falling open.  All the way down from Colchester it had been resting against AM’s shins, which apparently wasn’t all that comfortable.  Turns out the hinges were loose, and all they needed was for the screws to be tightened.  Gaffer tape may be the solution to all problems, but there are solutions and solutions.  We then turned out attention to the screen washers, which were apparently pathetic.  Sure enough, the washer tank was empty, so I helped her fill it.

We also checked the oil level, while the bonnet was open.  To my horror (which I tried to hide) the engine was empty.  Not just sitting on the minimum marker on the dip stick, oh no, this was barely wetting the very end.  Not good.  How the car survived the journey down, I really don’t know.  Then again, the same thing happened with Neddy when I bought him; I drove that Mini all the way from Kent to Essex with no oil in the engine, which isn’t supposed to be possible, and it lived to tell the tale.  Clearly, God works miracles even when we don’t realise we should be asking for them.  Anyway, we hopped into my car and went to the garage to get some supplies, and came back and filled the Fiesta’s dry engine with several litres of oil.  It was a hefty bottle, so there was still some left, which is good because she’ll have some for next time she needs to top up (which hopefully will only be a small amount next time).

And then we said our goodbyes.  It had been wonderful to have them to visit.  They’d kept us entertained with their banter, they’d all had cuddles with Samuel (despite a growth spurt kicking in as they arrived, which made him a little more grumpy than usual) and watched him having his bath.  And on Saturday evening we all exchanged yet more hugs and waved them off; they’d spend the night at the B&B again before heading off back to Colchester in the morning.

So thank you, dear friends and sisters, for keeping us company and making us laugh and sharing our joy and drinking our drinks.

Second Life.  Remember that?  It was all the rage a few years back, when it pioneered the idea of a virtual reality platform for online community and economy, and if I recall correctly there was a lot of hype around at the time.  Of course, I’m no sheep, so I steered clear of it at the time.  After all, I wasn’t a loner with no ‘real’ friends, so I had no need for an additional life to maintain.

So why is it that I downloaded the software last week?  Why have I been wandering around the Second Life worlds, exploring interesting locations, listening to music, chatting to people, dancing…?  I guess part of the cause is how cut off I’m feeling at the moment, having moved away from my circle of friends.  Sure, we’re living in a land of bliss, surrounded by beautiful countryside, the smell of cow dung floating on the breeze, and glorious hills to gaze at.  But we don’t know anyone.  Well, not many, and not as well as our ‘old’ friends.  I miss AM and Sarah, and the Phil(l)s, and my youth group at church, and my badminton partner, and all those other ex-uni folks who dropped in all the time.

Which leads me to an interesting muse.  What makes a friend?  And why is it important?

Facebook, like so many other online technologies, has its downfalls as well as its bonuses.  I has worked really well at bringing people together, reuniting friends, and allowing people to share with others what’s going on in their life at the moment.  Twitter has taken inspiration from that, with its focus on the “what I’m doing right now” aspect, but that’s slightly less interesting to me.  What I find fascinating is how I get really excited about finding old friends on Facebook, and then never actually talk to them.  Most of my uni friends are on FB, a lot of my family are too, plus people from church (x3), my secondary school, even my first primary school (in particular the first friend I ever made).  I have well over 100 ‘friends’ on FB, which is a reassuring and ego-satisfying list to read through.  But here’s the rub – I hardly ever actually talk to these people.

How is it that I can supposedly call these people friends, and yet have little or no communication with them at all?  How can I legitimately call myself a friend if I never speak to them?  Part of this comes down to a shortcoming in FB, where the only relationship possible is a ‘friend’.  According to FB, there is no distinction between my best and closest friends and some random girl I was in a class with at school a long time ago.  As fun as it is to have Becky on my friends list, I have absolutely no interest in what she’s doing, because she’s a very different person to me, and she’s very different to when we were at school together, and to be honest we were never really friends at school anyway (if you’re reading this, Becky, please don’t take it personally, I’m just using you as an example).

At the other end of the scale, I met a guy called Dave at church on Sunday, and came away thinking “there’s a potential friend there”.  We had spent so little time together, we know so little about each other, but his is a personality I think I could get along with quite easily.  I’ve known him a matter of hours, and he’s already more of a friend than a lot of people I’ve got on Facebook.

I know exactly why I signed up and downloaded Second Life.  It wasn’t to try out the technology or join in the community spirit.  It was to find new friends.  I’ve reached a point in my life where I need more people.  Unfortunately, Second Life proved to be the wrong place to look for friends.  To all intents and purposes, it’s dead.  I’ve spent hours wandering around SL, and found many beautiful locations, but very few people.  And none that seemed particularly interested in talking to me.  The only place I found that had people there were the ‘welcome’ worlds, where there were avatars constantly sat around (probably part of a team, on a rota) waiting to welcome new users to SL and answer any questions they had.  A fantastic resource, sure, but not exactly the best way to actually make friends.

To my disappointment, there is nothing for me on Second Life.  Facebook seems to be the best way for me to keep in touch with old friends, but it’s not going to find me new friends.  I’m hoping to be able to force myself into making better use of Facebook (ignoring all the annoying apps), and will try to contact people through it more often, but that’s more of a maintenance task than actually enjoying a friendship.  I guess what it comes down to is that, despite the wonders of the internet, I need to see people face to face to really call them a true friend.

I did however succumb to a Facebook-related trend that is probably beginning to grow old now – I uploaded a profile photo of me as a baby.  Well, about three years old anyway.  I even got a comment left by a friend of mine saying how cute I was.  And it got me thinking – who actually remembers me from when I was that age?  No one I’m in contact with now, apart from family of course.  The only people who would remember me from then would be my old friends from my first primary school, but I’ve not been in touch with any of them since… well, since I left in Year 3.

And this is where Facebook really comes into its own – a quick search brought up an unexpected surprise, finding someone who is potentially the first friend I ever made.

Laura and I were in Nursery together, we were best friends back then, the two brightest kids in the class (we even skipped a year completely on account of our relative brilliance).  However, my parents eventually got wise to the less-than-satisfactory teaching at the school, and promptly moved me to a smaller but better primary school a little further away.  And so it was that I lost touch with Laura, Sarah-Jane, Ben, Zoe and Simon.

Finding Laura on Facebook was therefore one of the most exciting things that’s happened recently, on account of it being so significant.  I’m not expecting us to rekindle an amazing friendship – 18 years is a long time to be apart and still expect a friendship to remain – but just being in touch (even electronically) is quite special.  I have to confess to getting just a little over-excited when the friend request came through!

It does highlight something about how our society has changed over the last couple of decades.  Not long ago our friends were defined as people we spent time with, which usually meant they were confined to people in your local area, people you worked with.  Now, with the advent of easy communication via the internet and social networking sites such as Facebook, a friend can legitimately be anywhere in the world.  Laura is a fine example of that – I would never have got in touch with her otherwise, and keeping in touch with her would also be difficult as we’re in completely different parts of the country.  In some ways perhaps Facebook’s ‘friend’ status is somewhat limiting, in that Laura is now on par with my friend Sarah who lives round the corner, and there is no easy way of determining how strong or deep that friendship is (and I have to admit that despite our history Laura and I are most certainly not close friends any more, though more by distance than design).  However, that ‘friend’ status still means something, and if nothing else it’s a reassurance that people I have known in the past are still out there and within easy reach by just a few clicks.

I do wonder though whether this broadening of our social horizon has had a detrimental effect on traditional relationships.  According to Facebook I have 162 friends scattered around the world, but I don’t even know the names of my neighbours.  People who live in our road pass by our door every day, and sometimes we see them and pass them on the path, but no more than a nod and perhaps a grunt of acknowledgement is shared.  Has the internet made us less reliant on our physical community, to the extent that it doesn’t matter any more?