IT’S a very small world. I’ve lost count of the number of times we’ve bumped into people in the most bizarre places showing that you really do have to behave no matter where you go.

The small world theory was brought home vividly last week when my sister text me after she and the brother-in-law-to-be had popped to the village pub for a Friday night meal.

“I met someone last night who knows you,” she announced the next morning with an unsociably early Saturday phone call.

“She’s a great fan of your column,” he added.

“Well that’ll narrow it down considerably,” I replied.

After a long and very convoluted story about how they’d shared a table in the pub garden with another couple and got chatting as all Welsh people do when forced to sit anyone where near anyone else, it transpired that the woman they had encountered  was the niece of our next door neighbours in Llangattock many, many moons ago.

As we lived on a new estate in the village, there weren’t that many children around and the regular visits of the two nieces and a nephew of my Auntie Barbara and Uncle Wally, who lived next door was something to be keenly anticipated.

On the endless summer days we seemed to have back then, we’d escape into the fields behind our houses, on countless adventures. We’d paddle in the stream, eat blackberries we’d picked from the hedgerows and sandwiches we doubtless dropped a dozen times and dusted off the worst of the dirt.

In the autumn we’d collect branches for the giant bonfire which blazed on November 5 ahead of the firework display, which would without question be illegal today.

We left Llangattock to move to Llanfoist almost 50 years ago and I haven’t seen any of the trio since so it was a complete shock and a delight to hear of my sister’s encounter.

“She didn’t actually believe that your column was all true…pretty much,” said my sister.

“In fairness some of it does stretch the boundaries of belief a bit,” I replied.

“I think we convinced her when I admitted I was the numpty who booked a Transit van for our trip to France,” she said.

“You could have admitted to some of the nice things I write about you,” I said, regretting it as soon as the words left my mouth.

“What nice things?” She asked. “The only things you ever write about me are when I make the odd mistake!”

“I’m sure I do write nice things about you…and The Mother and the housemate. It’s just that the ridiculous things you all do outweighs them!”

So after almost 50 years - hello to all the Llangattock gang and let’s hope we all meet up in the village pub very soon!