Fear and loathing in Bristol

We were somewhere around Cabot on the edge of the city when the alcohol began to take hold. The evening had started early, before the sun had even grown weary, in the hotel bar. Jon and Rob were running a C++ version of the TV game, Countdown, and Bloomberg were oiling the proceedings with a free bar.

Lightning talks followed. I was on near the end, and allowed myself to get distracted by heckling from the audience. No one will ever know why I wanted to tell them about the difference between a US and and UK gallon. Ah, well, better luck next year.

Hot on the heels comes the welcome reception. More beer, this time accompanied by pizza. Jez and I discuss Neal Stephenson books and lament that we meet up only once a year. But the pizza is somehow unsatisfactory and the beer is finite.

From there the trajectory was inevitable, if not the detail. A pre-dinner gin in the Rummer Hotel while the San Carlo prepared our table. Italian food and wine in animated company. Another pilgrimage to Woods for a whisky - a Dutch one, tonight. And then Mike, Pete, Austin, Rob and myself strolling through the enclosing night back to Redcliff and beyond.