Last Friday the time finally seemed right, and we pitched our tents outside England’s highest pub again. Since the last time we did this, the landlady had had an ASBO served on her for abusing the customers and was away, but the woman replacing her is just as scary, and though there was no impromptu acoustic karaoke session this time there was a Vogon poetry jam (the new chef, Rantin’ Richie, likes to knock off work early to declaim), so it was all still fantastically League of Gentlemen and we weren’t disappointed. Plus! as an added bonus, The Paranormal Society were having an all-nighter, and one of them took my photo (with a digital camera, interestingly) as I blindly tried to make my way to the bogs without killing myself en route because all the lights had been switched off at midnight. So tungsten discourages phantoms but on-camera flash doesn’t? And what was the photographer expecting the flash to bounce back off (other than me)?
Anyway, despite all the in-house entertainment and other interruptions - questions about who we were, what we were doing, why didn’t we write some poems instead? etc plus attempts to chat Louise up - we did actually manage to have our meeting. And we have plans…
