Blogcoven

Truth be told, I look back to the now-named Alpha 1, and the various upsaid accounts of the past with a fondness I reserve for very little else. There was a defined sense of community back then that reflected a rich social environment of people.

Many of those people have drifted apart in recent years and, I suspect, will continue to do so. Still, it’s a rare pleasure to go back to forgotten glades and simultaneously move forward to new frontiers.

The end of last week was unusually busy, our research group had its biannual workshop / dinner + drinks event, so I had a running start to the weekend. Funnily enough, hostess par excellence “Homeless on Thursdays” was in the pub that we ended our night in, which must be the first time I had seen her in months previously.

Xaosseed came in from Alba on the Friday, and just as we settled, Kola made his appearance. Dinner chez McRandal was extraordinary. The evening was one of considerable quantitites of wine, and a fine evening of discussions. Any character assassination of the then-absent Wanderer was entirely merited by his character and previous actions. In any case, it was hard to be truly mean when the food and wine were so good. Dixie’s Father proved a great addition to the table, it’s always fascinating to meet people’s parents and try to work out their influence on their children.

Thanks again to the McRandals for putting us up and feeding weary travellers (even those who only travelled about 300m). If you ever get the offer of dinner, bring cointreau :D

I’m aware that the Michelin people will have my legs broke if I use their stars, so I’ll offer the Uber’s Seal of Approval instead.

Saturday morning began with the traditional grilled brekkie and attempting to work out whose limbs belonged to which body. We arrived in the Porter House before one, and the drinking began. I had expected epic adventures, but today reached legendary when the barmaid cornered me to say “you’re still here? I think you were our first customers today”. Various people were coaxed in from as far afield as Belfast. We blew the horn of Gamers and our warriors heard the call.

I was my usual competent self, having managed to lose my phone the previous week. I was able to call zero people, but thankfully other people had the power that I lacked.

My role as the Last Covenator in Ireland is a curious one. Theoretically I am the one tasked with reporting the ‘haps’ here, but to be honest nothing comes of it. Dix and Xaos are better informed than I am anyway.
Theoretically, this could be my last year as Last Man In, I hope it will be.

Award for worst face goes to Brohnos, who arrived on the scene looking like refried death, and still managed the drinking.

The night went on via a chinese restaurant and Cassidy’s. The last part is, I admit, my fault. Wanderer made the “going bed” motion to me, and I knew I had to save the night. I stepped up – letting him pick the place. I think he thought he had me at “Fibbers”, but I set my jaw and we actually stepped into that god-foresaken place. It’s still a hellhole, after all these years. The main difference nowadays is that the smoking ban gives the pungence of goth-bo and eyeliner free reign to assault the senses. It’s somewhat like being in a sock, possibly a depressed, black sock. “Highlights” included the worst fight ever, and the various photos taken.

Post-fibbers goodbyes were taken in the rain, and Xaos and I walked our merry way home past Frenchmen exposing themselves and peeing freely into the street. I marvel at this city sometimes.

My photos from the weekend are on flickr, and I pledge resolutely to continue to photograph everything that does or does not move.