Did we forget to send a huge thanks out to everyone who showed up to toast HRH on Wednesday night? I think we did.
Damn, but it was good to see everyone again. Over the course of the evening we must have watched about thirty people come through the pub to say hi or sit down for a bite. Eventually we all gave up on sitting down and stood around with our drinks, and it was a lot more comfortable. Ceri reports hearing a couple of strangers making their way through our crowd muttering uncomplimentarily about how it felt like a house party. And what’s wrong with that, I’d like to know? Hurley’s is the traditional spot for gang birthday evenings, so of course by now it feels like we own the place when we get two dozen people in on a quiet night. The waitress knows us, and enjoys us; she’s also grateful for our patience. Most of us have worked in the service industry, and we know what it’s like to be the only person on the floor. She even gave HRH a drink on the house, complete with hailing him as the King.
Everyone got to catch up on who was doing what, which was grand. HRH was thrilled with his group gift of the Dremel (which is good, because now we all want to (a) borrow it, or (b) get him to make stuff for us), and even more touched by the amount of folks who stopped by. So thanks, everyone; you did wonders for his flagging spirits.