Special Shirts

Must have been that time of year again. Guts thrown out of sync, brain generally confuddled, extra milage on the car, must have been the hometown beerfestival again.

Back now to night shifts, that wonderful nullness of feeling you get when you've managed to shut out the coalface completely for a while and they throw you in at the deep end while at the same time labouring you with five burdens at once that demand your time, whilst counteracting each other magnificently. The consequence of a boss with a self admitted "butterfly mind", hey ho. But away from here I have been; I have been wearing special shirts. Beer festival demands special shirts. Well, actually it doesn't but it's a fairly major item on my calendar so special shirts must be invested in. In this case, fifty quids worth. And most successful they were too. "Cool", "Hell man, that's vile" and "nope, that doesn't improve with a second look". We'll call that a hit then.

Beer got drunk, so did I, the usual poke around the pub scene (no, I do not approve of the Swan (circa 1700 being decorated with a dot com stylee modern sign) and the usual avoidance of the Saturday night music session. The Oompah band on Friday seemed to come more from Saxmundham than Saxony, but they were entertaining anyway. And I see how nazi'ism spilled from bierhalls origionally; it's only a small step from swinging your pint along to the music to right arm salutes and invading small countries. The joys of short notice hotel booking via booking services. Not only the same hotel I stayed in last time, but the same room too. Anyways up, a jolly time away. Not long enough of course and didn't achieve half the things I wanted to. Pleasant enough bimble back though, via the coast and a shingle beach which is nice.

Now, back to the grind. What's next?