Drink The Town Dry

Saturday saw that annual celebration of bellies and beardiness the Falmouth Beer Festival - and with it the resolution (that I suspect we actually make every year but are generally too drunk to remember) - to go on the Friday next year in order to come within a whisper of actually tasting the beers that we fancy from the programme. This, rather than going from the repeated refrain of 'all gone love' to just pointing at random at a barrel still giving out its stuff. Which luckily works quite favourably a lot of the time. This year, they managed to surpass themselves by not only running out of most of the beer by the time we arrived, but also this year's pint glasses and the programmes.

In an attempt not to end the evening lying in a ditch somewhere (well it WAS raining) three of us worked our way through sixteen sausages-inna-bap before hand. Seemed to work too, although didn't dissuade me from proposing at the end of the evening. Fortunatley wasn't too drunk to pick the chap actually eligible for this offer. And I refute any suggestion that this was merely an attempt to provide a more dramatic ending to my blog entry than James at jamesandthebluecat, who I had a feeling would beat me into print....