The Reunion

Survived the school reunion in Manchester on Saturday night. Saw lots of friends, although I was the only representative from my year. I was, however, well bracketed by those of the years just above and below. I guess the England rugby game had rather a lot to do with that. Scheduling get-togethers alongside major international sporting events is always going to result in attendance issues. Next year's reunion is to be held in Bournemouth, which kind of clicks when over 60s get together (as we just about now all are).

Hay looked gorgeously and tasteful, as usual.

I have never understood the British penchant for the obligatory bread course at formal dinners. A basket of bread is passed round and everyone starts to nibble a bread roll, even if the first course doesn't consist of soup. Curious.

While in Manchester we walked into a swanky art gallery near the hotel, but an art gallery owner with a thick Mancunian accent just doesn't seem right; you expect to be talking with someone who sounds like Brian Sewell.

The hotel is a converted Victorian warehouse and has been very tastefully renovated. The only problem is that the view from the back is what can only be described as a post-industrial wasteland next to the River Irwell in the process of rejuvenation. It'll get there eventually.

What is it with West Midland place names? I suppose meanings do change over time though. couldn't help but guffaw at these two howlers on the way home yesterday.