We were lucky that the four of us made it to this one, as snow was settling on ungritted roads right across Somerset, and I nearly left the road several times on the way to meet the others, at one point going downhill in a barely-controlled slide past dozens of cars stuck trying to go uphill...
Once in the van though, the sheer weight kept us anchored (fairly) securely to the road and we arrived in one piece, although as Chris observed "If you think I'm driving back tonight, you've got another think coming..."
Landlady Stephanie was very pleased to see us, as it was her birthday do, and the night went off very nicely indeed, the beer flowed merrily late into the night, and in the small hours the Landlord started a whisky tasting session that nearly crossed from hospitality into hospitalisation... I think it was the 46% English whisky that did for me in the end (nothing to do with the previous six, or all those pints of Butcombe, oh no), but by all accounts I suddenly decided it was time to retire for the night and collapsed to the floor like a chainsawed Redwood (oh alright, a small Christmas tree), luckily managing to hit a mattress on the way down...
I awoke in the cold light of dawn to find my face inches from Nick the drummer's, surrounded by a fuggy miasma of whisky fumes and pork scratchings, and snoring like a bandsaw.
Damm... ;-)
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