Night Out, It's Friday After All

It was the tenth anniversary of CTF. Nothing fancy. After they had the tea party without me (the "30-people" cake lasted about 30 minutes), we met at 6-ish, and went for cheap Arabic food, and headed for the drinking hole, the Brutopia, on Crescent, a nice pub with live band on Friday night (playing the latest Coldplay, Franz Ferdinand, or the oldest Radiohead (I heard Airbag)), and home-brewed beer. I had a half pint of a "condensed something-something" beer named the "Rocket Fuel". A few others, Rye Beer, Indian Pale Ale, and a Stout. All extremely fabulous stuff, in good company. Conversations ranging from mindless drunken exclamations from my part (and Nic's), or Martin going on about how Python sucks, or how Vista is such a stupid name for an OS, pff. We teased him about the German election too.

I'm still more or less disabled, although in my infinite good-typing style, I prevent myself from making spelling mistakes. jasdioasdioa sidaocnuahoasndlc nzdclas. Indeed.

[music: Maggie Gyllenhaal - Just the way you are]