I rise earlier today. But I'm not in any rush. No point making my life unnecessarily stressful.
I have the leftover crisps from yesterday's sarnie for breakfast. A suitably healthy start to the day.
I'm already planning my next US trip. How crazy is that? Michigan in October. I'll be talking at EMU again. Was lots of fun last time. That'll be trip number five to the US this year. Maybe Dolores is right about my travel schedule.
A large pall of smoke hanging over the city when I head to the offie. Looks like something is on fire somewhere. Thankfully not that close by. There are more dead bottles under the motorway interchange. Odd tastes these drinkers have.
The wifi connection suddenly disappears just before I'm about to head for the conference. That's annoying. Just as well I've nothing important that requires internet access.
Bump into Pablo again. He's from Argentina. I tell him how much I'd like to visit there.
The nice lady serving at the White Labs stand clearly remembers me "090 and a full glass?", she asks.
She knows me better than I know myself. "Yes, please." I'm a polite bastard, if nothing else.
I take a seat. My feet are shot. Way too much standing the last few days. My poor old bones aren’t up to standing around for hours on end. I need to have a good sit down regularly.
Brad Smith is giving out raffle prizes. It’s quite entertaining.
Last event of the weekend is the home brewing awards. I sit at a random seat for the ceremony. One of my neighbours says: "Hello Ron, would you like some beer?"
"Hell, yes." It's a Stout.
One of the club members wins an award. "You've brought us luck, Ron."
I'd like to think that was true. But I'm not going to argue. It's sometimes weird being me. Obviously, as you aren't me, you don't know what it's like. Odd, humbling, disconcerting, fun, crazy, and strangely satisfying. And tiring, feety aching. But I wouldn't swap my life for anyone else's. Unless they were 18 and dead fit. Then I'd strangle the bastard and dump the body in the nearest canal.
They give me a couple of bottles of leftover competition beers. Always handy to have some hotel beers.
After the awards, there's a buffet. I grab some clams and shit and take them back to my room. I need some rest.
I nip out in the evening to Union Station for a beer. Now I twig why the station is in such a funny spot and sparkly new. This used to be the station: closer to the town centre and a much more attractive building.
After a couple of beers, I trail over to Subway for a sarnie. I'm such a flash bastard.
There's still no wifi connection in my room. It's fine. I'm only here a few more hours. And there’s still whisky to help ease me into oblivion.
Union Station Brewery
36 Exchange Terrace,
Tel: +1 401-274-2739
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