Towel Day

Yesterday was Towel Day, in memory of Douglas Adams. Not exactly a very well known occasion, but I dutifully trudged off to the station with a towel around my neck. It proved quite useful as a scarf in the cold morning air.

My old uni mate Peter G was there at the station. "Great beach weather" he remarked, then sounded all disappointed when I informed him of the significance; he would have joined in too. No matter. Nobody else on the train batted an eyelid. The guys at work wondered if I was going swimming. I ended up lending my copy of Hitch Hikers’ (which I just finished re-reading) to Tony, so he could be converted!

After work some of us went to the Amber Bar to meet up with some people we’ve been working with. I spent the evening getting drunk and dancing (not necessarily in that order). I think I’m getting too old for this kind of thing – it was fun, but exhausting. I called it a night before too long, since I had to head into work in the morning for a few hours.

On the train on the way home, I felt distinctly woozy. The train seemed to be full of people having their conversations. But whereas I can normally block most of that out, it seemed I was listening to all of it at once. After a few minutes all I could hear was the guys in the seats just behind me, who were earnestly talking about arch-mages and hit points and all that other role-playing stuff that role-players talk about.

Once I got home, sleep came rapidly…