The 13th is the pub's first superannuation. Since I'm not much of a party planner, and the duties of just keeping this place afloat seem sufficiently adequate for the consumption of one's time and energies, I can boldly claim that there is not really going to be much going on. I do have it on good authority that the esteemed Porkesus shall be returning, our winged, prodigal, porcine pal, for a visit of cluck, swine and sauces from around the galaxy. Other than that, come down and have a pint. "Quid Hoc Sibi Vult" should be pouring, and possibly "Leftover Fuggles".
And for you doubters out there, PORKESUS IS REAL. REAL, I TELL YOU. JUST LIKE THE VELVETEEN RABBIT.
I think that if we've made it this far, through our first year, amidst poor financial and economic times, then we have a passable chance of a go at another. Or go silly crazy mad. And so, to stave that off, I'm strapping a tent and sleeping back atop Fair Chromio for a few days of just not being here. I hadn't been out for a good escape since the middle of May, so I'm due. See you on Thursday.