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The Bell is an okay suburban pub. But it gets ten out of ten because the landlady, Yvonne, likes us ("We need another wedding! One of you needs to get married!") and the bar staff are sweeties. There is usually a band on Fridays, but we struck it lucky and two of the musicians were ill. So it was karaoke. Thankfully not deafening.

And we drank them dry of London Pride.

Present were myself, [livejournal.com profile] redcountess, [livejournal.com profile] arkady, [livejournal.com profile] valkyriekaren, [livejournal.com profile] vatine, [livejournal.com profile] ruthi, [livejournal.com profile] fluffymark, Cookie and Erithromycin. (Who took time off from his job as a Glasgow bouncer to pop down to London for a Corporate Ethics course ... for the same company. His business card is going to be a doozy.) We recovered nicely from our respective weeks at work. Congratulated [livejournal.com profile] ruthi and Cookie on their engagement. (Yvonne nearly corraled them into having the reception at the Bell.) Talked rubbish. Pubbed in proper style.

Three pub nights in a week. An embarrasment of social riches. I must be less careful what I wish for.

Always pub with BOFHs. When they recover from their week at work, everyone recovers from their week at work!

Update: Pics.

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