Of Round Table Dinners

Enter students...

A friend was writing about bringing wine to a gathering and not sure why, but suddenly it reminds me of my uni days.

Back in ole Blighty, I used to share a pint cider until my friend moved up to lager and the other one took a fancy to Guinness. There I was at the Met, nursing half a pint of cider forever while my former ‘drinking buddy’ is on only he, the barman, and God knows how many pint of whatever.

and that's what a pint looks like...

Shortly after, another friend introduced me to Bailey’s. Sweet, smooth Bailey’s. Double shot with ice courtesy of the trusty Old Bar and their selection of after exam specials, desperately trying not to rehash the papers we just sat. We didn’t do too badly though my friend did better.

"I hereby declare I am of legal age..."

Then I moved to the States. There, they don’t do lager but this piss coloured, and probably tasted as well, liquid called beer. Smells foul. But being older students, my friends don’t do beer. They do wine! I can not tell the difference between a Merlot and a Chablis to save my life but I do hang around them enough to know that Rose is not just a type of flower.

I don’t know whether it is the libation of choice or the age but the wine set definitely mellower than the lager/Bailey set.

No wine by the looks of it. Is that why Rob looks unhappy?

Brandon would tuck into his steak and taste the reds appreciatively. Fred and Rob would be twirling their goblets while discussing the merit of various years they’ve tasted and bought and pour some more. Where was I? Usually nibbling on cheese, cracker, grapes (the actual fruit) with a glass of water. Or just happily eating my dinner while listening to dinner chatter.

The lager set were bouncy (as in bopping up and down the clubs) happy people. The wine set were chilled out happy people. I don’t miss the drinks but I sure miss the people. I miss them. I miss the camaraderie of hanging out, lounging after a good dinner talking about this and that and when the clock strikes 12, we turned into pumpkin and start talking about God and existentialism, sprouting all kinds of communication theories and ideologies. Hello there Marx, Stuttgart, Truffault, Chomsky, Weaver, the burning bed and Buffy the Vampire Slayer for good measure.

Under the influence even cleaning up is fun!

Oh! How I miss those days.

Well, one of these days I’ll see them again. Sooner rather than later. I hope.

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