Imagine, if you can, Genderquake meets Last of the Summer Wine and you will have last night's outing (woops) just about right. People self-identifying and forgetting who they were about sums it up.
It will take our diversity officer some time to complete his investigations so I will draw a veil over the evening's activities there.
The evening began with the disappointing news from the Lynx that something had "popped up" - presumably while packing his lunchbox before setting off.
That meant that it was just Petrocelli and I who met at the Layer Fox for a short but swift ride over to the Chequers at Great Tey. So swift in fact that Petro was moaning about arriving early - a whole 4 minutes. We were still locking our bikes when we saw the distant glow of Hotblack's laser lightshow, the Witham peloton were early too. As well as Hotblack, they had Oaky, Oros, the Hustler, Huggy, Hector Barbossa, Kieran and Annie Oakley.
I am not sure the pub knew quite what to make of us and Huggy's quip to the landlady about admiring her horse (a great dane called Arnie) didn't seem to help. I think by evening's end our charm and good humour had worked its usual magic and we were waved off cheerily enough by the regulars.
There was a limited beer selection but a finely kept Landlord by Timothy Taylor took the Quaffers' Choice.
We also had a further schism with Les Alpinistes choosing to sit at a different table while they mumbled about Cols and campsites. Meanwhile, in the absence of the Lynx, we turned on each other which made for another jolly evening.
We left into an unseasonably cold night but at least it was a tailwind home. Will sandals season ever arrive