What I didn't say yesterday -- and can only mention today with some pain -- is that when I returned from IBM I went straight to the Coach and Horses in Soho, where The Inquirer celebrated its second birthday. It's nice to see a technology Web site do well, even if they're in competition with us to some extent, and very nice to see a pub absolutely packed with journalists, PRs, vendors and other denizens of the IT demimonde. Refreshingly, The Inquirer's truculent proprietor Mike Magee did manage to have a pointy-finger shouty-shouty with Registeroid Tony Smith, a confrontation which increasingly rotund comms journalist Tony Dennis tried to calm down in much the same way that 42 Commando is trying to calm down southern Iraq. As relations between the Inq and the Reg have been almost cordial of late, it's nice to report even a temporary restoration of normality. Unfortunately, there was something in the sandwiches and I awake on Thursday morning with a little bit of bodily turmoil, especially behind the eyes. This is compounded by my discovery that I've lost my train tickets for a jaunt tomorrow for a weekend with the girlf: I turn the flat upside down, to no avail. I'm swearing loudly about this when Laura, our production editor and worker of quotidian miracles, says: "You showed them to me in the pub on Monday. Why not try there?" I phone up the Pomeller's Rest -- a firm favourite of ZDNet UK, due to local beer at out-of-town prices -- and the man says "You'll be going to Edinburgh, then." Hurrah! I'm only slightly miffed that Laura appears pleased for me and happy that I'm able to complete my Caledonian assignation. Surely she should be downhearted, and plotting to throw more snares in my path. But no, she's managed to completely quell the powerful attraction she, like most women, feels for me and is putting up a good show of delight. And, one might even suspect, relief.
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