American taxi drivers are issued with concrete shoes along with their licences so that there is no danger of their ever accelerating or braking with anything other than sudden and excessive force. This, along with the ubiquitous bench seats, ensures that one spends most of the journey sliding from one side of the car to the other whilst hanging on for grim death to ensure that one's dental work survives any sudden contact with the perspex partition separating one from the front.
Nevertheless, we survived the journey unscathed and arrived at the restaurant in good time. This was fortunate since the venue appeared to have no record of our booking and the guy we had been dealing with was 3000 miles away on holiday! Fortunately, Julian did something right for once and had his trusty iPhone to hand with the emails which proved the booking and, by the time the first guest arrived, everything had been sorted out.
And what great guests they were! Elizabeth Ross had been our "point man" for the visit and was there with her long-suffering husband David. The Lippkes, Julie and Chris, had come up from Connecticut with their equally patient daughters (who kindly put up with the nostalgia-binge with great good humour), and then there was Erin (future US president), Tracy (future industry mogul) and Gretchen (future wine taster to the stars) who all ensured the evening went with a swing. They all appreciated a fine figure of a ewe and were suitably respectful to my exalted status as chief sheep.
Back Row: Gretchen Kerr, Chris Lippke, Jon Antoniazzi, Bethan Foweraker, Alun Minifey, David Ross, Elizabeth Ross
Front Row: Erin Belitskus, Rhiannon Wade, Tracy Stokes, Julie Lippke, Naomi Allen
On Lap: Baabaa Blodwyn Wooliams
And then there were the sabbatical team from Aber. What can one say about these reprobates? They came dressed up having spent most of the afternoon (and a large part of the Union's 2011 budget) in Macy's on new wardrobes but had nevertheless found time to check that bars in America sell the same types of alcohol as in Wales. They had clearly been diligent in their research, as one would expect of former students of a research-led University, but had cleverly retained sufficient capacity to be able to check that the reception's wine was equally palatable. They brought a natural enthusiasm and boisterousness to the event which was, I have to say, rather infectious.
The rest of the evening was a bit of a blur. Once the married couples and children had made their getaway, we were dragged off to a cafe for a traditional burger dinner (I had to explain that lamb was NOT on the menu) and then to a live music "dive" the like of which Julian had not been to since the 1970s. Plastic glasses and large men in sunshades on the door and the indignity of having one's hand stamped brought his time adoring Hawkwind and Lindisfarne back to him with a jolt.
It was past the witching hour when Julian finally insisted I stop chatting up Erin about her political career and return with him to the hotel. I didn't mind having to go so much as the way in which he did it - coming up behind me and barking loudly is not very funny.
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