With Old Coots
Saturday. Up with the alarm, to breakfast and back by eight, getting my head together to head over to the Rockridge BART station to meet some of the usual crew and take a train to an E Clampus Vitus event out there somewhere in BART land. I can use the pictures. Mr. S is a member (and elected officer of some kind, evidently in good standing) of E Clampus Vitus, a group I've heard about from Mr. S, so we'll learn a bit more, I suspect, by the time evening arrives.
Later. Cold out there today. Cold and overcast. A ride on BART to South San Francisco, then a short walk to Molloy's, an Irish bar of some note and historical significance, which on this morning was populated by a large number of old coots wearing red shirts and odd garments. Hmm. Well, I'm an old coot, sans red and vestments, but otherwise ready to participate in the doings.
We started with Irish coffee to combat the inclement weather (cold - did I mention it was cold?) and wandered around and about to check out the various booths selling E Clampus Vitus paraphernalia - pins, vests, hats, stickers, more hats, shirts, socks - most all of them with an E Clampus Vitus slogan, logo or design of some kind. A large band playing inside (warmer inside).
Both the day and I lasted through the mid afternoon and involved a picture or two, a Guinness or two, an Irish coffee or two and then a ride back on BART to the apartment where I settled in for an early evening. The Guinness and Irish coffee? A bit more than I should and it caused the upper palate-sinuses to act up a bit (not sure what the correlation would be there), but fortunately nothing more. To bed early. I'm told it's a habit with old coots, this early to bed.