I can't remember what time it starts, mind you with things like that you never turn up right at the beginning. It won't get started for an hour or so and there's nothing worse than sitting in a room listening to some poor m.c. trying to drum up some enthusiasm in the listless, uninterested smattering of patrons before the proper crowd arrives. Those long microphone silences and hyperactive monologue that intermittently punctuates it, like a machine gun clattering into fire in an empty room. No, certainly give it a while before turning up there.
I suppose I'd better go on the bus. There's something about late night bus journeys that is almost surreal. The same old faces spread about in the same old seats and no one talks to each other. Well, save the almost obligatory drink raddled, dribbling old men who talk to everyone, often lurching around the aisle, directionless in their oblivious quest for conversation, hardened to the looks of disdain and scorn as the people try to politely ignore them. Eyebrows in a conspiratorial arch to the other sober passengers as if to say 'How quaint, we'll humour him.' and even then still, not one word is spoken.