On Monday I finally caught up with schnee and was able to pass on the chilli cider I'd brought him from Middle Farm (to my great relief, as it was sticky and I didn't want to take it home).
The convention hotel is frequented by pilots, which obviously added to my enjoyment of the weekend; I made a point of getting in the lift with them and chatting them up. An attractive young Lufthansa guy asked me what was going on.
"Well, it's a furry convention..." I began.
"Oh, I understand that!" he said. "But why is everyone a fox?"
All too soon it was time for the closing ceremony, at which Jeff Minter announced, to great applause, that he's a furry after all.
I visited my hard-drinking, hard-partying Norwegian friends from last year for gin and conversation, then enjoyed a pleasantly low-key evening in the bar with a small group including Schnee, Pan and Ultrafox.
Bed at a staid and sensible 2AM. Must be getting old.
Nothing left to do but have a final cooked breakfast to see me down the M40, then say my goodbyes.
Just before leaving, I ran into a cleaning lady scrubbing the floor and thanked her profusely for what must have been a busy weekend of hoovering fun fur fluff from every surface. She said we'd been lovely and it had been 'really interesting'.
Then I overheard a concierge in the car park telling someone we were a 'fetish group'. NO TIP FOR YOU.
Home in under two and a half hours. If I listed everyone who contributed to making it a wonderful weekend I would wear my fingers to nubs, but hopefully they can work out who they are.