A party at Wotton Hall

Walking to the bus stop last night, one could hardly be blamed for worrying whether the evening was going awry. We had a destination (Wotton Hall, Gloucester) and a route (no. 10), but beyond that, it was all a bit fuzzy. We knew there was a small beer festival at that hall this weekend, but their Web site allocated far more real estate to a 60s and 70s dance, going on we knew not when.

As we sat on the bus, halfway to Gloucester, two nicely dressed ladies and a spiffy chap got on. We privately joked about them getting off at our stop, only to suffer that sinking feeling as they pushed the bell while we gathered our stuff. In a scene right out of one of those 80s teen movies, we just stood there on the pavement, the bus pulling away, staring at the dozen lads 'n' lasses in waistcoats and gowns on the hall's steps, smokin' and lookin' right back. After what seemed like a heck of a long time, but was probably just half a dozen seconds, the tension broke and they went back to gabbin' 'n' puffin'. Pluckin' up our courage, we squeezed through the crowd, assuming we'd made some horrible mistake.

Enjoying pints of Codrington Winter Royal

Upon entering, the "Private Party" sign immediately to our left perked us up, as did the doorman's, "Back to the skittles alley," in response to our beery query. Wotton Hall was a-hoppin'! In addition to that reception, there was a skittles match in full swing, a wine tasting, an open mic night, and, thankfully, a beer festival! That place is clearly the heart of their community. Such a great atmosphere; warm and welcoming.

We met up with American Joe and had a great chat over a few pints, then caught the last bus back home, where Matt 'n' I broke out Guitar Hero III, rockin' it double-axe style 'til the wee hours. Good times!