The heavy old oak doors swing open, the flickering light of the enormous fireplace playing over their heavily engraved surfaces.

Leather armchairs are loosely arranged throughout the room, complimented by small tables.

At some distance from the blazing fire the Members of the T.I.T.S. Club sit, contemplating the past and pondering the future while slowly swirling cognac in etched glasses.

They scarcely remember the old days when h2g2 was young and the T.I.T.S. of the Small But Vocal Minority were in full bloom; gathered in cold and smelly caves to plot nothing at all. An archway overgrown by moss leads from the clubhouse to the now abandoned caves, but no-one has set a foot on these grounds for ages.

The Club now serves as a place for some light discussion about site politics and the community in general.
Things have quieted down and yesterday's rebels have become reputable members of the community. Sometimes they revel in their past and imagine how it would be if someone like ... whatshisface - theguyfromthelatestspymovie - ... would come through the door asking, no, praying them to make use of their special powers one last time...