h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

It was the first gathering worthy of mention since summer took its leave without the customary two-weeks' notice. The woodstove in the corner had preheated the back library nicely, and the books' musty scent was spiced with flavours of hardwood and harvest.

There may have been a sense of reunion in the air, but the air was so heavily laden with ahead-of-schedule winterfog that none in attendance noticed. The coffee was, as it always is, sensuously aromatic (or aromatically sensuous), and the vodka flowed earlier than might be considered proper in less improper company. There was, as has become the custom, little small talk and much contemplative conjecture about the state of collective circumstances.

Old Ben read an invocation to the long absent muse of peace. Dr M declined to take the floor. BB described the destruction, desolation and devastation she had been forbidden to photograph in a much-publicised theatre of operations. And TT revealed the discovery of a shorter route to the Orient.

Minutes turned to moments and then to hours without looking back. Someone, quite likely the Irishman, suggested music might be the best medicine.

And so it was. And the night drifted past on a strings.