Let's take a little trip through time. Here's Steve Green, Martin Tudor, and me in Birmingham. I am 26. I have the most enormous crush on Martin, but I am unable to tell him about it at the time (it gets sorted out on a later trip). And here's me and Joseph Nicholas in Surrey. I do not have a crush on Joseph because he is married. Also, well, those sideburns. Joseph and I are very, very happy, though. Joseph and I have been drinking all afternoon. This is April 1984, or possibly May.

Three years later, I think you can tell Nigel Richardson and I have had a few too many embarrassing drinks at the Tiki bar in south London where Alun Harries is carefully examining his faux pineapple for unwanted, healthful fruit. I am 30. I have the most enormous crush on Nigel, and vice versa, which we are unable to tell each other about at the time (it gets sorted out about 4 hours before I leave for the airport, but hey, at least it's the same trip). A few weeks later Nigel and I pose with John Jarrold, Linda Krawecke, and Greg Ketter in a pub. Notice the Americans are smiling cheerfully while the phlegmatic Brits eye the camera warily. And on September 5, 1987, Teresa Nielsen Hayden and I sit sharp-jawed and tipsy on the stairs at Alun's housewarming party. I've gone bright pink and she's gone owlish. Entirely typical of us.

Yes, thanks to the strength and constant presence of alcohol at every social event I attended I was pretty basically hammered the entire time I was in Britain on my first two visits. I never tried to keep up; well, I couldn't have. I rarely had more than two pints in an evening. But two pints is a lot of alcohol for someone who doesn't normally drink. Eventually I began going into training at least two weeks before every trip. It actually helped.

The last time I was in England was July, 1996. It was my 12th visit.

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