Breakfast on Tuesday saw the return of the items that had vanished on Friday. The convention was over. In The Derby Room a huge pile of crisp packets and tins of pop formed the remnants of The Hour of Scampering.
By 11:30 the trucks had cleared the site, the electric wheel chairs had been taken back to Shop Mobility before the ramps we had fought for were removed, Keith had paid off bills and the committee, who were not riding shotgun on the transport, were left alone. The Wright's car had disintegrated on the way up so Anne hitched a lift back with the Greens to Birmingham. Geoff headed off in the direction of the Albert Dock. John Bark and Val wandered across the road to the cinema. Phil, Pete and I wandered off on a desultory pub crawl between the Hotel and Lime Street exhaustion making mock of our attempts at debauchery.
That evening we three headed up to Hope Street with Geoff to eat at a Mexican Restaurant that Phil and I had been attempting to patronise for the best part of 8 years. It had never been open while we were in the city before. This time it was and the food turned out to be rather good. Several Margaritas later (by this stage I was too tired to feel the effects of the alcohol) we took a stroll around the outside of Anglican Cathedral possibly the only building in the city sufficiently impressive to strike through the befuddled minds of the seriously Easterconned.