This Monday it was no exception, although we were more excited than children in a sweet shop - or readers in a book shop, for that matter - as we had a NEW VENUE to explore.
Yes, the Botanical Artist and family have moved to greener and more spacious pastures. Nothing to do with the racket we have made over the years at her past abode, upsetting the neighbours and staying way past our welcome, drinking everything on offer because none of us had to drive, cackling and laughing loudly into the summer nights in her small front garden, or indeed anything similar.
Well, that's what she told us in any case and we're sticking with that story.
Anyway. We were all there bar La Diplomat (living it up in the south of France), and even the elusive Wine Writer showed up after retuning from Norfolk early so she would not miss out. True dedication if there ever was some.
So we all topped our glasses to raise a celebratory cheer to the new home and all who follow in our worthy footsteps (we were the first guests, hopefully not the last though given past performances as per the note above).
"To your house!" chimed the Lovely Radiographer.
"To Kevin!" toasted the rest of us.
"Ew!" spluttered Tough Mudda.
We looked at her in alarm.
"Oh, don't mind me," she explained. " I just poured myself a glass of balsamic vinegar..."
And THAT is what happens when you are having such a good time you fail to distinguish between all the bottles on the table. Before you've even eaten. Or discussed books.