My hands hurt, my feet are sore, by back is screaming. Doug and his family, Tom, and I just chopped, macerated and pressed enough apples to yield eight gallons of what we hope will be cider once time and the yeast beasties have done their work. In the meantime, may I have pint of Blackthorn please ? And who is the wise guy who put the glow in the dark skeleton in the third stall in the men's room ? I nearly disgraced myself. Somebody needs a remedial session at N. Young's. E.S.