Maybe that poor retching sod from the Conrad is still
in the heads.

(There's one every year--- or at least every other year.
Last year someone pitched headlong into the pond by
the main entrance. A few years back someone in present
company took a long walk off a short YTB dock. And I'll
never forget the night on the Mystic Whaler when a fellow
was 'shouting for Huey' over the side--- every hour on the
hour--- in the rain. In the officer's quarters of the Conrad,
eh? Must have been a performer or senior volunteer. Then
there was the year when one of the National Treasures of
Merrie Olde England was pall-borne down the Conrad companionway
to the singing of 'General Taylor.' It's quieter in the years
when the Irish come over. They drink it all up, leaving none
to tempt the fates of the amateurs.)