Miro and their master

The party was nice the party was pumping
And everybody having a ball
And tell the fellas stop the name callin'
Then them girls respond to the call
I hear a woman shout out
Who let the dogs out
Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof

Woody’s training our teams today (and tomorrow). I however am on my way to Sheffield for Tony’s inauguration lecture at the university’s Computer Science department. Trains to York, Doncaster, and Sheffield.

Richard is there too, demonstrating telepresence, and there are multiple Miro robots rolling around our feet. People really do seem to engage with them. Weird.

The lecture goes well and, after time for mingling, a small posse of us head to the Botanist. There’s a fashion for “hanging kebabs”, but I opt for an “aubergine steak”. Odd, but nice.

We prevent Richard from driving back to the Prescott’s, bundling him into a taxi along with his improbably large overnight suitcase. “The more I pack, the quicker it takes,” is his explanation.

We sit up in the kitchen with Manchego and Rioja. I should go to bed at a reasonable time to be ready for my five o’clock taxi. I don’t.