I spent a couple of days in Portrush last week, having organised a retreat for a small crowd of community work folks. One of the nice things about the organising is the chance to get someone else to do much of the facilitation.
The company was good, the hotel pleasant with great food, the weather wasn’t uniformly horrible and I managed to grab a few minutes to go walkabout with a camera, even if it was after dark. Also, I learned a few things:
- Coffee is serious business, taken seriously by some, and it's best to not get between them and it.
- The warm, brown liquid served by the hotel during breaks was, apparently, not coffee.
- Spare spectacles aren't much help if they're sixty-odd miles away.
- I'm short-sighted enough that going without my glasses leads to a discomfiting disconnect from what's going on in the room.
Why Portrush in January? In the summer it’s pretty horrible, but in the winter there is a slightly deserted peace to the town that I’m fond of, and since I was picking the venue, that’s where we went. I can’t help but think, though, that it’d be harder to enjoy the ghost-town feel if you live there.