You're always 17 in your home town

Today is the 25 year reunion at Bud's old school, a dark matter for the alma mater.
This is the one I went to for the 450th anniversary and went on the roofs and down the tunnels, see here for one of my best days ever. But this is a beer (don't forget, 43 is the new 17) and self-congratulation session with overnight stay so I can't go. I was actually very angry about that as I want to explore the rest of the service ducts, have a go on the .22 rifles, lift the medicine balls in the "No Sternum Untoned" Gymnasium, mess about with the stage curtains in the Great Hall again, swap the pipes around in the school organ and stuff, all detailed in the previous post.
Had the run of the house until half past 10, beer must be hard work. I refused to go on the normal bottlebank walk as it's boring so I scooted to the park to make a den. I collected 3 sticks and put them at the base of the horse chestnut tree but it was immediately clear that no good would come of this, so we re-selected the bay tree thicket, wound one of the pliable branches right round it and sourced twigs and sticks from all over the park.
Having adorned the tree I declared the Den of Iniquity open for business, and we did some park play and went to the butchers and the charity shop and found £1 in the Co-op and home for lunch, which is the normal bottlebank walk anyway, just without the repeated clink of bottles.
After lunch, Ben drove by, in I got, and was whisked away to a better life at his place for, like, hours. This was our reward for playing so nicely yesterday.