Up early to get everything packed before breakfast, then dragged myself to the dining room. There was a definite sense of ending, and the room was noticeably emptier of writers than the day before. Part of this was the number who decided not to get up (those who left under their own steam didn't have to be off site until 10am) and part the number who left the night before to avoid the sadly deflated feeling the last morning of Swanwick always brings.
A lot of those who arrived were walking wounded, either exhausted from a late night or extremely hungover. Several people hadn't been to bed at all. Breakfast was a subdued affair.
At 8.30am the coach left for Derby station, the delegates not on it waiting outside the conference centre to wave us off. I have to admit to a few tears on the way. At the station we settled in a coffee shop to chat, while people drifted off in dribs and drabs to catch trains to locations all over the UK. I was one of the first to go. The journey was mercifully uneventful, and I filled my time reading one of the many books I'd bought and adding to my post-Swanwick To Do list.
When I got off the train it was raining, the bus was late, and I discovered I'd lost the Tudor rose pin I bought at Haddon Hall. I can't wait for next year.