I heard from the organizers of the putative Duneditin '10. Scheduled in a tea-house until someone realised that would discriminate against members with religious objections to non-alcoholic purchases.
If I was a Duneditin organizer, and if this city wasn't currently one of the coldest places in the universe, I would use the hut. That way, costs could be cut and rats could be cabaret. Fortunately I'm not on the committee so it's all out of my hands.
Talking of committees, the third member of the panel for the final solution to the old dear problem is coming at the weekend. Sunday's tour of nursing homes may have to curtailed if we're going to look in on the conference camper van. In the words of the old dear's current catchphrase, oh it's all too late.
For the record, blissheids of my acquaintance have an uncanny ability to consume large amounts of beer without becoming obnoxious. Loud yes. Unsteady on their feet, yes. But like Ruis or Luis against Haye, they can stay on their feet forever, even if they fall over the ropes sometimes.
Chauffeurs who drink on duty are advised to deposit their blissheid fares in a quiet side-street to avoid attracting police breathalyzer attention. But choosing a side street alongside police headquarters is counterproductive.