The team gathered as always as the Adventure Caffè. It was an untidy looking place that the Wabbit had chosen carefully - because it was St Andrews Day, and the important thing was the Scottishness of the whisky. Nothing must detract from it. Skratch the Cat was late as usual, but he had under his arm the Guest of Honour; a bottle of Laphroaig whisky straight from the distillery. A man in a kilt had brought it directly from the plane and Skratch had picked it up. It was a peaty affair smelling faintly of diesel fuel and wellington boots. The Wabbit was well pleased. "Careful with that, Skratch," said the Wabbit, "But before we start you must tell us what sort of Adventure we just had." Skratch meaowed furiously. "The liberating qualities of the hypertext were much in evidence," he announced. "Unconscious fantasies were confronted in a manner which countered expected paradigms." Wabsworth nodded in approval. "And the self-consciousness involved allows for ritual expressions such as the Wabbit's priestly vestments." The Wabbit expressed mock horror. "I'd hardly say the kilt was a priestly vestment." But Lapinette was quite firm. "That kind of fashion utterance is a specific linguistic system signifying the world." She paused for effect. "Oh all right, if you say so," smiled the Wabbit. Skratch towered over everyone. "What does whisky signify?" "Life," said the Wabbit. "Then pour us four whiskies, let's celebrate life," said Lapinette. "I see no glasses," said Wabsworth. The Wabbit smiled and then reached into his fur ...