At this point, the name ‘Binner’ had still not been coined: but somewhere that name had been appointed to us, and we were now in headlong collision with it. The next Minibus mounted group trip took place with a reduced crew of six, and it took place in the wet and cold of October’s arse end. The state of the weather persuaded most of us to dig out some very old and, in many cases, best forgotten hats, which we had hoped would assist in the body warming process. Not to say that they didn’t play their part in maintaining a level of comfort on the trip, but they also produced an irresistible image of us as a bunch of escaped street loonies (and this was at the peak of care in the community). This vision of ourselves is one we came to recognise and nurture.

In our own minds, addled by tiredness and alcohol, we imagined people crossing the road to avoid us, or putting all their shopping on the bus seat next to them so we couldn't sit there. With this in mind, the minibus was christened the "Binner Bus"; named for those sterling vehicles that transport everyday asylum based lunatics (lunatics = loonies from the loony bin = binners) to various community establishments. They could then dribble on the floor in a public place, whilst their wards were cleaned.

Before too long we imagined small children running to their houses for safety, spurred on by the arrival of our mini-bus, shouting warnings to their mothers that "the Binner bus is coming". The name stuck and thus the Binners became whole.