A couple of pre-dinner drinks

Ah, the changing seasons of life. Once an aperitif was four pints of London Pride and two bags of KP Nuts.

Off the Wagon

That's The Intrepid One leaving this morning after 36 hours of virtually solid boozing. The Landy is full of Libyan rocks, sand and Italian wine.

This was one of the smarter bars.




 And this was a serious Barbera that we got stuck in to much later.
Now for some rest I think. Mamma mia.

Nearly there now...

...and just thinking about the first one for Monday evening. Something that kicks in straightaway. A glass of fizz would be fine and there's plenty of that in the cellar. However I am leaning towards the above, shot when the days were warmer. A cracking get-you-up-there drink that washes away a month of penitential suffering. I wonder if The Intrepid One will fancy one too after a month in the desert but he'll probably demur and demand a huge glass of Barbera d'Asti. Plenty of that too.

No Contest!

Where are you now Mr Gadjo Dilo? Cowering under the stairs? Skulking in the cellar? Did you hear how the traders on the Bucharest tomato futures market reacted when they saw the size and the juiciness of Ron's tomatoes? For you it is all over! The European market for tomatoes belongs to Ronald Combo! And this is just the beginning of my harvest! Hah hah! Weep your black East European tears because for you the game is up! The glittering prizes are all mine, do you hear? All mine!
Right, I think I'd better go and lie down for a day or two. All those exclamation marks. I blame the Punt e Mes.

On the House

I think I can count the free drinks I have had in pubs in Blighty over 30 years of unequivocal and sustained boozing on the fingers of one hand. Just for example, in the second and third years of my period of academic excellence at the City of Leicester Polytechnic I managed to divide my student grant between William Hill and the Huntsman, possibly the least attractive pub in Western Europe. It is almost certainly now a pole dancing joint called Sexx!! with a lot of bedraggled plastic banners hanging outside offering a full Sunday roast for £2.99. I used to drink pints of M&B mild like it was going out of fashion (which it did, shortly afterwards). The poisoned, spavined dwarf who ran the place never once said "this one's on me, Christmas an' all that". The place pictured above is the Cavallino Bianco, the Little White Horse, a local bar. In one memorable evening, with the sainted Doctor Munro, we managed to drink €50 of gin and tonic between us. The problem was that the owner, Enrico, matched us round for round with a free one. And as a G&T (Italian-style, ginned up to the brim) cost €1.50, you can imagine the mayhem. I found the Doctor the next morning upside down in a holly bush. The Little White Horse closed about a year ago and is still up for sale.