It was just endless. Bottle after bottle after bottle. Raging, swirling torrents of wine. Little brooks bubbling with grappa. The odd puddle of a digestivo made, remarkably, from walnuts. And then still more wine, red, white, pink, sparkling, wonderful, OK and downright undrinkable (sorry Riccardo). Any visit by the Savages always necessitates hoisting the storm warning flag but this one took the word excess to new semantic depths. Which is why the only hope of staving off the onset of terminal cirrhosis lay in a swift Monday-morning draught of Sylibum Marianum, more commonly known as milk thistle, which is meant to be able to repair even the most horrific post-weekend liver damage. Oh! But what's that lurking in the background? 1.5 litres of that most pleasant of Veneto wines, Refosco? And my wife is cooking chick peas with pig fat bits this evening? Oh Lord...please someone, anyone...stop me before I drink again!
4 comments:
Pah! You big girls blouse. I'm off out tonight with Big Don Davey for a few welcome pints of real beer. Something you don't get in your neck of the woods. Cheers!
That Syllabub bottle, or whatever it is, looks just like the one I've got in my bathroom (re-decorated now Ron)that's full of ear wax remover. Perhaps they are related. Actually, that would be a new one for you, Cerumol Ear Drops, perhaps let down with a little soda water.
You lot can mock but I want to see whose liver explodes first.
Milk?
Thistle be the place.
Grappa hold of my excess baggage while I shave off my Parmesan.
Three pints of unleaded and a screenwash chaser please Barman. While you're there, have one yourself. And how did you get out of that hotel room? Karaoke schmokey, that's the last time I sing in a filling station. Look what it's done to my head. Yours ever, MooNXS
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