Just one day to go, and to be quite frank I would relish another month off the sauce. I feel better, livelier, fresher and ready to do it all again. I have never slept so well.
All lies of course, I feel broken, dull and purposeless and can barely wait to uncork the first one. I spend most of my time trying to decide what to kick off with first. A Refosco? A Barbera d'Asti? A sodding big Plymouth Gin and Tonic? I could do worse than get one of these down at 7.30 tomorrow morning. It was a present from my extremely butch mountain-trekking mate Renato whose speciality is searching out protected plants in the Italian Alps, ripping them out of the ground, and stuffing them into a bottle that he then fills up with half-decent supermarket grappa. This particular plant is called Iva and is only found above 6,000ft (apparently). It is just ever-so-slightly flowery and very clean. Yum yum, pig's bum.
13 comments:
Iva'n idea (snarf) you'll kick off your '08 binge-athon with this stuff Ron. I know I would, were I human.
Ron - that horse wee. I don't pretend to be an expert - but - that's horse wee all the same.
I think it's Ron's wee, bottled-up just before he went off the sauce and he's forgotten and is just about to glug it down. Tee Hee.
How well do you know this Renato chap? It seems that the popular name for this "Iva" may be "Poverty Sumpweed". And the flower itself swings both ways (allegedly). I'd take your horse wee neat if I were you.
Is he the other half of the great singing legends,'Rene and Renato?'
Great! Cindy's back!
Go Ron, go! It's February 1st. First of the second, oh eight. Was it Iva? Was it a nice Barolo? Or a sharp Pironi down in the village, with a load of olives and Questo wants to be a Millionairo on the telly? Spill the beans; the world waits.
Spoke to Ron last night Justin with the same question.
H was in bed wit a cold and hadn't had a drink. in view of the silence tonight i expect nothing has changed. Pathetic!and to think he calls himself an alky.
well - i warned him about the horse wee. Now look what's happened, this is not unusual, something to do with the hormones in the wee - ron's turned into a horse's arse and can't type any longer.
The most bit of profound philosophy I ever heard was from an American lady who told me: "Alois, in this world, there are more horse's arses than there are horses."
I like that Alois. It reminds me of an old countryman who once said to me 'Peter, if you ever see a sleeping ferret, piss in its ear'.
or the Australian stockman who, when asked " have you lived in Cowra all your life ?", replied "Not yet".
Or our late uncle Merv who, bleary eyed with drink, would inform the young Savage brothers that 'it takes two bullets to kil an African Elephant'.
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