While I suppose I shouldn't be partaking of this particular beverage today, as Twickenham and Cheltenham seem to be the stamping grounds of the Irish at the moment, I do have a certain loyalty to the dark tincture as my dad worked for them for thirty years and I had several jobs there as well...
So as writer's block continues, I thought I'd show you a pic of one I opened ten minutes ago!
Sláinte!
7 comments:
Well, it's trying to snow here yet again, so you have just persuaded me to come off the PC, sit by the fire, try the Graudian cryptics again and pour a nice tincture. We were supposed to be going to Bolton to collect a most gorgeous Lladro ballerina figurine that I bought for my significant birthday in June but we're not risking going out today so she'll have to wait - sob!
Irish soup.
Looks like a Marmite latte to me, but "chacun a son gout", as the grenouilles say.
Hope it's not one of your home brews! I've just translated rvi's comment because I thought it meant something to do with gout which is not a nice thing to suffer from and usually comes from drinking excesses of vino collapse; anyway "Quisque a filio suo", "Mae pob un at ei hun", "Jeder auf seine eigene, 每到自己的" or "Ngamunye aye kokwakhe" as they often said at Rourke's Drift.
That's breakfast sorted.
A bit late but marginally relevant and sort of on topic...
Received overnight from an American friend
I went to the liquor store Tuesday afternoon on my bicycle, bought a bottle of whisky and put it in the bicycle basket.
As I was about to leave, I thought to myself that if I fell off the bicycle, the bottle would break.
So I drank all the whisky before I cycled home.
It turned out to be a very good decision, because I fell off my bicycle seven times on the way home.
I feel a Groundhog Day coming on!
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