Ahhhhh Sunday. I wonder how many Sundays I’ve had in my life. I’m not a mathematician but I’m 45 1/2 and there’s probably a way of working out just how many Sundays I have experienced.
I suppose you would divide years into weeks and weeks into sevens and then go from there. I can’t be dealing with that kind of thing though. I’m sitting here this morning in a kitchen where there was, last night, a full bottle of gin now there is not. There is the bottle but all the gin in it is gone.
Does that mean it’s still a gin bottle or just a bottle? Does taking the essence of the insides of the bottle render its previous existence redundant? I wish I knew the answer. I am not a bottle doctor or a bottletician or bottlologist, so if you’re looking for the clarity regarding a rigid container with a neck that is usually narrower than the body of said object, you have come to the wrong place.
The only thing I can say with any certainty in this crazy, topsy-turvy world we live in is that when you’re having gin with tonic, you need a slice of orange. Lemon, oh please. Lime, all right, but that’s a bit like thinking you’re sophisticated by putting a sprig of some herb or other on a bowl of soup as you serve it. Everyone does it, and it’s just not necessary.
Don’t get me wrong. I like limes. They serve their purpose in many ways but being in a gin and tonic really isn’t one of them. They have fooled you into thinking it’s de rigueur but it’s really not. A lot of it is that they don’t want the hassle of providing orange and frankly I think it’s time we made a stand against this tyranny.
Just before Christmas I was in an upmarket hotel with the Mugsmasher. That’s not where we usually hang out, by the way. We’re definitely more downmarket in general but from time to time it’s fun to go somewhere where the toilets don’t stink like goats that have been dead for a week.
“Two gin and tonics,” I said to the barkeep. “With a slice of orange please.”
“Of course, sir,” he replied. “But I’m afraid I don’t have any orange. Will lime do?”
“No, no it will no DO,” I said. “What kind of establishment is this? If a guest asks for something to lay their head upon, do you say ‘I’m sorry, we don’t have any pillows. Would you prefer a concrete block instead?'”
“Calm down sir,” he said, “You’re not making any sense.”
“Well,” I retorted, “neither is your face. Good day to you.”
So, in conclusion, make sure you try gin and tonic with a slice of orange. You’ll never look back and I will accept thanks in the form of cold hard cash, vouchers, or mechanical devices that I would like but can’t bring myself to actually pay for. Like those cool Dyson hoovers which you hang on a wall but when you see them in the shops you’re like, ‘Woah, I didn’t win Euro Millions so I can’t afford that!’.
There is also a bottle of Woodford Reserve which is half-empty. I think that means the essence of the bottle is intact but beyond that I can’t really say. I heard that the town of Woodford itself has a pump on the village green which dispenses bourbon, and everyone who lives there is in a really good mood all the time once it’s after midday but before that they might be a bit crotchety.
You can understand why. And I would really like to live there, even if I have just made the whole place up.
Have a great Sunday,
