This is the somewhat sad contents of the drinks cupboard. I remember a time when it was full of tiny remnants of all manner of exotic stuff in flash bottles. Now it's nightcaps and chrissie cakes.
Years ago a skinny, blonde haired, big titted girlie, thought she was quite the drinker. It was an era of dinner parties where the favourite food fare was your own version of Tuna Casserole and people would perch a plateful of the oozey stuff on their knees and fork it in, alternating with gobs full of cheap wine - sauterne was my choice, I know oooh yukky NOW, mostly poured from some big old glass goon flagon. I used to save all those flagons and grow viney shit in them. It was definitely THE thing to do.
There was a herd or us who would knock around together. If there was no money it was the tuna shit and a flagon and some tennis on the tellie and if it was pay week and there were no bills to pay or if it was one of those lovely months in the year when there were 3 pay days instead of only 2, then a pub crawl was in order.
The fellas usually drank beer poured from the tap and downed in gulps. Sometimes the girlies did too. There was a season of Bacardi and cokes and Vodka and Oranges, and then there were the tax return wealthy times of the cocktails.
Two Advocaat and Lemonades please.
Two advcaatsandlemonades pleash
2 advocatesandlemonades or 2 black russians
Singing this out across the bar while money was waved above my head is a very strong memory and I can only imagine that the second time through taste of the advocaat was far less pleasant than the Russian jobbie cos I just could not even think about ordering the SNOWBALL today. Seriously the thought is making me gag, but the black Russian is a fond memory. Perhaps they were more expensive.
Times changed and fashionable drinks did too and in my single 30s Green Chatreuse became the evening finale shot, where tradition held that you downed it in one - of course, and then stomped your feet to make sure you were still alive. One auspicious evening, after the shots, my friend wandered into the loos and some time later she emerged with a broken nose cos some do-gooder had pushed the door open right onto her face. OUCHIE!
Tequila and Cointreau and Bundy Rum and the ubiquitous Creme de Menthe, have all had a field day in my head and belly and later the big white flushing bus, and I am not keen to see 'em again. Truth be told there are far more beverages that I don't fancy drinking anymore than ones that tempt me, but then it turned out that I am not a big drinker. I tried 'em all but now am happy to settle for a bubbles or a wine or a beer or a voddie and if I have given it a bit of a nudge then I do enjoy a Tia Maria to finish off.
There's been a move from Advocaat to advocate this week.
When I popped out to see Daryl this morning to return his phone and deliver a cuppa, - white with 2 sugars if you are thinking of helping out, he was sitting with all his stuff stowed neatly away. He looked like he was going somewhere.
He thanked me for the phone and the tea and told me that it was good have his phone back in case the Queen rang -he he he, and then said that he fancied going to the IGA, but he didn't dare move from the bench in case the folk coming to help him out, came and he wasn't there. He tried to flatten his hair and he lamented the lack of a comb. I told him I couldn't help him cos I don't comb my hair and we smiled when I said that Stevie didn't need one. He was clearly trying to get himself together for when help arrived.
But the UCC were not definite yesterday. They only said they would do what they could. Daryl was quite fixated on the idea that today would be THE day. Shit, I might have been better off not telling him of the call, except that then if they had arrived unannounced he might not have welcomed them...oh really who the fuck knows what's best?
So I came back in and Stevie said to ring the UCC again to see if they are definitely coming. I told 'em that Daryl seemed like he was preparing for a job interview, he was getting himself spruced up and was ready and waiting for their arrival. The bloke there said he'd see if he could get out to see him himself.
I am not sure if the cavalry is coming. I fucking hope so.