With apologies for the late opening of the bar, today has been something of a rush. I was merrily coming to the end of my run around 9:10 this morning when I suddenly wondered whether, in fact, I was supposed to be running my workshop in Ascot at 10am rather than 11. A glance at my phone confirmed that this was in fact the case, so let’s see: still 5 minutes from home, sweating a river, haven’t printed the handouts or bought any milk, and it usually takes at least half an hour to get there. And today is a race day.
As the clock beside the church hall struck 10, I walked through the door. So not the smooth and efficient service I usually deliver, but I think I got away with it. Then I was stuck in traffic all the way home. The main theme of my day has been “oh, bugger.” So that’s the theme of our cocktails today: how have you come unstuck this week?
Ah. That’ll be the combination of empty bank account with water trickling into the conservatory at 11pm last night during a thunderstorm. I think the words “oh bugger” would have been amongst the milder ones employed.
I’ll have one of these please. Did you know that, in American slang, a “bugger” is something that annoys or bothers you, akin to “pester” in English English.
A week’s worth of neglected house stuff, front steps to fix, an infuriating confusing phone call about money, conflicting social plans, agreeing to host a dinner party on Saturday and only realising after the fact, that if everything goes perfectly, I will be coming home mere minutes before the guests arrive. I am advance preparing as much as I can today.
I will have a Dead Rabbit El Diablo please.
I’ve mostly had trouble getting things started this week. Instead of getting on with my work, I chose to animate a picture of a horse drawn by a 4 year old that I saw on Twitter. I’m not sure what compels me to do these things, but it certainly isn’t self-preservation. It’s hard to imagine that drinking will help.
So, mine’s a pint.
My week’s actually been OK (and that’s not just to be as contrary as ever) with a new job (Yay!) in a brilliant environment (Yay²!) and doing stuff I enjoy instead of sat around being bored off my tits. (Yay³!)
However, Asta’s list of drinks looks excellent, so I’ll have a bucket of the Solera Punch please. Because that looks seriously antisocial, and it may well help me rue my life choices come the morning.
Thank ‘ee koindly, ma’am.
Gordon Jackson, I’m so rude. I forgot to say please and thank you.
Well, I said please. But not thank you.
Actually, this comment thread is turning into one of those “oh bugger” moments.
I spent five hours assembling a power-cleaner, blitzing the yard and the garden furniture, and cleaning up the resultant slurry, all so that the house would look nice for the estate agent’s photographer this morning. The process was not conducive to mental adhesiveness. Then we lost the dreamhouse that we wanted in Yorkshire, but that was no great surprise, so no further adhesive deterioration took place.
Umm, so… mine’s a Dry Martini PLEASE, because we’re going to my mother’s in Cambridge for the weekend and she never lets us finish a full bottle of wine over dinner. I think that “pre-loading” is the currently preferred term. THANK YOU.
Still better than watery cauliflower cheese, Mike.