Working till two in the morning meant I was determined to drive in the evening. If I started to droop, an escape would be easier. Persuasive powers and the pop of a cork melted that resolve in minutes. I'm glad.
Tattinger's Prelude was gorgeous. Honeyed praline reviving juice that bundled me into the cab. We drove towards Paisley in the drizzle and finally found the place. A splendid Victorian villa whose owners put their own art in the basement to make way for art to sell. A proportion of the money raised goes to charity.
Best in the sale for me looked like a fucked up Amelia Earhart. Unfortunately my art purchasing fund couldn't stretch to the £5000 asked. Instead I spent more time gazing upon my favourite piece, it wasn't part of the sale, so I felt better coveting it.
Flaking after the taxi back I was given an elixir to sip. This stuff could wake the dead.
Immense mineral refreshment. It's probably wrong, but I like Grand Cru Chablis young, unfortunately my wine purchasing fund rarely stretches to it's asking price either.
Thank you Jo.
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there's surely room in this waking the dead themed blog to give a little space for the skeleton or bisexual torso??? hahaha
ReplyDeleteSo I didn't imagine it! Room has been made.
ReplyDeleteI'm a relative new Splodge Fan but wanted to let you know how much I love the blogs. Great recipe ideas with few side-effects! Except - any idea how to cure an addiction to M&S frites? - not me, just a friend you understand. Uncle David.
ReplyDeleteHey David,
ReplyDeleteYour "friend" might be interested in the findings of a Swiss doctor who treats affluent addicts. He discovered that after 20 years or so, they lose the craving. The problem for poorer addicts is that they're forced to buy dirty frites from less reputable suppliers and that clogs their veins. Prescription's the only answer, but the politicians won't even consider it. What a crazy world we live in.