Drink

Back in October my daughter came to visit and brought me a bottle of gin.  I used to enjoy a gin and tonic in my younger days but, apart from Mike sipping at a night cap malt whisky, we don’t drink much in the way of spirits these days.  And on Monday night a gin and tonic before dinner suddenly seemed like a pleasant idea and the unopened bottle was sitting welcomingly on the shelf. 

It was lovely.  It brought back memories of long ago and far away, so that after dinner it seemed wonderful not only to listen to some old Jackson Browne songs, but to have some more gin and tonic to go with it/him.  Mike didn’t join in.  He sat in another room reading his book. 

 The Jackson Browne was lovely.  If you don’t like Jackson Browne this will mean nothing,  but I’ve got this “Best of” CD that has things like Late for the Sky , For a Dancer and The Pretender on, all in one run.  Oh, and For Everyman as well. 

Does anybody else ever think that it’s not that they are giving up drink, but that drink is giving them up? Most  of the gin bottle remains -  I had three, or perhaps four, during the course of the evening – with liberal amounts of tonic and Jackson.     And on Tuesday morning I felt like poo.  Seriously, seriously jaded.   And continued to feel that way all day.

There’s not much to share about yesterday.  I managed a dog walk.  I managed to cook dinner.  I drank a lot of water.  I went to bed early.   No pictures.