Heaven in the afternoon

There is really no excuse for this intolerable behaviour… Dry Sherry???? Where is the glamour? This is the slippery slope to a port and lemon, a cold sausage roll and a bag of crochet.
Sx

Dry Manzanilla sherry (M&S, 7.99) is a drink of the utmost refinement. Unfortunately, now that I pick up the bottle to refill my glass, I notice that it jerks up with emptiness, and I am half-cursing, half-grateful to you Ms Blue, for putting the thought in my head that a quick nip back to M&S to buy some port might be a befitting way to continue the afternoon.

Sherry hangovers are EVIL

I’ll take your word for it, although I am mercifully generally exempt from hangovers. Following Scarlet’s subtle but powerful suggestion, I did venture out and get some port in the end and we drank that too, so perhaps I’ll find out in a few hours.

Ah, the delights of sherry and knitting. I hope the lovely Kim is knitting you a cardigan, suitable for one of your rapidly advancing years, and habits.

Just a minute. Railway tickets? What happened to the rolled up Tenners?

Impeccable musical and intoxicant taste.

(I wish I could knit.)

TSB: It’s Lancashire lad. We’re not made of money!

Isabelle: Thank you. I at least like knowing someone who knits. The sound, and watching her, is very drowsily domestically relaxing.

You know, I’ve noticed that a lot of people in the UK drink polite sounding things like sherry, while we here in the US drink a lot of Jack Daniels whiskey straight out of bottles with black labels that elicit thoughts of Harleys and biker gangs. I don’t actually know why this is, though.

“You know, I’ve noticed that a lot of people in the UK drink polite sounding things like sherry, while we here in the US drink a lot of Jack Daniels whiskey straight out of bottles with black labels that elicit thoughts of Harleys and biker gangs. I don’t actually know why this is, though. “

It’s because most citizens/denizens of the USA are uncivilised boors.

No offence.

Hello Memphis Steve and nice to see you here! Don’t mind TSB. Just keep talking nicely and you’ll soon discover that underneath that roughty-toughty exterior, he’s got a heart made of pure… flint.

We have some drinking cultures here that are as bad as the ones you mention, which involve a lot of screaming women in tiny skirts being fought over by men on the same intellectual and sartorial level.

Right,you must all excuse me now as I’m off to the dentist’s now to see what having a filling feels like after being off my head all night on The Drug With the Unfeasibly Long Name, and therefore, a) attempting not to stink the entire surgery out with my copious drug-induced sweating; b) trying to stop myself from talking the receptionist’s head off with the almost uncontrollable urge it gives me to talk, and c) hoping that my hollow blackened eyes and odd manner won’t give rise to any suspicions about my “tastes".

‘the clock tick-like needle-clack of knitting by day’. I love that. Actually the whole post reads like a prose version of a Morrissey lyric, and I mean from when that was a byword for Northern Genius.