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The Bottle
Yes
Starting drinking again on Saturday afternoon felt like a door-opening, light-flooding, release back into the word of sensual sociability. Bumped into Erica and her fiancé in town and went for a drink with them. They were going to his cousin's wedding later. "A pikey wedding on St Paddy's day. How pikey can you get?" she said, deliberately needling her fiancé, who doesn't like the word "pikey". He calls himself a "traveller".
In another pub I was beckoned over by New Business Colleague. Girlfriend was looking a bit nice with her new hairdo. Straightened it, dyed it blonde, tapered it into the nape of her neck. She had on a sea-blue fake satin top unbuttoned to just above her tits. Chatting and laughing. I wish it could be like this all the time. He needs a woman to keep him in order him and to make his life better, then dislikes himself for that. "I think I can make him a better man," she says, while he's in the loo.
I casually enquire how long they've been out, in order to monitor his drinking. He is the worst drinker I have met in a long time, alcohol unleashing a rain of aggression and self-pity. As they order the third bottle of wine, I bid them farewell. He'll turn now. What are you doing with him? Come round to mine and I'll show you my Wilton Felder LPs. But that'll have to stay where it is for the time being, because he might get a little bit cross.
I arrived back to Kirsty's and had to pretend to be sober. I defrosted the girls' tea, a pile of packaged carbohydrate, while watching Ireland v England. A set table, the rugby, washing on the line, one daughter drawing, another reading, another on the computer. The stillness is soporific and I slope into a Dad-doze on the settee.
Yesterday afternoon Kirsty came home from her weekend away, bringing her boyfriend with her. He manages his situation well, asking them questions but not being ingratiating. Boyfriend goes home and we all go out for Mothers' Day to a cheap Italian restaurant. Waitresses in those gorgeous tight black skirts with the zip on the outside at the back. We finish off with some delicious velvety-bitter Amaro, a bottle of which I must procure for myself.
New Business Colleague texts to say he's been arrested for assault. "All sorted, but don't mention it to Girlfriend."
No
13 comments
Are alarm bells ringing for anyone else, or just me?
Sorry smallbeds, I can’t hear you because the bells are ringing too loudly.
looby my dear internet acquaintance, happy though I may be to see you’ve re-joined the legions of the unsober, I feel the slightest hint of trepidation when I read your words regarding New Business Colleague’s girlfriend. It sounds like a galloping infatuation to me, and this could get tricky with the known and violent propensities of New Business Colleague.
Please take care. Your three little angels might get a tad upset if Daddy turns up minus a nose, an ear, or several digits.
I think I went to school with “cooking cleaning lol".
lifes t short t nype fully grammatical sentences
if you even mildly flirt with the girlfriend, you have a death wish. no one is that hot.
and what’s all that racket in here? these alarm bells are making me crazy!
What’s Amaro? I don’t think I’ve heard of it before
Amaro is a delicious Italian liqueur. Not like the syrupy ones you get in chocolates at Christmas but a bit more bitter.
I’m not going to start playing about with Girlfriend. But obiously when an attractive, fun woman tells you “…otherwise I’m going to end up sleeping with you” it does make you sit up and listen. It’s very flattering and puts a spring in your step. But I’m not going to pursue it.
And I’ll give Homer’s old school pal a wide berth too (given her size, she needs a wide berth).
I prefer Amaretto. The gentle hint of bitter almonds reminds me of cyanide.
Which is what New Business Colleague’s GF is.
Still can’t hear very well for all of these ALARMS going off.
I bet you’d put on a good party Nursey (with TSB helping with the drinks cabinet). I agree, Amaretto is a thing of great joy.
I didn’t realise that Fernet Branca is a type of Amaro, until I read the font all wisdom on the subject.
I’m off to Italy in May - will research this subject diligently.
I’m really good at drinking Sambuca con la mosca.
Well I never knew you could drink it like that. We’ve got the makings of a great cocktail party here!
If anyone else was similarly ignorant about drinking sambuca “with flies", it means with coffee beans.
On the subject of adding beans, near Barcelona they do a variant of a carajillo, where they steam a dark rum and espresso mix, then add coffee beans and I think lemon. It’s like a cross between sambuca and zero sleep.
Which coincidentally is how much sleep you’d get with all these alarm bells ringing.
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