Stirred, not shaken
I've become somewhat addicted to Martinis of late.
I blame Heather. The girl everyone thought I was going to hook up with at University (myself included), but somehow it never happened. We danced around each other like strange birds of paradise, circling but never meeting. She spent the whole night at my flat on more than one occasion, but we just sat up all night talking. Maybe it was better that way. Everyone needs an anchor - a friend of the opposite sex who is just that, a solid, dependable friend.
When I first met Heather, it was 'Heather and Barbara' - they were a double act. For a year I didn't know which one was Heather and which one was Barbara. It was only when Barbara took a year out of University that I worked it out. I know now, of course. Barbara and I have been together for something scary like sixteen years.
But I still blame Heather.
She's living in Australia now, married to another expat, Alex, who used to roadie for a late eighties rock band called The Bolshoi, but who is now a doctor of ophthalmology (or something to do with eyes). They have a young son, Euan, and have recently moved to the suburbs outside Melbourne.
Last winter (their summer) we visited them on Barbara's great parasite study tour and Heather, then heavily pregnant with the soon to be Euan and not drinking, insisted on making us all cocktails. I'd never been a great fan of Martinis up until then, but I'll drink almost anything that I haven't had to concoct myself.
And now I'm hooked. And this evening's infusion is finished. So I'll just have to stop blogging and go do something more useful instead.
But they should be stirred, not shaken. And don't use too high strength a gin - it just burns your tongue.
I blame Heather. The girl everyone thought I was going to hook up with at University (myself included), but somehow it never happened. We danced around each other like strange birds of paradise, circling but never meeting. She spent the whole night at my flat on more than one occasion, but we just sat up all night talking. Maybe it was better that way. Everyone needs an anchor - a friend of the opposite sex who is just that, a solid, dependable friend.
When I first met Heather, it was 'Heather and Barbara' - they were a double act. For a year I didn't know which one was Heather and which one was Barbara. It was only when Barbara took a year out of University that I worked it out. I know now, of course. Barbara and I have been together for something scary like sixteen years.
But I still blame Heather.
She's living in Australia now, married to another expat, Alex, who used to roadie for a late eighties rock band called The Bolshoi, but who is now a doctor of ophthalmology (or something to do with eyes). They have a young son, Euan, and have recently moved to the suburbs outside Melbourne.
Last winter (their summer) we visited them on Barbara's great parasite study tour and Heather, then heavily pregnant with the soon to be Euan and not drinking, insisted on making us all cocktails. I'd never been a great fan of Martinis up until then, but I'll drink almost anything that I haven't had to concoct myself.
And now I'm hooked. And this evening's infusion is finished. So I'll just have to stop blogging and go do something more useful instead.
But they should be stirred, not shaken. And don't use too high strength a gin - it just burns your tongue.
Comments
Just remember the old adage: martinis are like women’s breasts, one is not enough, three is too many. Unfortunately I never remember this old homily until after the fourth, by which time I suppose I’m into kinky threesome territory. Hurrah!
truffaut: would that it were so. But see my earlier postings on being painfully, pathologically shy. This didn't help me much at University. I had some friends who were girls, but not many girlfriends in my four years (ah, the delights of Scottish education).
BTW. Do I know you, truffaut?
Sorry for all my banal comments - the art of blogging is new to me too! I try to think of something significant to say but then I get shy/self-conscious and panic.
As for the shyness, well this blog is my great outlet for that. And not being able to think of what to say has been covered as well.
Now, thinks... someone who knew me at Uni and who's into films. Who could it possibly be. No, no, don't tell me, the suspense is positively thrilling.