I have been shaken, so now, I have stirred!

I am out the back, building an ark.

Is this the era of the soothsayer, or perhaps the winter of our discontent?

Woe is me; woe is me, thrice woe…

Thrice is more than twice.

Doesn’t it always come in threes? Why? Because three is a magic number!

Three little pigs, three times a lady, three coins in a fountain. You wait hours for a bus and then three come along together. Three in the bed and the little one said roll over, roll over! Three, blind mice!

Triple Salco, triple sec, two wrongs don’t make a right… but I’m into my second Quattro Bianchi, there is now no woe, and as usual I am making no sense at all.

My friend Omar was right, there is a fourth dimension…

It looks, so innocent, translucent, slightly viscous, the tiniest sliver of lemon peel. My friend Richard was enjoying his umpteenth pint, whilst I sipped on a Martini that should have had a palm tree, rather than an olive sticking out of it; and so, went my evening with an Australian and an Egyptian.

Martini’s do that to me, but worth all the calories.

I was becoming a touch paranoid because I now seemed to be floating amongst the pieces on a three-dimensional chess board and I had become incapable of employing the Pirc-Robatsch Defence. Deep in the back of my mind I could hear Garry whispering to me this was how he defeated Anatoly. Ipcress, tell me, is it the vodka talking?

Then Chandra in all her glory showed me Ophiucus, and I was drawn across 390 million light years of space, down a spiralling worm hole, I disappeared into the darkness, isolated for an eternity, or at least a fortnight. Had I, like the drink, become ‘Unseen’?

Had I become Hades?

Whilst I wasn’t looking, Persephone ate some of the seeds from the pomegranate Moscow Mule I had offered her. It wasn’t the alcohol that was not her undoing, it was the fact that anything she ate in the underworld, tied her to it, destined never to leave. No time to die… she should have washed her hands of me.

Any way back to that ark…

I say ark, but there’ll be none of that two by two nonsense, given our selfish and self-obsessed world, I shall be climbing aboard and self-quarantining alone.

I considered surrounding myself with hand sanitising gel and loo rolls, but Boots (other pharmacies are available) are out of stock, and I’m not sure that going out on a boat made of wood, surrounded by paper and Napalm is such a good idea. However, it would afford me a spectacular Viking burial as I floated towards the Thames.

I had to just check the ingredients which now means, if I wasn’t already, I am now on MI5’s radar… and on that note Bond is having a lie in, 6 months’ worth of duvet days.

Time for a re-write.

The recipe for the Quattro Bianchi was as follows:

2 measures of Belvedere vodka, 2 of Hendricks gin, 1 of Lillet Blanc, 1 of Noilly Prat and decorated with a sliver of lemon zest…

I must admit to being thirsty again!

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