A list of the finest drinks according to Tref:
Water
Timothy Taylors Landlord as long as it’s well kept
Lager shandy after a hot round of golf
A nicely brewed cup of tea at the right moment
A cold glass of milk, particularly with a sandwich
My chosen life partner (CLP – rhymes with THG) has a different selection:
Water
Green tea
Lime and soda
Occasional glass of prosecco
I don’t include any wines in my list. None of them stand out enough in my mind. Not even Pol Roger which is my fave champagne but as drinks go doesn’t rank as highly as those listed. I do quite like a cocktail of freshly squeezed orange and grapefruit juices at breakfast. Rarely have it and doesn’t make the top tier.
I rarely have coffee. I like the smell but the drink itself often doesn’t live up to its aroma. I certainly can’t drink instant coffee as I overdosed on the stuff when swotting for my first year university exams. Every fifteen minutes I’d get up from my desk to make a cup “for a break”.
I guess a drink is all about the moment. Milk not beer with breakfast. At uni I’d consume three pints of milk a day. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. I’d also drink several pints of beer a day. If you weren’t in the pub by seven pm you didn’t get a seat. It’s different nowadays. Beer is too expensive for students who seem to load up on vodka before going out at ten pm. In my day it was forty pence a pint. The cheapest I paid was twenty nine pence.
Usually I have two cups of tea before getting up and a third with breakfast. I seem to have throttled back on making tea during the day but will take one if it is offered.
This morning I have the prospect of a cooked breakfast. Not started it yet. Not even got as far as getting the ingreds out of the fridge. There is no rush. THG informs me we have a nice new sourdough load in the breadbin which will make nice toast. She has already eaten. Saturday is Park Run day. Book early. I am told that we have some cooked potatoes. One of those will do very nicely fried with bacon and sausage. Was going to grill but the presence of a spud changes the plan. You can’t really grill a potato.
These days every day feels like a Saturday and funnily enough today is a Saturday. The sabbath. Football at twelve thirty followed by women’s rugby at three thirty. I don’t normally watch women’s rugby but there is a gathering of our camping pals for the game so we are going along more for the craic. I don’t watch women’s football either. Not because I think it is rubbish. Based on the various tournaments that appear on the telly from time to time, which I do sometimes watch, the women’s game is generally more entertaining than the men’s. Certainly less cheating which annoys the heck out of me with men’s professional football. It doesn’t serve as a good example to kids. This is a bit of a generalisation and not every footballer should be tarred with the same brush but it happens often enough for me to have made the mental note.
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In other news, Operation Cobra is happening at RAF Waddington. Thought I heard loud jet sounds in the garden the other day. Lots of plane spotters gathering on the road outside the base making a nuisance of themselves for traffic apaz. Probs the occasional spy as well. You can spot them. They wear capes and a funny shaped hats and carry a cane and have a miniature camera hidden in their buttonhole. Should be easy enough for the Military Police to round em up innit. Speak with foreign accents too.
I am now sat with a cup of char in the conservatory. It will interest you to know that I’ve finally straightened the Cezanne print on the wall above the radiator. Been bugging me for ages. Got up off my arse this time and sorted it. Wasn’t even on the jobs list. Neither is replacing the spent lightbulbs in the kitchen but it has to be done. Not sure the picture is completely straight. I’m going to have to get the spirit level out to check. Better than it was anyway. It isn’t much of a print. Well faded, being in the conservatory.