Mostly for me.
But gather round and read it if you wish.
I want to practise my writing, and a blog is such an excellent discipline. There are so many out there I admire (more of which later). I have always kept diaries, and written stories and poems, and started novels, and scratched thoughts in notebooks on the train. But a blog forces you to think about an audience; even if it be an audience of one. Forces you to take care, and craft, and be interesting. So here it is. Here is my bar, and I am behind it. Come on in, and while I serve you the most bewilderingly delicious cocktails known to humankind, I will tell you some stories, and share some thoughts, and have a rant, and reminisce; and you can join in if you like.
Sunday, 19 August 2012
Open for business
Lovely to be back. And thanks for popping in. Don't ask where I have been for two years; maybe I did get that invite to that party after all. Anyway, the shutters are open again, and everything has been swept up and wiped down, the steel tables are softly gleaming under their little low lights, Carin is at her usual seat, playing patience and acting like she's all alone.
Sit down, no your not having the usual, this one's on me. This one's called a Moulin Rouge, and I want use these glasses that I picked up while I was away. Beautiful aren't they. Nineteenth century crystal. Get that cracked ice into the shaker, then a glug of gin, a couple of drops of apricot brandy, a squeeze of lemon and a couple of drops of grenadine. Put the lid on and shake. Look at that delicious orange colour pouring into the champagne glass; the colour of the dresses of the young dancers in the Moulin Rouge. Right, top up with sparkling wine; and there you are my friend. Sip as though you have come from your garrett, and are using your last centimes on this before going back to wrestle with your dark poetry. And be careful with that glass.
Sit down, no your not having the usual, this one's on me. This one's called a Moulin Rouge, and I want use these glasses that I picked up while I was away. Beautiful aren't they. Nineteenth century crystal. Get that cracked ice into the shaker, then a glug of gin, a couple of drops of apricot brandy, a squeeze of lemon and a couple of drops of grenadine. Put the lid on and shake. Look at that delicious orange colour pouring into the champagne glass; the colour of the dresses of the young dancers in the Moulin Rouge. Right, top up with sparkling wine; and there you are my friend. Sip as though you have come from your garrett, and are using your last centimes on this before going back to wrestle with your dark poetry. And be careful with that glass.
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