A Pint of Sloe Gin

You know when you meet people, and you like them straightaway? That was how it was when Martin and Jo, distant cousins of himself, came to our house yesterday for the Christmas Tribal-Gathering. They were a lovely couple, and we were really lucky to have them with us all day.

There were about sixteen of us in total, and we had a huge feast of indeterminate courses. In fact, it was not so much a feast as constant grazing. There was also Winter Pimms, wine of various colours, beer, a selection of soft drinks, and himself's home-made sloe gin. This year's batch is particularly fine. It has a delightful pink colour and a kick in the back of the head. We all had a small glass each. Very Nice.

Now, I love sloe gin, and declared that I would have another. When I went to the kitchen to get it, I noticed a bottle of Shloer (white grape, raspberry & cranberry flavour), which was exactly the same colour as the gin next to it.

Tee hee hee!

I poured myself a huge glass of the stuff, and idled back into the sitting room without saying a word. Only step-daughter was in on the joke, having been in the kitchen at the time. I had two more of these glasses over the next hour or so, raising my glass each time, but receiving only raised eyebrows in return. No one said a thing!

When it was time for the lovely Martin and Jo, and a not-so-distant cousin to leave, there was a bit of a panic. Their train was due in eight-minutes, and the station is three miles away. My car was the only one with space to get out, so I threw them in the back, and made a dash for it.

The windscreen was quite fogged, and the first stretch is a thirty limit, so I took it easy; but as soon as the derestricted signs came into sight, I floored it. I changed down for the double bend over the railway bridge, and floored it again. No train in sight - so far so good. But by the time we reached the crossing over the side lane I could see that the barriers were down, and I'd have to really get going if I were to beat the train to the station. I heeled round the next lots of bends at sixty-five, and headed for the causeway nudging something rather more over the limit.

It had gone very quiet in the back.

It was only then I remembered that I'd not owned up to the joke about the gin...