1) Make
sure we have enough whisky. At present we have nearly two
litres of industrial supermarket whisky, one
unopened bottle of single malt and a single malt about two-thirds
down. This lot should last at least a week,
although anxiety may force us to drink it quicker than usual.
2) Don't
read La
Peste
in translation or the original.
3)
Also two bottles of gin plus a supply of tonic, sufficient for a week
if I don't get out of hand.
4)
Several loaves of bread in the freezer, plus unidentified pots of
brown stuff which may or may not be stew. In the long days ahead we
can eat our way through the latter and guess what it is we're eating.
Actually, one is marked as a vegetarian sweet potato ensemble which
will be the last to go, I'm guessing.
5)
Wine is more problematic. I seem to be unable to drink red these
days. Not sure why. But along with four now-awkward reds I've got
five rosés, two bottles of champagne and a spare bottle of olive
oil. The red thing is a bit of a mystery. I've only got to go near a
red of any sort and I get a pounding headache. Age-related? Nature's
way of telling me I've already reached a lifetime's consumption of
the stuff and must now turn to other beverages? I'll be sad to see it
go, but only slightly.
6)
Oh, and a can of Guinness in the fridge.
7)
On no account watch or listen to Nigel Farage or Donald Trump in any
medium.
8)
Keep tabs on the drink supply in the supermarket. Obviously, toilet
paper, paracetamol, tinned sardines, they went ages ago. Wines and
spirits, on the other hand, seem to be holding up. If this state of
affairs persists, what with the loo paper and the sardines, we will
be malnourished and despairing when the whole thing blows over, but
we will also be 93% pure alcohol - effectively, living sanitary
handwipes. We might even charge people to wipe their hands on
us as a precautionary measure.
9) Remember what point number nine was meant to be.
10)
Paint the bathroom. I've been talking rashly about this for weeks.
Now there's no way out, literally no way out. So I've got the paint,
I've got the brush cleaner, I've got the sandpaper and the dust
sheets. What I'm currently short of is willpower, but by next Monday
I'll be so brassed off with wandering fretfully around the house
trying to decide if I feel ill or not, I'll do anything to break the
monotony. Maybe I can try drinking some of the brush cleaner, can't
be worse than that Lambrusco. If I'm not already dead. Now I think
about it, I could usefully also start work on a fresh ten-point plan
for the next stage of the plague, whatever that looks like. I have a
feeling toilet paper is going to be at centre of it. Toilet paper and
whisky and everything else will be a bonus. It's like living in
Lerwick. Who knew?
CJ
CJ - brilliant. Thank you so much!
ReplyDeleteJillie
You're welcome!
ReplyDeleteAs for #5, one recalls fondly the opening sequence of "The Birdcage," as Albert, so exquisitely played by Nathan Lane, accuses Armand of infidelity based on the fact that he saw "a bottle of white wine in the refrigerator", though Albert apparently "only drinks red". And so does Armand.
ReplyDeleteArmand: I'm switching to white, because red has tannins!
Albert: TANNINS?!
Sigh...
If only it were so simple...
ReplyDeleteReading some back-issues to brighten a dreadful,wet Sunday afternoon. You chaps were jolly funny and are sorely missed. No chance of a Christmas special I suppose..?
ReplyDeleteFlattered, and thank you, but sadly...
ReplyDelete