“Could you fancy a brandy and Canada Dry?” I asked.
“No thanks. You go ahead, though.”
So I opened the Christmas bottle, carefully peeling the Courvoisier foil aside, poured myself a dollop, and drowned it with Canada Dry, reckoning that it diluted the brandy/cognac to a safe level for a well deserving elder poet.
Well, it is only once a year.
“Ye gods and little fishes,” Graham exclaimed, shamelessly stealing one of my favourite epithets. “How much brandy did you put in that glass?”
“About this much,” I said, pouring myself a second glass. What’s that, a double, or a triple, possibly?”
“More like a quadruple.”
“Oh well. Hic. I’m worth it.”
