Watching the World Cup Finals and sipping assorted drinks, my friend, and pub manager extraordinaire, queried if I had tried a Hendrick's gin and tonic.
I had. A few times. With positive vibes afterward.
But, he amended, had I tried it with cucumber? How unusual in such times.
What followed was a string of identical drinks, downed with great aplomb and luxuriated over as if some long-forgotten key to universal pleasure had been found.
Nevermind that Oranje behaved atrociously and deservedly lost to Spain.
There, on the dark wood table, amidst the careless flirtations of servers and customers alike, the requisite jokes about barbiturates and border crossings -- there lay a drink as fine and brilliant as... well you get the idea.
God caressing your tongue, I said to a friend nearby.
The anthropomorphism required to piece that into an image too great a burden.
