About a week ago today I found myself sitting on a balcony somewhere near here.

In one hand I had a glass of ouzo, and in the other a glass of rosé after a comprehension error by the barkeep. “I like a glass of ouzo as I write my blog,” I say to Lou. I sip it thoughtfully. Somehow it tastes good.

That ouzo-feeling led me to purchase a big bottle of the stuff in duty free. You know- to take home. So I can enjoy the ouzo in my own dwelling. This evening I thought it would be jolly nice. Let’s have a glass of ouzo while I write, I said.

Context is everything, ladies and gentlemen. This is something that advertising executives run up against all the time, I’m sure. If I’m sitting on a warm balcony listening to the cicadas and contemplating another swim in bath-warm sea come the morning, then a glass of ouzo is just the picture. Little drop of ice to make it cloudy and keep it cool. Lovely. And now I shall write…

I’m overheating in a muggy flat in London. Outside it’s been grey but wet heat all day and my duvet is gonna be way too heavy for my needs. I’ve got the damn ouzo but it just tastes like sharp aniseed. It’s taken me forever to get halfway through a small glass. Ouzo is all very well on a summer night in Greece, but it can stay there. I can’t imagine that bottle will be even halfway empty this time next year.

Deliveroo was doing £10 off on groceries so I treated myself to comfort food from Waitrose. Now I can have crumpets to get the taste of that stuff out of my mouth. Third day without leaving the house. Full disclosure here – somebody had Covid on the plane near me, so I’m just taking three days. I haven’t got any tests, so I’m unsure how much of my headache and overheating is psychosomatic. We have had so much drummed into our heads about this thing. I haven’t got any tests though so I might venture to a careful boots tomorrow to purchase one before taking a call on whether to attend an actual real life social gathering tomorrow evening. The Bletchley Park cast are having a cheese and bread and board games night. I’d love to be able to get there. BYOB? Hmm. Perhaps I’ll bring this ouzo. *spits*

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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