We have run out of Amarula. Not that I particularly like Amarula, but it was the only decent booze left in the house. Tomorrow I shall have a dilemma over cooking brandy or Pimms (without lemonade). If only I hadn't given away that half bottle of coffee liqueur to the missionaries at the pirate party on New year's Eve...

Would it be shabby to ask for it back? 

How gaily I handed it over, saying, no, no, just keep it, we never drink at home. 

Which was a lie: Hubby never drinks at home (unless one of his scarce mates is around), but I blooming well do. Especially when he is away. It's been the only thing to look forward to these last few days, a big tot of Amarula and an episode of 'Still Game' (if you have never watched this scottish sitcom, then you really should). 

Incidentally, the pirate party was another one of those ones that I agreed to and Hubby said he wasn't going to bloody go to that. I got quite into it - growing up in Devon and working in local pubs gives you a headstart so far as pirate accents are concerned, as they all sound like forty-a-day-smokers-from-Moretonhampstead or thereabouts. The only thing was, it was thrown by a group of missionaries. They are lovely. Really nice people. But not big drinkers. Or big on double entendre type jokes (of which there were many opportunities for in the pirate murder mystery script we were following). Also, we all had young children, so by ten o'clock, everyone was flagging a bit. Still, I did have a nice time, and miraculously no hangover whatsoever - which was a good thing. 

And New Year's Eve at a missionaries' pirate party certainly scores higher than Christmas Day with the Dutch mushroom farmers' heavy metal pool party, which was how I spent 25th December back in Cape Town in 1994 - Hubby managed to miss that one, too.