#203
We’re at the Jerusalem Tavern, our local, and the bartender, she asks me if I want a large or regular pour of wine, and I tell her a large and also a G&T.
I turn to talk.
Me: I think the owners changed; they never used to ask about the amount of wine.
Her: Who knows?
Me: Glad the fire’s on, though.
The bartender, she slides me a wine glass that has been filled to the brim with red.
Me: Oh lord.
I hand the G&T to V, and I slide, gingerly, the wine glass over and, leaving it on the bar, take a sip from the top, the way a kid might from a glass of milk that is about to go over the side.
Me: I should ask for a straw.
Her: Please don’t.
Me: Maybe just some food then.
Her: The little shrimps are good.
Me: Fine.
We roll over to a table near the fire. The rain outside is slashing against the old windows, but who cares, inside, nothing else matters. We’re warm and dry and getting a little toasted on house red, and rail gin, and little shrimps and mayonnaise and somehow we’ve never felt happier.
Next to us, a couple with their dog dressed in a dark green Barbour raincoat, looking every inch the British dog he is.
Me: What’s his name?
Them: Friday.
Me: Your dog, Friday.
Them: Our dog, Friday.
Me: I love it.
Them: We know.
I think it’s the best dog name I’ve come across in ages, and V agrees and goes to the loo and comes back with more wine and more gin.
Me: Regular pour this time?
Her: Don’t complain.
Outside, the rain stops and the wind blows the clouds away, and the moon is just there, and I feel like I can pinch it. Later, drinks and shrimps finished, we walked home and passed the couple with the dog, Friday, who happens to live on our street.
