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At Close of Play

The Sweepers are among the last to arrive and are the surest sign that it's time to leave. All cheekbones, lipstick and hollow eyes, they take up positions vacated by successful younger Chickens. They watch us, and wait. Gentlemen - are we old? They don't mind. Are we ugly? Good. Are we fat, shabby and ill-shaven? Better still. Are we all of these things, and drunk besides? Champion - we will be swept up within minutes. Or, are we so drunk that even the Sweepers have become lovely to our eyes? Gentlemen - we are lost, wallet and soul.
Meanwhile, we should be adding the sugar to the cranberry juice, stirring it till dissolved, then pouring it all into our bubbling must. The job's done now, apart from waiting, and topping up with water when it calms down, usually after two weeks.

5 comments:

  1. The wonders of extra strength...! ;)

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  2. Paraglider, I hope to earth that you are not submerged in corporate life and that work has not taken its toll on you. That's the only explanation I can offer to myself seeing as you have taken quite a break from your blog. Check out mine, you have some contributions to make. Hope all's well xx

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  3. What? An 8 day break? All OK, I hope. Too immersed in the Para to update on happenings? x

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  4. A long break, I grant you, but occasioned by an un-looked for period of non-solitude. 'Normal service will be reumed as soon as possible', as they used to say on the BBC when things went awry.

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  5. OH no, ok. Cool. See you above :)

    LOL word verification this time is "huggig" !!

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