First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you.

Posted: November 8, 2012 in Photography
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Three (increasingly civilised) tales of drinking.

This is Isla, whose mother, Victoria, is a fellow St Andrews alumnus, a former colleague of John’s, and – most recently – our neighbour here in Glasgow. Since moving here, wine o’clock with Victoria has become a regular event in our Saturday night programming. Alas, so, too, have the hungover Sunday mornings that follow. On this particular day, I miraculously made it out of bed before noon and the three of us headed to Darcy’s in Princes Square with Isla in tow.

Not gonna lie: John and I got way more enjoyment out of that Little Mermaid colouring sheet than she did.

The iPhone was quickly moved to safety when Isla became more interested in seeing how far she could throw everything off the table.

This picture recently made its way onto Isla’s birthday party invitations (also, coincidentally, being held at Darcy’s.)

The most deadly addition to these evenings has, incidentally, been the discovery of these M&S cocktails-in-a-can, which – contrary to appearances – actually contain two and a half measures each. I don’t think anything says class like a mojito in a can.

Later: a slightly classier arrangement of cocktails at Chaophraya with the lovely Lisa.

Dinner was amazing, and moderately less liquid than the previous pictures would suggest. These were my Thai pancakes, with pandan leaf, coconut caramel and sticky rice.

John’s dessert was poached pears with wine and sherry, served with ice-cream and meringue. Honestly, words can’t do it justice.

Lisa was bound for Germany the very next day, but before that we went to see the new Total Recall. It didn’t quite live up to the Arnie version, but John and I were big fans of Kate Beckinsale’s ice cold Brit-bitch and Colin Farrell kept Lisa sufficiently entertained. The only detractor: some absolute moron brought their three year old child to see it, who proceeded to scream, cry and declare that he “need[ed] to poo” every four minutes. (Also, the inexplicable lens flares in every single shot, even when there was no visible light source to produce one. Seriously: they’re everywhere.)

And lastly:

Situated down a cobbled lane on the arse-end of Argyle St, the Hidden Lane Tearoom certainly lives up to its name but is nevertheless worth the trip. They specialise in cakes and high tea, served in self-consciously chintzy crockery and relaxed, vintage-inspired surroundings. They even have their own brand of (non-alcoholic) “tea cocktails” – John had the London Fog which was especially nice, being Earl Grey, steamed milk and vanilla.

Appropriately (though completely unintentionally) I happened to be wearing this Alice-inspired outfit the day we went.

If I can offer one caveat, it’s that they don’t accept cards (a seeming impossibility in 2012), so if you don’t have any cash to hand, you might find your boyfriend making a quick dash to the nearest ATM while you stay behind as collateral.

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