The morning after a Gin Club meeting always brings a smile; even before I have got out of bed, and way before my thumping head has registered that the alcohol tanks are still showing 'full'. My route to St Saviour of the Kettle takes me past what once could be described as my dining table. The detritus looks like someone actually managed a piss up in brewery. Demanda's earrings are perched tastefully next to a black olive on top of a dead wine bottle and there is half a punnet of raspberries that were destined for some exotic cocktail but never made it past the Pimms jug. A hoard of pistachio shells reminded me who won that particular competition and I spotted the paper bag I supplied when it appeared that Demoana couldn't breathe anymore.
Text messages on my soggy mobile ask where vital items of clothing and the odd body part might be located, Delilah also asked if I liked my present.
The tradition of presents to the host has developed like some mad un-planned ritual over the years. Mostly we bring gifts of bottled joy, varying snacks to keep up our energy levels and flowers for the one who moaned a lot at the last meeting. I scanned the table. My flowers were sitting askew in their temporary accommodation in the teapot but they were not from Delilah. I was puzzled.
Then I spotted it. Lying on the dresser with a very nice bow around it was a marrow. Why anyone would want to give a newly single, independent woman a marrow I don't know, but it is best not to dig too deeply into Delilah's mind as you never know what you are going to find?
Your suggestions on this subject are not welcome but I suppose you will have your say anyway!