I'd been looking forward to last night for a while, a long awaited visit from "the one from Bolton, who leads us astray".
Work continues to be manic and my plans for a prompt getaway were thwarted by my boss popping down for a chat. My text to G explaining that I'll not be home until 7.30pm now, receives the wonderful reply "so I won't have to go down the sorry I'm late line then...". So many reasons why we're friends.
A trip to Chinatown is agreed upon and rather than go to the same old 'safe' restuarants we pick one at random (well almost, I have the basic minimum requirment that a place knows how to do proper dim sum).
One banquet and many rounds of vodka later, we end up on a strange Chinese liquer. The maitre d' had attempted to describe it to us and the word rose seemed to feature strongly.
He wasn't kidding. The first impression is that it's a sort of clear whiskey, but as the heat explodes in your throat, your head fills with the most amazing bouquet of roses. Not at all unpleasant. My best way of explaining, would be to say it was a bit like being punched in the throat by an Interflora delivery.
The kind man writes the name down for me and tells me where I can buy bottles - I feel this is an experience I'll be wanting to repeat...
Back home and the Archers is opened and flows freely as we make the most of a night to catch up, which for once isn't overshadowed by the prospect of an early morning deadline.
Quality. We need to do this more often.