Mrs Ray was having none of it. Back home after two weeks crisscrossing France with the Spectator Wine Club, getting lightly soused at every turn, I decided finally to heed my ever-loving’s advice and have a night off the booze. I was both pickled and pooped and all I craved was an iced elderflower and an early bed. This did not go down well.
How – demanded my dear wife – could I not want to share a modest glass with her after such a long absence? How could I not uncork something tasty to share over the dinner she had lovingly prepared? Had I no feelings? Why was it always about me?
Most popular
Theodore Griffin
Ukraine’s Jehovah’s Witnesses are refusing to go to war
