Cocktail, anyone?....

When sorrows come... well, they didn't come in battalions, but there were three this weekend. First of all, confirmation that Galvin's in Baker Street has actually closed down. A favourite unpretentious French restaurant of many years standing. We didn't see it coming. There are other Galvins but they are burdened with Michelin stars. We liked ours and now it is gone.  With not so much as an au revoir. Felt deeply sad. Then Dearest went to Daunt's to pick up the latest Philip Kerr he'd ordered.
"Did you know he died yesterday?" the assistant asked.
One of Dearest's favourite authors, felled, as his latest book comes out. Bernie Gunther and Dearest have shared many hours happily and grumpily growing old together. No more of this enduring fellowship. Shock and profound sadness.
Then, of course ball-tampering. Australian ignominy, and a bad day for cricket.

What could I do? Well, thank God I had a plan up my sleevie. I have resisted loudly whenever Dearest has expressed a desire to see the film Dunkirk. I've been persistently obstructive, actually. However, when one of our painters said he had a copy which he wouldn't mind lending us for the weekend, I accepted with alacrity.

So on Saturday evening. I produced the trump card. I have to say, that I had not undergone a sea-change. I really wasn't looking forward to watching it particularly. So I suggested I made us a pair of Negronis.
"Do you actually follow a recipe, Mum?" asked Son et Lumiere the next day.
Of course I don't. I read somewhere once that it contained Gin, Campari, and red Martini. I have got a very large measure and I mix them all up together with ice and a slice of orange.
"Mum, each shot is a double, you do know that?"
Really? Well, all I can say, is the first one slipped down a treat. It was so good that we immediately had another. Made Dunkirk go with a bit of a swing. Don't ask me about the detail. Just a little bit hazy about that.
Leaving alcohol alone for the rest of the week.