It used to be a magic moment. Released from the Hell that was Sunday-morning check-in at Gatwick during the ski-ing season, I would fetch up at the bar and order a Bloody Mary. Sipping, I told myself, I am finally en route for the slopes.
Ski-ing is now only a faint memory but not the liberating taste of that cocktail. Would a BM similarly liberate VR? It seemed it would.
We had to have two, of course, to adjust the amounts. More tomato juice and much less celery salt, said VR. Less Tabasco (that tiny little chap) for me; uxorially I also turned up the wick on tomato.
Still it wasn't right. Now VR wanted more Lea & Perrins and I'd overdone the tomato. Nevertheless, we were content. The perfect Bloody Mary could wait for tomorrow (ie, today). And here I am in my shirt sleeves at the computer; outside there's a strong sun and a bit of a nip. The garden chairs and table will need disrobing so there'll be additional symbolism at work.
Too nippy? Why do you think vodka was invented in the first place?
Tone Deaf's tribute to Joe Hyam, poetry lover and friend.
But bright Cecilia's rais'd the wonder higher:
When to her organ vocal breath was given,
An angel heard and straight appear'd,
Mistaking Earth for heaven.
The reason why. No more comment on what you can't see; only what you can. The title is Song For St Cecilia's Day, you get that. St Cecilia is patroness of musicians.
The last two lines are a neat conceit. "Organ vocal breath" tries hard, but it’s “voice" in drag. "Bright" only makes the line scan; "was given" seems unresolved. Doggerel? Yes, but redeemed by that compact last line.