Cocktail hour

And the news of the hour is that Margot and Barbara, the JMP kittens, have now been microchipped. Quite why a blogger who has signed up to the No2ID campaign allowed such an insidious invasion of privacy to be visited upon his furry friends on Saturday morning by Auntie Martha of the animal shelter that M & B used to call home is, now I think about it, something of a mystery. Does the increased likelihood of their getting home safely if they go walkabout make up for the thin end of the feline surveillance state wedge the chips represent? Deep waters indeed; too deep for this blog in cocktail hour.  

Speaking of which, and of getting home safely, Hans still hasn't returned from his Friday night, and his been reduced to faxing in (as he says, "how retro!!") his cocktail from "somewhere in Norfolk?!"; quite an achievement since his destination on Friday was a dingy bar in Walthamstow. He seems to be enjoying the rural life with his new friends, and I will spare you his cheery faxed bawdiness about "pheasant plucker sons", instead simply passing on his choice for the letter F in his A to Z cocktail challenge - the Face Ache, which he tells me is a favourite in the loucher pubs of Kings Lynn.

Place a measure each of creme de menthe, avocaat and vodka in a cocktail shaker, together with some crushed ice. Shake, pour out and add lemonade to taste. It sounds dreadful; but it really is quite drinkable. Honestly. Though not one for Soho House, perhaps.