Wednesday’s Child: Your Health, Tom
The heartbreak of Tom’s departure made me want to get drunk. Living in Italy as I do, I rarely drink spirits – the climate is against it – and using even the cheapest wine to get plastered is a little like using the gold nib of an heirloom pen to open a bottle of Heineken. Then there is the problem of company, because downing vodka at the kitchen table, alone at three in the morning, is not how I wish my wife to remember me when I’m dead. Eventually a suitable candidate had been found, salted lard and sour pickles...
