Once again proving that he is not just a pretty face, my good friend J has somehow managed to give us a whole new room in our existing home. Nay, a whole new realm. For entering here is to enter a sort of in-between zone, where we are both cooler, better, wiser versions of ourselves. We sit there to gape at the books, to hold discussions, to do nothing in the scent of pine-scented candles, or then of course to read.
We also drink tea at times. But I, in my infinite wisdom, have decided that must change. Or change at least some of the time. Tea is fine and all, but does this nest of loveliness not demand a goblet of something strong and sweet? A tall frosty glass of something potent? A wicked brew redolent of olives and spicy sauce floating atop the scent of quality gin? And so on and so forth.
And an even better idea: My next project is to devise some sea-captain-worthy new beverages and name them after the very books at which we gape. A few have presented themselves already. Ergo, Dark Star Safari, Sandstorm, Bangkok Days, The Goldfinch. And the award-winning one, which I shall unveil on Christmas Eve? The Blue Light of African Dreams.