JACKIE MAY and I have decided to revive an important tradition that has lately suffered terrible neglect: Elevenses. Winnie the Pooh did it (although he preferred honey or bread with condensed milk); Paddington Bear did it; and so did those brave hobbits. Jackie and I, however, follow in the bold steps of Herman Wouk's Don't Stop The Carnival, substituting Johnnie Walker Red with Stolichnaya vodka, but still planning to get rowdy by lunchtime.
We did question the appropiateness of vodka at 11am, and here are the reasons why I eventually opened the freezer door: Jackie has been blogging and writing non-stop (hardly getting out of her pyjamas, as the photo above shows); I have a slipped disk and am in considerable pain, but have a deadline; Jackie misses her children and husband, and therefore has a sore heart; then there is the general soppiness about being in a country that feels really good right now; and then, of course, as always, we feel our youth slip out of our grasp, fading ever so slightly. There is only one remedy for this: Elevenses.
