Sider

I think this may have been after imbibing the Sider. It may have been. I'm not sure since the headache has yet to clear.

It was dearest Eve's fault. The cider that is.
It was available within a snails fartation of the apartment we stayed for a few nights in the rural part of a semi-industrial zone in northern Spain. Like you do; being woken at night by the hammering of something metallic with a muffled dragon. I think it was. I never did manage the local language.

The cider though;
I was born in Somerset you know. The bit where the poshest snobs come from and was taught nothing about cider. Consequently I almost killed an Asian-heritage work colleague some years back when I brought back a gallon of Somerset cider for him from a place just round the corner from my elder sisters.

And I didn't learn anything when Lynne, my elder sister emptied the cider barrel of the remaining stuff after it had gorn off a bit [this was cider made at the same place as the stuff I took to Londinium for my pal but from apples from her own orchard] onto the garden and it killed everything it touched for a decade at least.

The Spanish stuff was rather nice - poured as it was in this nice bar-place from a bottle held above head height into a glass held below the belt as it were. We should have thrown it all on the floor rather than the dregs one is supposed to.

My head will clear soon.


The image, if my fragile mind is correct is of someone, somewhere doing something. On film.