a surfeit of scrumpy

We'd agreed to meet in one of those railway arch type wine bars near one of the main-line train stations.

It's a well-known London venue, but was surprisingly quiet when we arrived.

We'd both taken the precaution to travel by public transport, so that some modest imbibing would be possible.

I should have heard the buzzer making that 'Brrp' noise and seen the big red cross in the air.

But I didn't.

"They do a good cider here," said my friend.

"I'll give it a go," I replied.

It looked innocent enough and fairly clear. Not an obvious rough scrumpy candidate although the apples had that tart taste.

"It's only six-and-a-half-percent," said my friend.

I should have remembered that I am not very cider-proof.

We had a great afternoon.

Although I did decide to make it an early night.

And this morning's 6 a.m. start was surprisingly difficult.

Tonight it will be comfort food.

Beans on toast.

And no cider.