Pan-galactic Gargleblaster

We had a cocktail party the other weekend. Cocktails seem largely to be drinks that give you the initial reaction of "ugh" then an "ooh" kind of shiver followed by successively larger mouthfuls until you find yourself making a second shaker of a drink you'd initially mentally compared with drain cleaner.

Anyway, alone and at a loose end for the evening (always dangerous with alcohol in the house) I thought I'd be terribly sophisticated and mix one of the coktails we'd recently been sinking to great effect. I briefly considered changing into a dress for a touch of authentic ambience, but decided on the whole that I couldn't be arsed, and that should any of the voices in my head call me on it, I would maintain that I was instead being the sort of chap who'd been out hunting rhino all day and was just striding back into the lodge for a well deserved cocktail.

Two things occurred to me as I was draining the cointreau bottle into the shaker and musing that this cocktail business was rather draining on the old spirit levels. Firstly, that I did actually possess a measure spoon, and thus using the lid of the shaker probably wasn't a measure in the strict bar tending sense of the word, and secondly, that by following the same recipe, I'd just mixed as much for myself as I had previously for four people.

If I've posted this it means I've regained consciousness, which is a good thing. Probably.