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Sunday night with the vicar, or how to cope with teatotaling guests

Not even a small sherry?

Now I know what you’re thinking, but I do not have a problem. Not since I met Dr. Feelgood Feldman anyway. In point of fact, I do entertain the occasional dry guest, someone who for religious, personal or legal reasons has chosen the path of abstemious virtue, God love ’em all. I respect that, though I cannot fathom it, since it would require me to eliminate caffeine (what goes up…) and leave me with no excuse for sleeping later than 7 am (OK, 9), and since I’m rapidly running out of vices, I feel the need to hold on to the few that remain. What’s more, a considerable chunk of my family history revolves around excessive consumption of light beer, box wine and bootleg gin, so drinking, for me, carries strong sentimental associations. Besides, it’s the only thing that makes my family interesting or my in-laws bearable.

So anyways, here it is, my list of un-potent potables, all of which taste much better when you, the host, down at least two dry martinis before your guests arrive.

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