“Two cowboys, thanks.”
“You know what a cowboy is, right?
Baileys. Brandy…. “we don’t have bailey’s.”
No baileys. I looked around: this was the kind of club that lived for Baileys. You know the kind of place: crap clients, crap drinks, sticky carpet, deafening music. It had a smoking room that was like death. The kind of place I avoid like the plague, and yet here I was. They even checked my ID. I’m 36.
But no baileys… and I didn’t even want a drink! I was only there because the wedding had wound up and our table had moved on, but they were all milling around and they needed someone to take charge, and that someone was me.
I got two rums, instead. My wife likes rum.
It has been a couple of years since our last wedding, so we were both looking forward to it. The couple were getting married in France, but they were really getting married in Melbourne. That’s awesome- we couldn’t go to France! What was even better? They only wanted us at the reception.
I could do that.
So we ended up at a French restaurant eating great food and drinking champagne. At the end of a hot Melbourne summer, it was quite perfect. My wife and I had a couple of beers waiting for the wedding to start (beers by the litre… Perhaps a little dangerous) and then we hit the venue and proceeded to enjoy ourselves.
Which brings us to Bond.
I had just finished reading Moonraker and one of the champaignes he mentions is Taittinger. It is a little hobby of mine to try and find drinks that are mentioned in old books, or were present at famous events (I’m still trying to get a taste of the champagne that was served on Titanic.)
Being French, they had quite the wine selection and it was all stored next to the toilets. I went downstairs to relieve myself and what did I find? Taittinger. An entire wall of the stuff.
I have to admit, I was tempted… I could just take it. Nobody would know. There were no staff down here. Just grab one! But I didn’t, and it was a good thing, too- it was only when I left that I saw the security camera watching my every move.
So, instead, I took a photo and moved back to the wedding.
And it was only later that I was stuck drinking rum at a shitty little club. The champagne will have to wait.
Next time, Mister Bond. Next time.