Doctor Doctor!

The look of pure glee on the boys faces makes my shopping trip to Ikea Budapest worthwhile. 1 purple bed sheet with matching pillowcases, 1 green throw, 1 brown throw is mere excess baggage compared to the look of bliss two bottles of Gyógtnövénylikór brings. Naturally, it's the one with the 15 herbs and not the one with the 37 that tastes vile. I smirk in victory at my argument over Sarolta, although, I have to admit, her piquant, "that doesn't mean he doesn't want it" to my, "he's written the one with 37 is vile.." does bear considerable merit.

The sight of two bottles seems to be a signal to celebrate and the previous bottle is brought out from hiding before the ties come off, and ceremoniously poured out and as she who is bringer of plentiful booze is giving the first taste, even as Vinod looks positively orgasmic as he sniffs it. Jan looks on like an expectant father, and I grin and salute them. Hmmmm, it smells distinctly medicinal and my first sip encourages a vitriolic coughing fit. Dammit to hell and back! Those bloody Benedictine monks! Purveyors of pure alcohol. It's utterly disgusting! I shudder as I think this is the 15 herb mix and not the 'vile' version. I accuse them of just being pathetic medical practitioners. This is nothing better than home made dispensary brew, to be served in little plastic cups as a cure all! Vinod obliges me by gargling with it. They grin and nod and keep smiling through sniff and sip. Manna it seems. Psychos methinks.

Jan is more than happy to ease my pain, although he's a bit shocked that I really don't wish to continue with this fullsome libation and tells me how they acquired it from a gypsy market. In return, I regale him with the scintillating dialogue shared by the Hungarian and yours truly, "Do you not know where that is?" "Do I look like a tourist?" Damn, she's good.

Vinod returns sparkly clean and as excited as a 6 year old blonde with her new barbie and helps himself to another glass. Clearly we're celebrating. He skips off to organise dinner and threatens the still tie'd Jan with cold pizza while trying to educate me on the beneficial effects of Gyógtnövénylikór and demands to know the correct way to say it. We call Sarolta, and cunningly her phone diverts to voicemail and a rather rude message saying "I'm unable to take your call but don't leave me a voicemail, better send me an email". Vinod promptly goes onto leave a lengthy and somewhat obscure message thanking her and parading his inability to say Gyógtnövénylikór with any kind of grace.

It's gonna be a fun weekend!