I must say, I don't normally like red wine but this stuff is amazing.
Big D, my older brother, twirled the wine in his glass around with a morbid fascination as if he had caught Sharon Stone's leathery old vagina trying to tip over his trash cans out the back.
I tilted my cap at him from the armchair opposite and clumsily winked.
Aye. It hits the spot alright.
I put a hand out to the side of the chair to steady myself.
Big D intently stared at the walls of my lounge in the same way that idiots look at dog's arses in the hope of finding Jesus.
I mean. I think I will need to get a taxi soon. I feel a bit humped, mate.
Big D's eyes spun into the back of his head for a moment. He snapped back into reality with a jolt.
What's in it again?
He wafted the wine glass as if conducting an orchestra in Virtual Reality.
I asked confusedly.
This stuff. Fuck sake mate, I'm out my nut.
My Brother flinched as if he had stood on a table and banged his head on the ceiling.
It's just mulled wine dude. You know, oranges, cloves, cinnamon. Oh aye and brandy. Don't forget the brandy.
I finished the remains of mine and tottered to my feet to reach the jug and slip some more winey goodness in our cups.
Yup, brandy. The secret sauce.
I smiled. Sauce was funny.
Do you... remember when we built that swing at the old sawmill?
My brother closed his eyes for a moment and took a hearty swig from his cup.
Aye. I do. It was a right good swing.
I chuckled like a man remembering a good old rope swing tied to a tree.
I fucking love... loved that swing.
He sighed hugely and squinted at me through one eye, the other having given up the ghost for the evening.
Best time of my life that swing. Fucking loved it. Remember it?
His head bobbed around like a chicken lollipop in a kids hand.
Aye, I remember.
I wasn't sure what I remembered but I was convinced that it was something swingy.
Av no swung on a swing that good since...
His voice trailed off and he looked off into the distance with his one eye.
The door to the lounge opened and the Good Lady popped her head around the door.
Oh no. You've not been drinking his mulled wine?
I wasn't sure if this was a rhetorical question so remained mute.
He said... He said it had brandy in it?
My brother wobbled to his feet and patted at random pockets on his person.
Can you call me a taxi?
He said to no one in particular.
Aye. You're a fucking taxi.
I giggled and found I couldn't stop.
I love Christmas. I don't know if I can stay awake for Santa though.