This Mother's Ruin

This bottle of Irish creamy nectar was given to Budapest boy by his big sister for Christmas, forgetting that unless he decanted the requisite x mls into a plastic bag, he was not going to be able to take it back with him on the plane.

This meant that to savour the gift, he and I had to make serious inroads into it last night before he left.
His Lordship being more of a Malt man himself, was left to try and match us on intake of Usquabae before admitting defeat and retiring to bed, while Budapest boy and I continued, managing to empty the bottle of Bailey's before lights out.

The creamy smoothness of it slips over the palate so easily that before you know it your glass is empty and repeat refills are needed.
Despite the volume consumed and the fact that almost three bottles of wine had already been consumed with dinner we remained relatively sober other than finding Michael Portillo's train journey through Hungary ( don't ask!), Miranda Hart and Mrs Brown's boys more hilarious than they properly warranted.

But today the bottle and Budapest Boy have gone their separate ways, and I will miss them both at different levels of intensity.
It was a flying visit from the two of them, and while I can replace the bottle very easily, it will be difficult to replicate another visit in the near future from the boy, with his humour and teasing.