Tonight at Duggers HQ

9 May

We like a drink over at Duggers HQ and Mummy Duggs and I are very practised at cork-popping (I’m sure there’s a double entendre in there somewhere).  There’s nothing nicer on a mild spring evening than a few glasses of half-price prosecco.

We’re terribly professional about drinking; living under the kitchen sink are the Booze Gloves, a pair of marigolds solely for getting a better grip on difficult corks. We are dedicated.  Last year when MD somehow took a chunk out of her thumb opening a bottle of Freixenet and started spouting blood all over the kitchen did we pause and perform first aid? Did we prioritise? Damn right we did. I got her a plaster once she’d topped me up.

But tonight there’s been a horrible cock up.  After ten minutes of twisting and tugging and pulling and flapping damp tea towels about this happened:

Apparently ‘scimitar’ was not a helpful suggestion so I did what all sane people do and headed over to Twitter for advice.  Turns out that ‘scimitar’ still wasn’t helpful, even coming from someone else.  I won’t lie to you, there were a hairy few minutes when I thought I might cry, especially when I suddenly thought the cork was easing only to look down and see this rage-inducing sight:

At this point I resorted to shaking the bottle like I’d just won the Grand Prix (and Fernando Alonso was in front of me wearing something flimsy and white) and hoped that the corky stub would fly out.  Surprisingly, this was not fruitful.

Mummy Duggers and I stood for a while in silence, working over our options.  Well, she might have been, I was thinking how to filter out powdered glass from the wine after I smashed the top off against the side of the shed, but that is neither here nor there.

But fear not, champs! In a flash of fermented genius it came to us. And we shoved another bottle in the freezer.

Chin chin!

For their help and support during this difficult time I would like to thank @JoshGorfain, @Parrysite and @Mikegrady87



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