I wuz robin'd

I'd been sans booze or cigs since ... can't remember, but at least 3 weeks.

I got back from a dyspeptic wittering xmas in dankest tuscany and really really felt like hitting the hooch big time and hacking my lungs out on a pack of Karelia.

OK, i thought, but i'll reconsider if Someone sends me a sign. Wait 2 seconds, right that's it, zilch sign of a sign, that's my pink ticket to allez-y.

I go into kitchen and gaze at the booze cabinet - what'll it be? Wodka, single malt, campari, gin & It? Vino blanc ou rouge? Ouzo perchance?

A tiny scrape below my nose from the radiator by the toaster, and there's this little chappie looking up at me:

Anyone order a sign around here?

He gave me time to get camera and snap thrice and then just slalomed his way out of the kitchen as if he'd designed the air route hisself.

Natch, I did not indulge.