Babycham was a rare childhood treat, especially one in my Granny Beaty's proper glasses with a cherry - even if it was a glace one, floating in an oily slick. Once Beaty and I sat outside our local pub and she had a lemonade and I had a Babycham with a real, juicy cocktail cherry. We kept the two glasses ambiguously between us "in case the Bobby came ". I was about five at the time.
Years later when I was in the throws of some now forgotten teenage despair Dad took me to the pub, just me and him. He went to the bar without asking what I wanted and came back with a sparkling babycham complete with cherry for me. I'd forgotten all about them. It was sickly sweet and hugged me with childhood.
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
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