Chapter 130 – Similia Similibus Curantur

Our exuberant celebrations come to a grinding halt at three minutes to midnight. Archie, Western Club’s finest barman, calls, “Final orders.”, on David Wotherspoon and I’s over-indulgence of our favourite liquor.

“Two rounds of Bowmore, Archie, please?”, I said, composing myself and remembering manners.

“Excellent choice.”, replies Archie, ensuring we sample the delights of the club, and incur an expensive account to match.

I explain to David, “Sometimes, I leave the evening’s entertainment on the slate to wipe clean tomorrow. Then I cannot lie to Emelia, when I get home and asked, ‘how much did you spend tonight?’”

“A most excellent piece of advice. Possessing secret knowledge at your most vulnerable is not a wise move.”, said David, laughing into his final dram.

Our evening concludes summarising our international football preparations.

I wake in the morning, feeling my pillow thump against my head, or is it the other way around? My tongue rasps on the roof my mouth, and I recall the Latin phrase, ‘similia similibus curantur’, symbolically outlining: the only cure is the thing, which caused the issue in the first place.

This notion quickly evaporates when my children, Adair, Arabella and Lewis, bust into the bedroom and demand my unfettered fatherly attention.

Parental duties come first in my household and time to make up for last night’s excess.

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