The things we do for art…

In the name of researching a book, I have to check my facts. And most of the time, fact checking is very pleasurable. Take going on location, for instance. Research trips have taken me to France, Scotland, The Isle of Skye, Cornwall, East Anglia, St Albans, Dublin. It’s only right – if I’m going to write about it, I ought to have been there and done it. Within reason, of course.

The characters in my novels have adventures, and sometimes this involves them doing vigorous activities. And I have to be able to describe them. I have done a certain amount of interviewing people about how certain activities feel. Flying a light aircraft (The Old Girls’ Network) was one example where I talked to someone about it, although I have done it myself – I flew a Stampe, a two-seater biplane.

But research is something we writers have to do. Sea swimming (The Seal Bay Series), surfing, (my next Elena Collins); canoeing, (The Golden Gals’ French Adventure); sand yachting, (The Golden Oldies Book Club); making limoncello scones, (The Vintage Village Bake Off). I’ll give it a go if I can.

So when Fliss, in The Golden Gals’ French Adventure, took herself off to a bar to drink a few cocktails, I had to try them out. Purely as research, of course.

Introducing… The Viking’s Testicle.

Here’s how to make one. Take a glass and fill it with ice. Add a measure of vodka. Or raspberry vodka. To this, add a splash of pineapple juice. Top with champagne to the brim. And fresh raspberries, optional.

Now here’s the hard part. Drink.

So…

I’m not the biggest drinker in the world. A glass of red wine with a meal on occasions, that’s me. Sparkling water. Recently, I had half of Murphy’s in a London bar, when I was coaxed. If I’m in Scotland, I’ll have a whisky. Only one. Champagne at weddings. Maybe an Armagnac at Christmas.I’m not really convincing you, am I?

My cocktail of choice, if I have one, is a margarita. They are pleasant. Most others are too sweet for my sour tastebuds. But Viking’s Testicles, oh my goodness. Fliss, that hoot of a bad woman from The Golden Gals… who develops from something of a privileged maneater with a big heart to everyone’s best friend, has given me a new favourite cocktail. They are, to use a word I seldom use in this context, moreish.

Of course, there’s a down side to moreish cocktails. I don’t need to tell you what it is.

But I’ve given you Fliss’s recipe now. And they are very nice, even with sparkling wine. I mean – who can afford champagne? Other than Fliss.

Proceed with caution.