You wake up on couch on a sunny Sunday morning after a heavy night on the juice, you see some of your associates strewn around the room and the offer of ice cream for breakfast is casually mentioned by one of them, you jokingly suggest putting some of last nights leftover buckfast over it as a sauce, before you know it you're handed this. It's only a shot glass, not enough to get you drunk but more than enough to guarantee that any lingering respect your relations may have had for you is gone down the very drain that the buckfast should have went.
Buckfast, for the uninitiated, is a Tonic Wine / (currently) legal crack substitute made with love (presumably) from Calpol, green diesel and the tears of angry badgers by the monks of Buckfast Abbey in Devon (and not Scotland as I previously thought, the Scots, like ourselves just have a particular appetite for it.)
A small drop of it over a little vanilla ice cream wasn't bad at all in fairness, although I think that says more about me.
Do yourself a favour, drink the aul Buckfast in moderation and amongst friends, and consider this a desert, not a breakfast; I'm not a fan of funerals.
B.S
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