It was at a highly prestigious, religious wedding feast that Blakeley Bloke, kind of sort of favorite uncle of the bride was asked to make a toast. The elation grew in his eyes, I mean visibly that anyone could see, as he hurriedly quaffed the coke-on-ice in his tumbler.

Sort of kind of hop-skip and jumped across the floor to where the piano man played notes to suit the mood, while fishing out of his coat side pocket a palm sized bottle which held a kind of sort of yellowish – brown concoction he called “Spirit-of-the-spirits”- they move mountains.

He grabbed the microphone on the small table that stood next to the piano man while humming the beginning notes sort of kind of, that came from the hymn book to him to commence the toast……….. di di da day – di day -da day…… took a pose, chest out, chin poised, eyes half shut, shoulders straight, tumbler  raised mid-high ,a deep breath in, bl uttered out the tune that could only have come from the fourth of the Three Tenors……..

Drink to your fill

But still with care,

Never a glutton be,

But take……the glass which is your own

And you will contented be.

But take…..the glass….which is your own

And you …will…contended be

Yeah.

Amid the cheers and laughter, the grins and scorns and the fury of the immediate family of both bride and groom, landed Blakeley Bloke outside the festive halls, in the middle of the street. Lucky to be in one piece, realized he was missing a coat sleeve and the right shoe. Also missing was the sweet Tenor voice, but he gained a slurred speech pattern. Unfortunate.

The disappointment to him came while reaching into his coat pocket found the rest of the “Spirit-of-the-spirits” gone….He couldn’t move mountains.