A Decadent Pea.

I walked into the cramped, dimly lit room. I couldn’t see anyone else, but I could hear soft Jazz music playing from the record player. Gliding my silk robe along the floor, I made my way to the “bar” and poured myself a Gin, into a teacup, in true Speakeasy fashion.

Except, I wasn’t in a Speakeasy – I was in my flat, and the main lightbulb had blown, and there were no glasses clean, and my dressing gown was satin, not silk.

Hmm, not such a decadent pea after all.