Ransom!

The note delivered under cover of darkness, smelling of rum and cheap cigarettes.

More Moore's please barkeep

Arriving in Airlie Beach this particular lady was described as looking a little bit like "Anna Wintour entering a crack house" by her traveling companion.  Expected beach bars, gentle candlelight, seafood and cocktails she was greeted by something more like Ibiza Uncovered.  Kebab shops; check.  Loud music from the nineties; check.  Boozed up Brits; check.  The breakfast cafes even committed the unforgivable sin of mentioning the H word...  Hangovers should neither be seen nor heard and if you must have one it should be managed discreetly with a headscarf, large sunglasses and pleasant company.

Heading for the infamous Rum Bar we resisted the temptation to work our way though over 90 rums and against all the odds we were in luck!  The bar had run out of the house gin so we were treated to an Australian concoction - Moore's Vintage Dry Gin.

Yes, the barman made it rocket-fuel strength, but this was a delicious gin flavoured with Australian botanicals, many from New South Wales where this gin is distilled.  Juniper of course, combined with lemon, lime and more unusually plum and myrtle.  And because we're gin geeks we like the fact Distiller Philip Moore is a herb expert and worked his way through 250 herbs before he settled on these 7.  We tried it with tonic, and if we hadn't been nudged the wrong side of tipsy by the sun and the strength, we definitely would have gone on to try a Moore's Martini.

This gin is truly scrumptious, and we made our way back to Sydney with a bottle for the road.


(and for the final instalment - our Lady in Oz travels back to Sydney to prop up the bar at the Bombay Sapphire Design Discovery Awards!)

The Long Road to Gin Gin

Is there anywhere the intrepid Ladies of the Lane won't go in search of gin?  This time Australia beckoned, and as well as the usual hot sunny beaches, the chucking of shrimps on barbies and messing about on boats, one lady spent a significant amount of time on the hunt for gin.

Gin round-up-down-under?  Well.

Gordon's on the plane, Gordon's in the hotel bar (truthfully, the only novelty here was the fondly remembered old red and yellow packaging last seen in the UK many moons ago), Tanqueray and Hendrick's available in most bars, a worrying trend toward pre-mixed Gordon's in bottles.  Sorry Gordon's, we love you, but this tasted more like a Jif and Tonic...

The perfect Martini sipping opportunity arose whilst watching a silent Three Musketeers in The Majestic - a glorious 1920s theatre in isolated Pomona.  Alas, this Lady had learned her lesson and refused a pre-mixed can of G&T, but if the wonderful Ron who played the accompanying organ is reading this; we'd love vintage cocktails next time.

And finally, was a trip to the temptingly named Gin Gin necessary?  Saved by Google we discovered Gin Gin wasn't the town of dreams with gin pouring from the taps like water, but an Aboriginal term for thick red soil.  Nasty soil and tonic situation averted, and the search for gin continued further north...


(stay tuned for the further adventures of our Lady in Oz...)

Martin Miller, Agatha Christie and Roger Moore walked into a bar...

The Ladies of the Lane left their usual East End haunts and headed 'up West' on Wednesday to make their debut appearance into the wonderful world of Martin Miller's Gin, at the breathtaking Miller's Residence.  Martinis were of course the order of the day at this masterclass led by the charming and insanely knowledgeable Craig Harper, and we proceeded to enjoy a taster menu of Martinis through the ages.  Martin Miller himself popped in to welcome us, and explain a little about the 10-year story of his very own gin.

It felt a lot like the start of a house party in an Agatha Christie, and the cast included a classic English gent in tweed, The 'Reverend' Rum, a Roger Moore (Bond years!) look-a-like and some impossibly pretty French girls.  We took our seats at the huge dining table and were immediately presented with Martini number one - a 'Martini De Lux' - which demonstrated the somewhat divine ratio of seven parts Martin Miller's gin to one part Noilly Prat dry vermouth.

Craig was assisted in his cocktail making by members of the party, and one of the Ladies, though slightly flustered, was delighted to be taught how to make a 'Harry's Dry Martini' (Martin Miller's, Noilly Prat dry, Peychaud bitters, Curacao), although her 'dash' technique left little to be desired.

Now, after Mr Wynd offered his penis up for perusal earlier this week, we had hoped to avoid any further impropriety.  However, the Ladies seem to attract this sort of naughtiness and sure enough a gentleman to our right took advantage of a silence and asked poor Mr Harper what his views were on 'rimming'.  Of course he meant running a lime around the top of the glass, but the ladies could not quite look him in the eye for the rest of the evening.  Our desire to remain composed was not aided at this point by impending squiffiness and a growing propensity toward uncontrolled giggling. 

We ended the evening with a 'Super Dry Martini Doble'.  Alas, this heady, double-measure gin and absinthe mixture proved, ultimately, to be the murder weapon.

(Pst.. Book yourself on to one of these masterclasses AT ONCE!  Visit Martin's website for more info...)

Spirit forces at work at the Hendrick's Quarterly Seance

Is anybody there?  We're getting a name.  It's, it's... it's Hendrick's.  We never miss the chance to channel spirits, so earlier this very evening the Ladies were in attendance at the Hendrick's Quarterly Seance, held at the Little Shop of Horrors, the Last Tuesday Society's bonkers headquarters in east London.

You may recall our last brush with the cross-dressing, cucumber-wielding, glory-holed Last Tuesday Society bunch at the Hendrick's masked ball back in September.  This encounter was no less strange, held in the esteemed Viktor Wynd's showroom; a jumble of mutilated soft toys, animal skeletons, mummified penises and other such glorious tat.  All available to purchase, for that perfect stocking filler for Nan.

After a warm greeting from Mr Wynd himself, and a generous offer to see his penis (see 'mummified' above, thank heavens), we were led into a back room by Professor Richard Wiseman and swiftly transported, via a double Hendrick's and tonic, to a reenactment of a Victorian seance.  Sat in total darkness, guided only by little glow-in-the-dark stickers on the incongruous selection of objects scattered on the table, we marveled as our new spirit friend 'Marie' touched the bell (snigger), moved the maracas (chortle) and had a good old play with the ball (snort).

Keep your eye out for more loony goings-on on the Last Tuesday Society website.  Reckon we might stick to the alcoholic spirits from now on though.

Drunk for a penny, dead drunk for twopence

(that rascal William Hogarth's 1751 print Gin Lane)

What is this wretched propaganda? We faithful gin drinkers know nothing of such debauched desparation. Only once have we sold an infant's clothes for a tipple, and we certainly don't make a habit of lifting our skirts on too frequent a basis.

So begone, you naysayers! Gin has class, as do the ladies and gents wot drink it. The ladies of Gin Lane are here to share with you our fabulous world, and perhaps invite you to a soiree or two.. Chin chin, darlings, see you at the bar.