It’s the cocktail hour and, as it often does at 90 feet down on a reef and all is well, my mind wanders to where else I might be. Perhaps it’s the Cuban sharks in The Gardens of the Queen that make me think of gin, more likely it’s salt water around the mouthpiece of my breathing apparatus creating a thirst after 90 minutes underwater.
My first great G&T was on the terrace of the still beautiful Oliver Messel suite at the Dorchester Hotel in London, one pink and blue evening in 1958. A cocktail party in anticipation of my return to America. That is when I discovered gin and tonic. To this day, on a hot evening of a harried day, a tall Waterford crystal glass filled to the brim with ice, a full measure of dry gin, the pulp of half a ripe lime, cold Schweppes tonic water and a few violets can bring, for a while, perfect peace.