Our review:

We got caught up in this hugely entertaining and well-written novel. Not a whiff of absinthe in sight, but an apt title demonstrating the contrasts in Ginny’s life and the choice she has to make: absinthe in bed with her charismatic lover or tea in the kitchen with her lovely, dull husband. A gripping read.

Extract:

Ian hated Harrods. Especially the lingerie department. He skulked at the entrance to the pink frilled boudoir, glaring at flimsy nighties and flaunting bras. He wished there were a few more men around. The only male for miles was in tow to a megalithic matron with a felt flower-pot on her head. Ian tiptoed in behind them, trying to look as if he belonged. All three landed up in corsets.
            Ian trailed away and hid himself among the housecoats. The department was hushed and hallowed like a mausoleum, with silken shrouds draped over defunct dummies—armless, headless, eyeless, effigies arrayed in their burial clothes. Ian felt besieged. Even without eyes, the dummies stared at him. Gilded plaster cherubs closed in on him around the walls, dangling scarlet suspender belts only inches from his nose. Feather boas serpented towards him, whale-bone corsets poked him in the ribs. The foam-rubber air was padded, stifling. Salesgirls were smirking at him, customers whispering. He was an intruder in their sanctuary, a man in a dirty raincoat, defiling a female shrine.