Friday, 23 September 2011

The Key To The Door

I love my Mummy for giving me a bottle of Laphroaig for my birthday. Ah, the Islay malts, the Islay malts!

Thank you to everyone for their kind birthday wishes. I am sorry not to be able to reply to them all, but, as is also the reason for today's light blogging, I really do need to make the final updates to the next book by the end of today.

I am now older than Jesus ever was. Now, there's a thought...


  1. Ha, Love it.

    Happy birthday David.

    I'm on the poor man's cider :)

    Let's drink one for mums!

  2. I have never been able to understand why anyone should like whisky (or whiskey). It is like drinking petrol, and induces the same affect. For a few pounds you are served with such a miniscule amount you need a magnifying glass to see it. I am convinced that they give these spirits such romantic (and often unpronounceable) names in order to create some kind of mystique to the unsuspecting buyer who can then boast that his whisky has a more unpronounceable name that anyone else.
    And then we hear the glazed eye tributes to 'a single malt', or that it is from the 'Isle of Wherever'.
    The red indians (can one still call them that these days?) had the correct description - FIREWATER.
    Still, if one is going to rot the brain then it is best done with home brewed Scottish whisky than a counterfeit Japanese blend although they do say that a little nip is good for you.
    I wonder if they make whisky on the Isle of Muck. How would you thank someone who gave you a bottle of the Muck Malts?
    Let us get over this romanticising of such a lethal spirit and stick to beer.