One of the fundamental laws of nature has been quietly
enforcing its principles in my cellar, viz, containers of a given finite
capacity will only contain a given finite volume.
The laws of spontaneous regeneration which are so elegantly displayed by magic puddings do not, alas, apply to bottles of extremely high quality single malt whisky.
The laws of spontaneous regeneration which are so elegantly displayed by magic puddings do not, alas, apply to bottles of extremely high quality single malt whisky.
My consumption calculations, based on my anticipated
life expectancy, have proven to be incorrect.
This has been exacerbated by the compulsion of
students to follow the example set by their masters.
Having developed my addiction to single malt in its country of origin, I'm talking about concept of a "wee dram", which in Scotland is a variable measure, directly proportional to the regard in which one is held by one's host.
(Although, on the other hand, in the case of my regard for myself - as I am both host and guest in my own house - my fragile self-esteem would lead to a life of sobriety and an inexhaustible supply of whisky.
This rationalization should therefore be seen for what it is - a pathetic excuse for obsessive over-indulgence.)
Having developed my addiction to single malt in its country of origin, I'm talking about concept of a "wee dram", which in Scotland is a variable measure, directly proportional to the regard in which one is held by one's host.
(Although, on the other hand, in the case of my regard for myself - as I am both host and guest in my own house - my fragile self-esteem would lead to a life of sobriety and an inexhaustible supply of whisky.
This rationalization should therefore be seen for what it is - a pathetic excuse for obsessive over-indulgence.)
My desire to preserve my whisky collection is based on
the principal that life's special pleasures are even more special when shared.
Like sex, for example, or a 23-year-old single-cask, cask-strength Linkwood.
Like sex, for example, or a 23-year-old single-cask, cask-strength Linkwood.
The inconvenient fact that my only friendly
fellow-alcoholic resides on the other side of the planet is neither here nor there.
I gain comfort from the belief that he will, one day, appear on my doorstep seeking a wee dram of something wonderful, and it is my only justification for restraint.
I gain comfort from the belief that he will, one day, appear on my doorstep seeking a wee dram of something wonderful, and it is my only justification for restraint.
So, in order to prolong the life of my life-enhancing
bottled friends for that happy day, I came up with a cunning plan.
My cunning plan was to buy a $39 bottle of Glen Moray Classic (which was, I thought, pretty much OK last time I tried it, back in 2002) for my nightly sundowner, and keep the good stuff for sharing with special friends.
My cunning plan was to buy a $39 bottle of Glen Moray Classic (which was, I thought, pretty much OK last time I tried it, back in 2002) for my nightly sundowner, and keep the good stuff for sharing with special friends.
It will come as no surprise to you that this was an
example of the Helen Raye Principle.
Helen
Raye - she of the enormous breasts - was the best thing I had ever seen when I
was 15 years old.
Now she is just the biggest.
Now she is just the biggest.
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