My love story with the bottle did not begin at an early age. For i did not regale, at the bonnie age of a few months on the planet, at the thought of sipping lactogen. Today's litterateur might not find this name to ring a bell - but in my day this was the concoction that happy parents gave their unhappy progeny from the bottle at all points. I was able to consistently stave off, with mixed success, the continued efforts to fill me up with that foul fluid. I would concede that there were certain disadvantages of my diplomatic position, for i turned to be the weakling in my hood -however what of that when i knew that the bottle would be my calling another day.
Dont exactly recall when the the alcoholic ambrosia overwhelmed my attentions, but i can soundly guess that this was the NBT (next big thing) that had happened to me since the day i had occassion to feed thai chillis to my neighbours goat. Through its amber view i have seen things and experienced feelings hitherto unknown to my soma, and befriended characters that seemed distant and lonely. I had occassion to share a drink on the local train to my In-law's place with an gutsy girthy fruit seller who i shall never meet again for sure - and created memories that i shall forever treasure. Although, i would graciously concede that like all good things that come with their fine print, there are a few minor chinks in the consuming the ethanol with unbridled desire - but again we are mature enough to take the smooth with the rough. And when the smoothness emanates from the gentle brewing of the single malt, one can take a lot of rough in exchange.
But again,dont let me digress. As i was saying, i was introduced early and learned quick using my energies to bootleg the spirit from the hidden corners of household. There was a period when i could not make sense of why it was such a big deal - as gulping down the alcohol from my dad's bar did not really leave me with feeling that was especially nice. Moral has to count for something, at some point.
As another year draws to a close, and a dramatic one at that, reflections seem to seep into the drink i sit nursing by the crackling fireplace. No matter what they say, drink not to get away from but to get into.
Here is to getting away and into imprecision and good conversation in the flickering light. Cheers
