An Old Crystal Glass

After I had placed a few bottles of Argentine wine and a few cases of organic ale in the shopping buggy I pushed the buggy over to the whisky department. I was hoping to find another cask strength scotch I have not yet tried. I just about put a bottle Arran's into the bottom of the buggy when I spotted some cask strength Aberlour. Shit is 59.6% straight out of the oak.

After I let my Hammer run around some in the April sun when I got home, I officially began my long weekend with a bottle of ale and an old crystal glass of scotch, ice and a splash of water - that is how I like it, how I have always liked it. This cask strength is a keeper like the Arran's and the Macallan. The Bowmore is just too peaty for my taste.

A man has to have a hobby. You cannot fight the power of positive drinking.

This is my weekend to make some home-made beer for summer. I have never tried before and I am not real fussy about beer - beer is beer motherfuckers - so if it does not turn out perfect the first time that is ok. I have drank a lot of shitty home-made beer in my day.

In honour of Home-Made Beer how about we read a poem so titled by the late outstanding Canadian writer Al Purdy.

I was justly annoyed 10 years ago

in Vancouver: making beer in a crock

under the kitchen table when this

next door youngster playing with my own

kid managed to sit down in it and

emerged with one end malted -

With excessive moderation I yodelled

at him

"Keep your ass out of my beer!"

And the little monster fled -

Whereupon my wife appeared from the bathroom

where she had been brooding for days

over the injustice of being a woman and

attacked me with a broom-

With commendable savoir faire I broke

the broom across my knee (it hurt too) and

then she grabbed the breadknife and made

for me with fairly obvious intentions -

I tore open my shirt and told her calmly

with bared breast and a minimum of boredom

"Go ahead! Strike! Go ahead!"

Icicles dropped from her fiery eyes as she

snarled

"I wouldn't want to go to jail

for killing a thing like you"

I could see at once that she loved me

tho' it was cleverly concealed -

For the next few weeks I had to distribute

the meals she prepared among neighbouring

dogs because of the rat poison and

addresssed her as Missus Borgia -

That was a long time ago and while

at the time I deplored her lack of

self control I find myself sentimental about

it now for it can never happen again -

Sept. 22, 1964. P.S. I was wrong -