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
"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
"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 -