After taking a swig of my single malt scotch on a rainy day in Aberdeen, I couldn't help but think that life couldn't be more perfect. I'm not usually the smug type but in spite of the cold, wet weather I nevertheless felt at peace. Fingering my whiskey on the rocks my thoughts then turned to the miraculous effects of this magical concoction. Whiskey, the staple social lubricant of the people in Ireland and Scotland. Although I was never much of a whiskey connoisseur, after my detailed tour of the Glen Garrioch distillery, I began to think of whiskey as an acquaintance I had gradually established a close friendship with.
Although my relationship with whiskey remains a friendly one, it is apparently a love-hate item to others more familiar with it. 'Why is there a lock on those things?', I asked my tour guide, pointing at three glass shapes resembling upside-down conical flasks filled with a clear liquid. 'Ah those contain the spirit we use to make whisky. It's about 82% alcohol. The lock in it is for the men - to protect them. We'd usually have a few that would make us merry, but it did occasionally make men blind.' Blind? I had to see this for myself, so after enjoying my scotch I stretched out and reached for the clear liquid form of death in a glass. 'I had 2 of those before work', the Scotsman proudly told me. Mustering the courage I downed it. At first it tasted a little sweet, then it burned, then my vision blacked out for a few seconds. Damn it had an edge. Torn between delight and fear I could now see how whiskey earned its reputation as a seductive but destructive temptress.
Whiskey you're the devil.
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