The whisky tasting on Friday went very well, and no recovery was needed on Saturday. I think last weekend reinforced the virtue of moderation to me. That and the drams were still a tad pricey, but very good for London standards nonetheless. As the night went on I found myself looking at the bottle prices and increasingly thinking they were looking reasonable. I needed to keep my wits about me lest I end up coming home a full fledged member with a couple of bottles under my arm.
I did have some great whiskys and one that was interesting, but not anything I would order again. It gives me a bit of a thrill to drink a whisky from a closed distillery that is as old as I am. It was fun to have that kind of experience, because I certainly don’t drink that kind of whisky any other time. I do wonder who gets the job of writing up the descriptions of the whiskys. Some I think were pretty accurate and described the flavour much better than I could, while some were just perplexing. I like this whisky, but I’m not sure I’m picking up the hints of orange peel and creosote. I’m not sure what kitten and plaster should taste like – and I don’t think I want to – so I’m pretty happy with my simple tastes.
I got the silent treatment from La Mujer on Saturday. It had nothing to do with going out for whisky the night before, but instead was a result of my facial hair. I shaved my beard but left a thin mustache that she said looked awful. Actually she said I looked like a gay Errol Flynn. She also said she wouldn’t talk to me until I shaved it. I did shave it that evening before we went out because it was just a lark and never intended to actually be worn out of the house. But when she sets her mind to it, she can be stubborn. I don’t want to spoil it, but I have to admit I did have kind of a relaxing afternoon. I got to spend a couple of hours doing my own thing while she did hers and that was nice. Of course if I grow a mustache every saturday, she’s bound to catch on.