This is really a test to see if a blog works for me. I've tried before, but I tend to lose interest or, truth be told, feel as if I have little to say. But hell, don;t we all feel like that on the dreary days? 

Since I've titled this blog Whisky Diary, I will try to include something about whisky in every post, even if it's only something as simple as wondering why the word processor suggests it should be spelled whiskey. As far as I know, that only applies to whiskies aren't Scotch. 

Just checked; the label on the bottle of Dimple Haig, which is the spirit of the night, to almost pinch something from Phantom of the Opera, says it's whisky, so yah sucks boo to word processors which are supposed to be switched to English (UK) but which are secretly spreading United States cultural domination.

To go on a little about the Dimple Haig, I have a soft spot for it, particularly when it's on special at the local cheap grog shop, because it was one of my very earliest indulgences, way back when I was corrupted by my very first store card. I was a callow nineteen-year-old when some idiot gave me access to credit at a major department store. I say they were idiots, because, at that time, I wasn't, legally, an adult, and so could not sign a binding contract. My older sister had to sign it for me. Unfortunately, she left the country a couple of months later, and hasn't come back.

To give a teenager a credit card is often a mistake, and it was in my case. I tried to act responsibly, really I did, but when you have no income, access to a department store that sells food and booze is, quite literally, a life-saver. The unfortunate thing was that they only flogged high-end stuff, so it wasn't possible to buy a cheap bottle of Uncle MacBooger Scotch Whisky, aged three weeks in a sporran. No, they only had the good stuff, and Dimple Haig was one of their cheaper Scotches. 

Thus the fondness for DH. I'm off now; have to mash the potatoes for the braised rabbit with mushrooms we're having for dinner.

Bye