Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Thursday, 10 November 2016
Suspension of disbelief
This photo is for Cro, when I mentioned traditional 18th century Scottish whisky glasses over on his blog. It is one being sold by someone I know in the glass world, and the lighting system for the photograph was designed and made by someone else I know in the same world.
It is extremely difficult to get a good photograph of transparent glasses, and before my friend made and developed these lighting-boxes, you were forced to take the buyer's word for how good the engraving was on them. He was asked to photograph an extremely beautiful, engraved glass which was worth around £20,000, and this was the incentive - presentation is everything.
It is approaching the time of year when I pause at the shelves with the Single Highland Malts in Waitrose, start reading the bollocks on the boxes about peat, mists and the Loch Ness Monster, then move on before I am hooked into the escapist myth.
Unlike Cro, I cannot make do with a thimble-full before bed, and this is not good for me. I would dearly like to immerse myself even deeper in the escapism by drinky whisky from one of these glasses, but it just wouldn't seem right.
An Englishman in England might as well put on a kilt when drinking whisky if he wants to enhance the romance perpetrated by the blurb on the boxes. I looked out of the window yesterday and saw a middle-aged, Japanese man in a group of tourists, walking along wearing a tweed, Sherlock Holmes, 'fore-and-aft', Deerstalker hat - and white trainers.
So instead I drink it from a 1740, short and stubby, English 'Ship's glass', even though I am on dry land. We all have to come ashore at some point.
I thought that Christmas was going to be written-off this year, but I had a message from Green-Eyes saying that she did not have to work (as a nurse) over the period, so - for the moment - it is back on again.
Buying into Christmas means buying into Charles Dickens in the U.K., and that means buying into 'A Christmas Carol', which - in turn - means buying into the redemption of Scrooge in the season of goodwill to all mankind.
Then of course, the long nights of January come around, the hangover returns, and Scrooge goes back to the stock-exchange floor to be redeemed again the following December. The dream was nice while it lasted.