Round cafes with lads. Irish element till midnight. Ness drunk. Allen sick. Ralph with his bottle of genuine cognac. No different to shop stuff. Definite taste of meths. Said to cause blindness. Gin different colour same taste.
There is a definite change of pace now from the fear and tension of a few entries ago to this entry, which is essentially a drinking diary. It is lovely to get this personal touch of how the troops celebrated St. Patrick’s Day 75 years ago.
Of course, this year, much of the St. Patrick’s Day Celebrations have been cancelled due to the Covid-19 outbreak…
Some times I don’t drink single malt. Sometimes I don’t even drink whisky. Tonight I have a glass of whiskey to savour. Notice the slight difference in spelling. It signifies Irish.
Clontarf 1014 is its name. Made, it claims, by King Brian Boru. Although how that man could have driven the Vikings into the sea at the battle that gives this whiskey its name, and then lived another thousand years to bring me this fine blend, I don’t know. Maybe King Brian Boru is the name of the company. I could Google it I suppose, but on this occasion I prefer to speculate.
An almost brandy-like sweetness assails the nose on first inspection. That alcoholic smoothness that only comes from triple distilling – similar to that from Auchentoshan, which is also triple distilled. It’s bold in the mouth, promising summer and peaches and cream, but as it lingers there’s a faint bitterness – perhaps the Bourbon it was matured in. It is very more-ish. You keep wanting that first hit. A bit like those warriors at Clontarf, so confident at the start of battle and yet the ravens attend the fallen on both sides.