A wee dram

This was meant to be an entry for Jeffrey Hollar's Monday Mixer, but I cut it too fine, as a colleague came in for a chinwag and that pushed me behind schedule. Oh well, there's always next week. Happily, this isn't an autobiographical account.

If this animation doesn't loop endlessly, go watch it in all its glory here

A wee dram

Just like the first rains enjoy their own special scent, the first drink has an emotional petrichor. The tempting nectar isn't the only thing to emanate from the bottle. It also emits a broth… a silent susurrus of castigation, self-flagellation and defiance.

As the level in the bottle quickly sinks, the murmurs become more vexing and you can't hide from the specious rumours running midst your mind. To combat it, the allure of conversation raises its head. You become expansive and liberal with libations for others - anything to capture their ear and drown out the sounds in your own head.

But by the end of the evening once more you're alone and maudlin drunk. If the demon drink hadn't seduced you out of all your ducats, perhaps there'd be the option of some meretricious company for the evening.

But booze is a harsh mistress and will brook no opposition.