Report From the Future: Year 2007

This is one time I am glad that Oolon stepped into Tardis and went into the future (for he brought a little encouragement back to me). Good to know that what I am doing today may be most appreciated even into the 21st century.



Report from the future



One can only imagine and hope that drinking Bellambi Estates Uisge Beatha in the future would look and sound something like this:

Scene: A cozy wood panelled room. Bookcases floor to ceiling filled with many first edition leather-bound books of philosophy, poetry, religious studies, mathematics; books of fiction by Tolstoy, Bronte, Doyle, and Carroll.

Couple sitting in front of the fireplace at a rosewood table having just completed dinner.

Gentleman: My dear, that was a lovely dinner. Truly delicious.

Lady: (setting the decanter on the table along with 2 crystal glasses) Thank you, sweetheart.

Gentleman: Oh you brought out the Bellambi Uisge Beatha! What a wonderful surprise!
(taking the offered glass) Mmmm...see the gold highlights flashing in the amber in my glass...such a surprisingly earthy, full-bodied taste.

Lady: (Leaning down to kiss her husband before taking her seat beside him) Mmm hmm. The Uisge Beatha was a tremendous find at the auction in Old Caledon last year.

Gentleman: One year on Burns' Night, I drank Glenmorangie. Made by one of the smallest of all Highland distilleries. Many whiskies trace their origins to the reign of Queen Victoria. (taking another long sip) Mention is always made of the water used in distilling a whisky. Uisge Beatha was made, they say, from water that came from springs in the Tuloch Ard and from Loch Avie.

Lady: I always think that whisky evokes British adventurers, explorers and Army men drinking 'the water of life'; surely a secret to their success, since in avoiding untreated local water some of them undoubtedly saved their lives. (Actually, the same claim that others have made for medicinal gin.) But, I believe that whisky remains at home in a tent in Africa or a house in the shires, in a bungalow in India or a Scottish farm, in modern London or the far side of the Anglosphere.

Gentleman: So true, my dear. So true. (leaning back in his chair and placing his arm around his lovely wife as they stare into the fire)

Lady: Slanté! My love.



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Slanté to all of you!