image: val

More than 25 years ago, I bought myself a bottle of 18 year old Glen Livet. Every now and then, when times demand, I drink a drop. It’s a beautiful whiskey, smooth and unassuming, making no rawkish demand on the throat. It’s something gentle to be enjoyed, almost like the family cat coming to say hello, purring, relaxing, & falling asleep on your lap.

Two old friends have, quite independently of each other, fallen critically ill. One might survive, one certainly won’t.