At the End of the Day

After several weeks at it, I have at last discovered a flaw in the employment of Poles: their generosity with examples of hooch from back home.

It all began innocently enough with a few gifts consisting of Polish lagers – Tyskie, Zywiec and so forth – with which I’m already familiar…and thus approach with caution, while retiring some distance soon thereafter. But then Mikal and his brother Daniele pitched up with Perla beer. It’s less strong than the other two, but dangerously moreish. If the Poles had thrown this to the advancing Nazis in 1939, the Second World War would’ve drowned in a blessed sea of German self-indulgence.

After that donation, things went from bad to worse: a quince-flavoured Vodka called Stumbras duly made its debut, and then the next day (a Friday) Mika honoured me with the gift of his father’s home-distilled Cognac. There is a brand of rum called Dry Cane, but if his Dad ever decided to market his cognac creation, it would have to be to be called White Cane. Mika reckons it’s 63 proof “give or take ten points”. All I can say is that, after sharing the liquid with the Polish chaps that evening – for was it not the weekend? –  the world became tilted at a 45-degree angle – which I at first put down to high winds, but later lost interest in the cause….wondering only why my legs had taken on the consistency and locomotion capacity of tapioca. It was the following afternoon before parts of me stopped arriving in alarmingly varied places at the same time.


As per my constant wittering about how supply needs demand (and won’t get it by pauperising the mass market) I commend this piece to you as a rattling good read:

 Earlier at The Slog: Why Tony Blair has no legacy to stand on: