“’I couldn’t but admit that Jerry had picked one right from the top of the basket. This wasn’t one of them languishing sort wot sits about in cosy corners and reads story-books, and don’t care what’s happening in the home. She was a brown, slim, wiry-looking little thing. You know. Held her chin up and looked you up and down with eyes the colour of Scotch whisky, as much as to say, “Well, what about it?”
I chuckled heartily at that line. As I put down my glasses, for a long reading session does hurt my eyes, I sighed and look out my window. It was fine Saturday afternoon. Not for the lack of a social life was I left pining and sighing by the window that presented a glorious picture of a perfect summer sky, adorned with languidly floating merry looking clouds; the incorrigible yet pleasant sounds of a squirrel calling out to another as it bounded on the tree right adjacent to my window; the waft of something baking coming in through the opening of the window. Ah, what a perfect combination it was; the world at peace with itself, and I was reading “The Man Upstairs”, a book by one of my favourite authors, PG Wodehouse.
Why was I sighing? While reading a Wodehouse, you expect a person to be clutching their sides laughing, or you expect them to have a naughty chuckle playing about on their lips. The effect would be greatly dependent on the mood you are in, the amount of breakfast you’ve consumed, how often have you had to resort to the Oxford English dictionary during your reading session. Wodehouse’s works don’t make the birds fly or the violins play in the background. But if you are already a hopeless romantic like me and just encountered the following line, you are going to be floored.
The man had tugged at all my heart strings. Not only was the hitherto mentioned girl reading, a passion that I possess, but he mentioned her eye color in such a captivating manner! I chuckled again, lifted my glass, took a lingering sip of my Scotch and while I savoured the beautifully rounded delicate taste of the slightly watered down 12 year old Black Dog, I couldn’t help but notice that the juncture where the lovely girl’s eye colour is described as being that of Scotch Whisky was intertwined with mine enjoying the very same, albeit in a liquid form. It’s not for nothing that a Black Dog is described as India’s Best International Scotch Whisky, I remarked to myself, the vanillic sweet aroma of the Scotch making me feel absolutely at ease. I turned to the book, the words just as captivating as the drink in my hand. The joyous end of the chapter (for the hero had asked her hand in marriage) was marked with the finishing tones of my drink, the touch of cream lingering on; a treat for my tastebuds.
The perfect setting, the perfect book and the perfect drink. That’s a perfect day in my books, anytime! But the topic of this blog was a cascading “tale”. Where does the rest of the story come in? I think a reader would have to savour it before moving on.
Although I will leave you with a teaser:
www.facebook.com/blackdogscotland
www.facebook.com/blackdogeasyevenings
A splendid foursome!
A CANNONADE OF CRAZY! 