Whisky Galore
Verulamium, just north of Junction 22 of the
M25, is a fascinating borough. The M25 wasn't, of course, built by the Romans - it's
not straight enough. Quite sensibly the burghers of the town, once having thrown
off the Latin yoke re-named the town after a poor unfortunate who was beheaded
because he was a Mormon.
Would you be up for a be-heading, castration, broken on the wheel
or other assorted nasties death-wise if you were offered sainthood? Frankly I'm
not convinced, I'd want to have a fully guaranteed first class entry ticket to
the Pearly Gates signed by St Peter himself before losing my head. But I
digress.
St Albans is a very nice town. It's extremely well provided with large,
well built houses with massive gardens. It's 30 minutes from the centre of
London and appears to have a thriving consumer economy - all those
professionals. Which explains why it's highly attractive to people like my
friend Peter and his (new wife) Sue: see earlier post but one.
Yesterday,
I made my way via the M11 and M25 to St Albans to visit my friend Peter. By way
of thanks for my exceptional performance at his wedding on the 19th April, I
was to be allowed to chose a bottle of Scotch from his step son's Gin Palace in
one of the more gentile shopping malls of said town.
I arrived
at the select cul de sac in which their house is situated, parked, then
camouflaged, my scruffy 2006 Vauxhall Astra and headed up the avenue that led
to their front door. I was greeted not by the butler but by my old mate.
The first
hour of my visit was taken up with the tour of their gardens, and an
opportunity to bring down some big game that roamed the savanna that is their
back lawn. After a look at the allotment/orchard and hearing plans for planting
100 acres of native apples we moved back into the house. The mistress of the
baronial home had descended having completed her toilet and I was treated to a
trip around the major renovation works that were being overseen by Historic
Britain.
Sue and her sister Judy were planning a raid on the unsuspecting retail outlets in St
Albans. Peter decloaked his equally shabby 2005 Astra as the Scissor Sisters
took off in an extremely tasty BMW. We lost them in the multi-storey car park:
Peter's ancient HTC phone unable to summon up enough signal to traverse the 300
yards that separated us.
Not discouraged, Peter and I set off for his step
son's Tomoka Spirits Boutique.
I'm not sure that St Albans, or the rest of Blur,
would be happy with this den of sensuality and temptation being located in the
heart of his town. It looks from the outside like an AA stop over, but once
inside: well it's Whiskey Galore and More. Boutique by name, boutique by
nature.
Gin appears to be a specialty - local stills from
Hackney, Peckham Rye, which is somewhere in South London, and tiny, tiny
islands off the West Coast of Scotland produce gins that defy your taste buds.
I didn't realise that guano was such an important ingredient in the beverage.
They are the added fertiliser that ensures the herbs used are stellar.
I was driving and Peter's step son and his partners
needed to turn a profit, so my tastings were extremely limited. That didn't
stop me encouraging the other shoppers who, I think, were slightly intimidated
by the choice, to push the boat out.
I chose a stunning gin from the Isle of Islay and
Peter gave me an extremely drinkable single malt.
I was surprised they sold cigars as well. But
people are happy to pay £15 a tube!
After a quick nosh at Cartolucci's it was back to
Peter's baronial pile (the builders worry me) for a cup of coffee and a
massive back tracking over our 40 odd years of friendship.
Except, of course, we couldn't remember very much.
Chin-chin.
Comments
Dear Bojo..I know shouldn't be allowed. London Gin should be AC'd