A Taste of Perfection

I remember a very funny Hancock’s Half Hour (is there any other kind?) called The Bedsitter in which Tony picks up Charles Dickens’ Tale of Two Cities. Tony reads the first line, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”, and then sets the book aside, explaining, “If he (Dickens) can’t make up his mind then he (Hancock) can’t be bothered.” In this episode and in many others Tony Hancock, in his shows and in life, was on a constant quest to improve himself. In many of the classic episodes of his radio and television shows he did reach perfection but the quest continued and eventually killed him. Most of us see and accept perfection as an unattainable goal. Nevertheless a few still try to achieve it and that trial can consume them. You probably know some. I do. My own quest for perfection is a little more pragmatic but just as pricey: Lagavulin. The 16-year-old Lagavulin is the single most beautiful single malt scotch in the world. RKN, who I think now reads this column will dispute that but he is in the wrong. Lagavulin is what I call a layered scotch—it has layers of sensation that repeatedly bid entrance long after you have consumed and swallowed your first dram. It is this repetition, akin to “Bishop” Tamaki’s requests for money, that makes Lagavuhlin the gang-bang of all scotches. However, it exacts a pretty exacting set of criteria; it should only be drunk late at night while one is alone and musing, it should be drunk from a proper scotch glass and with (at most) a dash of water, and ideally should be followed by sex. And with regard to the last, I should stress that it is only the Lagavulin that should be sampled alone, not the sex. Do all of that and you will have a taste of perfection. I get through a fair few bottles of it myself, and you can read into that what you will. Cheers!

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