Whisky Magazine Issue 12
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Michael Jackson digresses democratically
When jazz musician Eubie Blake was congratulated upon his hundredth birthday, he commented: “Had I known I would live this long, I would have looked after myself better.” Shortly afterwards, he died. This shows how unreliable centenarians can be.
The Queen Mother's ton-up has been covered more than adequately elsewhere. If she has in the meantime done anything to embarrass me, I shall doubly regret having been swept into the parade of royal topics in this issue of Whisky Magazine. Enough royals. The R*y*l F*m*ly is not really my beat.
I don't know what the Qu**n M*ther would say to that. She is Scottish and apparently has her fellow countrypersons' gift of making the English language sound withering. I heard a story about her going riding: when she returned, a male guest observed that her steed was sweating heavily. “So would you, young man, if you had just spent an hour between my legs,” she is said to have replied. Would she dismiss me with what Stalin called “a rootless cosmopolitan”?
Probably not, but I always fancied myself as the style of footloose journalist who can fly into a crisis torn nation and, within half an hour, file a polished article on the mood of the country. In the arcane customs of the scrivener's craft, research of this nature is completed by the time-honoured ritual of interviewing the taxi driver on the way from the airport to the hotel, possibly even taking him for a Scotch in the bar. Most cab drivers don't really need intervi...