Whisky Magazine Issue 36
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Michael Jackson survives ot wonder about Jonnie Walker
Have you ever been sentenced to death? I have. I am happy to say the sentence was some time ago, though I do not know whether it was ever commuted. Recent events have made me wonder.
I was only a few days old when the sentence was passed. I would die before the week was out, they told my mother. I was very premature, too scrawny to survive. That was the last time I made either of those mistakes. I missed my first deadline that very weekend. Dead-line; it wasn't metaphorical.
They told my mother that my twin brother John was very healthy, and not at risk. On cue, the healthy twin died, for no discernible reason.
Before you state the obvious, there was not a mix-up. We were not identical in the first place. I was small and frail. John was a big hairy guy. Perhaps I stole his life. Watch out around me.
To build me up, my dad gave me whisky every day, whisked with raw eggs and sugar. I am not sure when, but I suspect I was five, because I remember a huge poster proclaiming the life-enhancing properties of Johnnie Walker, opposite the school bus stop.
The whisky diet worried my mother, whose father had died of drink. My dad took me to the doctor to seek an endorsement. He liked going to the doctor. Dr Zermansky had a Viennese accent. Communing with him made my dad feel like an intellectual.
Dr Zermansky's patience being exhausted, he made sure we saw his partner in the practice, Dr McGurk. He was a red-faced man with a shock of ginger hair. This was not only on his head ...