Now I drink Bush Mills Irish Whiskey.
For some reason Tullamore Dew is no longer available in one of the biggest supermarkest in Italy. But Bushmills is:
One Summer evening, when it was too too hot to sleep, I stood on the balcony and looked towards the horizon. A few stars were visible, but the horizon was too bright too see many. And to my right, to the south, huge clouds climbed into the sky. The shapely bumpy gigantic clouds which I like and which I could go to sleep on. They were dark, because it was night, but they were not grey. So it was a dark white, not a grey, which piled up hugely into the sky.
And in these clouds were flashes of lightening, but no thunder. Presumably they were so far away, as if constellations, that no sound reached me on the balcony. And since there was no thunder I knew that our cat, outside somewhere, would not be frightened.
I remembered that one evening we came back late from a dinner. The cat was sitting underneath a hedge looking at us, in the dark. And he said to me:
"Come with me, learn them truth."
At least that is what I thought he said, it was hard to understand his speech. He turned and disappeared into the night. I could not follow.
I don't actually drink the whiskey. I sort of let it rest on my tongue and evaporate into my mouth. Then I breathe in.