Wednesday, 1 January 2014


Some kind soul gave father a bottle of Amaretto for Christmas.  This is not his favourite tipple.  He tries to stick to Famous Grouse, will drink as much Black Grouse as he can get his hands on and is quite keen on the Naked Grouse.  He doesn't have a sweet tooth and he isn't keen on marzipan.  Amaretto is a marzipan drink.

This gift has really affected father.  First of all he can't bear the thought of alcohol going to waste.  If he twigged to the half bottle of ginger vodka in the kitchen (epic fail by me, it is horrific and currently reserved for cleaning purposes) then he would want to see it drunk.  He sees a full bottle as a challenge and a duty.  I am exaggerating a little bit, but less than you would think.  Besides, he is 82.  I think he is old enough to know his limits.

The second problem is that he couldn't bring himself to drink liqueurs.  Something sweet and 14% is really not him.  He couldn't do it.  However he knows I like sweeter drinks, and I do usually like the lower alcohol liqueurs to drink neat so this is obviously ideal for me to drink.  He put the bottle pointedly next to my chair.

I am actually not much of a drinker.  Before father came to live with us I would have a drink once or twice a year.  When father moved in it climbed to me having a drink once or twice a month.  The last month or so has seen it get worryingly close to once or twice a week and it isn't really me.  Father found I liked Cointreau and on Christmas Day I had four bottles lined up for me.  These have been moved out of the way and the bottle of Amaretto has been edged closer and closer.  It is a full litre bottle as well, and it is starting to loom.

Father has also started to hint, asking whether I needed a glass, did I need a drink, this Amaretto looks nice...  So last night, New Year's Eve, I started on the Amaretto.

The stuff is foul.  It is far too sweet for me, and it feels like I have just eaten four boxes of marzipan fruits.  I think I have overdosed on almonds.  I managed far too much and woke up feeling like I had been mugged by the topping from a Christmas Cake while father and DH were still quite fresh despite the bottle of Black Grouse they shared.

I know that father will still want the bottle drunk and would be devastated if I didn't work my way through the syrupy stuff, but I think every night I will wait until father is nearly on his way to bed and pour myself a measure of the vile stuff as a nightcap.  Then I can safely pour that measure down the sink and I hope it cleans the drains.  The bottle can't last for ever.

Image from Aldi, the apparent source of the problem

Please let father not buy me a bottle for myself.

No comments:

Post a Comment