The wall of whisky ...

 

The cappuccino I sipped in Rhymers was worthy of a louche cafe bar in Dalston - 

I half expected a youth with an elaborate beard to bring me my almond pastry - 

We had just arrived in Melrose - 

Thoughts of the walk ahead filled our heads - 

We would follow the path taken by monks carrying the saint's sweet smelling bones - 

In front of me was a wall of malt whiskies -  

I remembered drinking Tobermory with Jay and Richard on the slopes of the Red Cuilins -  

Between sips we'd eaten plum cake, baked by Bridget's sister - 

I thought of Ken, telling me his stories of Africa, pouring bumpers of Laphroaig - 

I sat with my moleskine, reading the labels of the bottles - 

Each one, I thought, should celebrate a pilgrimage - each glass should bring back a memory of a hallowed shrine - 

12.00

Wednesday 1 July 2015

Rhymers

Melrose