I recently, last Friday to be specific, played midnight golf which conjures up images of one blindly walking into the darkness pursuing an illuminated golfing ball, but not so.
Here in the northern hemisphere, daylight stretches during the summer and midnight golf is nothing more than golf at midnight.
It is a uniquely wonderful time to play this game as there is no breeze to ruffle your post-dinner locks and frequently the Skylarks are singing their little hearts out as they advertise for a mate.
Furthermore, another time which is splendid to venture onto the links is at 3.30 when the dormant sun re-arises. The poor sun only gets a couple of hours off in the summer before he has to shine again, mind you he sleeps much longer in the winter when midnight golf would reduce the population (as undoubtedly many players would not return from wandering around in velvet black darkness).
What, I suspect I hear you ask, has any of this got to do with gin, namely Scottish Kings?
Well, this is the mystical land from which Scottish Kings gin has evolved incorporating the clean pure air, the trill of the Skylark, and the folly of people in dinner clothing playing golf when most of them should be in bed. They are allied to the realisation that life is short and pleasures should be chased till the end of the day and well beyond.
Incidentally, if any of you find a stout, confused person wandering around in our vicinity could you please direct him back to the mothership as we are one short for a game of Bridge and he has been missing for a week now.
C'est la vie
C'est la Gin