Top shelf

of the little bookcase in the kitchen which has my cookery books. You'd think I was a whizz cook, going by the number of these books, but they tend to gather dust, and are brought out every now and then to be leafed through and then put back. The plate belonged to an aunt of mine, she bought it many years ago (she's dead now) when she was going out with an Iranian man. It illustrates an old Persian fable, I believe. The whisky is mellow, faintly sweet, a wonderful evening drink, a Christmas present from my son.