Gin and Tonic

Gin and Tonic

My father is now 90 years old. He has been drinking a gin and tonic every evening as far back as I can remember (probably 60 years). He has one drink alone (never more) at 6 PM exactly. After my mother died I think he is bored, so sometimes I see him craning his neck to look at the clock to check  if it is exactly 6PM (Apparently this is a sure fire way to prevent alcoholism even if you are a solitary drinker)!

He said he did not want to become like his uncle. His aunt died several years ago. The house was large and isolated. The servants left in the evening and he was left to his own solitary drinking devices. One drink became two and then three. One day he noticed a large toad that crept out from under the cupboard. He looked at it with interest and then poured a little rum for it in a saucer. The toad enjoyed it. Every evening he and the toad drank till he passed out. (Perhaps the toad did too?). It was, according to my father

“ a futile and degenerative waste of a life and god given brain cells.”

My father kept his gin locked in a cupboard and the key on a shelf in full public view. (He did not keep money or valuables around so it seemed all right.) One day he said, “The level of the gin is going down. I only have a large a day. It also tastes different.”

At first I did not take him seriously. Could it be due to absentmindedness? Poor eyesight?  Altered taste buds? He still played a good competitive game of bridge so it could not be dementia or Alzheimer’s.

My father has a “man Friday “whose sole job was to follow him around all day until I got home from work. He was not very bright, but if he had been, I am pretty sure he would have tried for a more challenging job. Apparently he had a  few weaknesses.

“He drinks my gin,” said my father “ and then he pours water in it to prevent the level from going down. The water in Vellore is hard. That is why the gin tastes awful.”

“Did you actually see him?” I asked. “No,” said my father.

I was in a quandary. Domestic help is hard to find. We had no proof. I could not really accuse him of being a alcohol thief without proof.

“Besides you cannot leave the key lying around on shelves. ” I told my father. “It is clearly visible.”

“I cannot hang it around my neck” announced my father tartly.

Since I come home late, I could not take the key with me either.

My father took matters into his own hands. He took an empty gin bottle and half filled it with concentrated salt solution and added a teaspoon of gin.  Next to that he placed a bottle of Black label scotch into which he poured tea decoction. (To make it the  right colour). He left both bottles on the dining table and lay down for a siesta.

The sound of retching woke him up. Man Friday was puking his heart out in the garden.

The cleaning lady said, ”He drank from the white bottle and then he drank from the other bottle. Then he ran to the garden.”

He must have taken neat swigs. First of salt water and then of tea.

My father pretended he didn’t notice anything.

The liquor levels do not drop any more.

Conclusion: Brain cells improve with age if you play bridge!