:: Bottles ::
In my younger days, I slept beside a glass cabinet.
Beside a tall glass cabinet, in the living room.
I would admire my father's collection of miniature bottles.
Of gin, and vodka, and a few more, brandy and whisky.
And then, one night, I unscrewed a bottle.
I downed it all, and felt satisfied.
With all the macho-bullshit.
For a while, anyway.
I then carefully filled the bottle with tap water.
I would screw the cap back tightly.
I would then put it back in the exact position.
Back with the collection.
It was not long before the tap water collection became complete.
No one realised.
Not even father.
Until a decade and a little bit more.
At a family brunch.
When brother Bren, shared with me his discovery
While missing the wry smile at the corneer at my face.