Happy Hour has been a tradition in our family since the invention of the cork screw. In the early years, it was a brief affair, starting at 6pm on the dot. Finishing 7pm on the dot. With Shakespearean drama, Father would open the drop down shelf in the wall unit, to reveal a well-stocked cocktail cabinet. Home to
Baileys Irish Cream,
Southern Comfort,
Wild Turkey Kentucky bourbon whiskey,
Gordon’s Gin, Apricot Liqueur (really just for
Apricot Chicken) and a bottle of sherry for when Grandma visited. We were each handed a glass of our chosen tipple, then the cabinet door was rapidly raised like a moat bridge re-securing the castle under siege. Happy Hour had officially begun. Over the next hour, we were encouraged to share progress on love lives (never a long segment), discuss the state of sawmilling globally and plan careers (ideally in the sawmilling industry).
As the years passed, wine was invented! Some say that wine was already around before our family discovered it. Such naysayers. Nowadays, Happy Hour doesn’t really have a time limit… or wine limit.
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| Pat likes to dress for Happy Hour |
The first night the boys arrived in Daylesford, I gathered them together for Happy Hour. It took me a moment to realise why they were preparing jokes and magic tricks. That sorted, everyone settled down with glass in hand. Before I could say the first toast for the evening (Happy Hour tradition), the boys had finished their wine… in a single gulpl!
Wine tutorial began immediately...
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