On a bender with mum’s moonshine

AFrIeND dropped in one evening. he lived nearby and considered himself financially betteroff, and intellectually superior, to everyone else in the village. My father got on with him; my mother merely tolerated him. however, as the evening wore on, my mother’s patience became strained as he pointed out the ‘fault’ in practically every opinion she expressed. When the subject of drink arose, the visitor held forth on the qualities of the wines he had recently drunk. My mother interrupted to ask if he would care for a drink of our wine. he agreed, but looked visibly disappointed when she produced some of her home-made potato wine. She poured him a little in a tumbler and asked him to try it. our visitor sipped, raised his eyebrows, and remarked: ‘Quite pleasant!’ he took another sip. ‘In fact, a surprisingly delicious, innocuous concoction!’ Mother smiled, and proceeded to fill the tumbler. My father looked shocked and started to say something, but one look from my mother silenced him. Soon after, our friend left, promising to call again. The following morning we had an early visitor, a somewhat chastened one. ‘That drink!’ was his first remark. ‘You know that bend in the road at the bottom of your hill? I didn’t walk round it. I walked through it into the hedge. Could I have the recipe for that wine?’ Mother smiled and nodded graciously. ‘That’ll teach him not to patronise me!’ she remarked later. Father wisely kept quiet.