I've just realised that today is the 100th anniversary of the birth of my paternal grandmother, Nanna Margaret. She died almost 20 years ago, but I'll be breaking out the Laphroaig in her memory this evening.
Seems like a good excuse.
Nanna Margaret didn't like the fact that I drank neat whisky. She said it would rot my liver. She knew this for a fact: she had worked in an off-licence and had been on a course where they put some cow's liver in a tumbler of whisky, and a few days later it had gone!
I wasn't falling for that one: Nanna Margaret had also told me that eating the crusts of my toast would make my hair curl.
Not that I ever wanted curly hair, you understand.
Postscript: Oops! Almost forgot to mention that it's also Bette Davis's centenary today.