Let me tell you about the island of Islay (pronounced ‘Eye-la’, you southern illiterate baaastaard). Its relatively small, about 35 miles north to south, less side to side; it has very few trees, which can give it a rather bleak look in places; I would guess that the incidence of road rage is zero as you don’t encounter many cars and those that do all wave at you. As if you’re the last living souls on the planet. Which at times here it feels like you are. The people though are generally really lovely and friendly. And I don’t think they have a single traffic warden in the whole island. Bit like Heaven. No traffic wardens there either; they all ROT IN HELL.

The only things that happen on this island are, in order of frequency: sheep eat grass, cows eat grass, sheep eat more grass, cows take a shit, the sheep get shorn for their wonderful, very expensive wool, and someone produces a bottle of whisky.

Because Islay punches above its size, if not its weight (I couldn’t quite get the weight) in terms of whisky. Not quantity, but quality. It is Single Malt Central. This is where they make it and this tiny island has 8 top distilleries of single malt whisky anywhere in the world. They make more Scotch here in Scotland than they do even in China. And each distillery produces loads of varieties. And loads of ages. 10 year, 40 quid. 17 year, 65 quid. 25 year, 120 quid. There is an equation but its beyond me. And after what they call a ‘dram’ here you really don’t care any more. Whisky is whisky and has a much greater value than money could ever have. And you always have a dram at the end of a distillery tour. You have to. Its the law.

So after two tours in two days I know everything there is to know about making single malt Scotch. Here’s how you do it.

You kill a malt. But just one. Obviously. They run wild here, along with the cows and sheep. You get a bunch of Islay virgins, and remember, the plural of ‘Islay’ is ‘They-lay’, and they stomp on the poor malt until its dead and squished, keeping all the natural juices. In a pot. Which you boil for a bit. You put that pot into a barrel for 10 years and then you flog it for 50 quid. Easy money.

I love it here and I’m never leaving. It could take almost 2 weeks just to meet every inhabitant here. And four to visit the other distilleries.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx