Clutch and I made our way to Stourbridge by train yesterday evening. There was a tasting of Springbank Distillery whiskies happening at a specialist shop there called Nickolls and Perks.

I happen to have bought a bottle of Springbank’s 10 Year Old Longrow 100 Proof when last in Edinburgh and had loved it to bits, so I was really looking forward to the evening.

We made it to the town, and then found our way to the shop. There had been talk of food, because we were making good time and thought we’d have a chance to stop somewhere for a bite before things kicked off – but as we got to the store we saw that there were already people with glasses in their hands, and we didn’t want to miss anything.

We were hungry – but there was fine whisky on offer.

Damn.

Expensive wines in need of a polish

The tasting started upstairs in the main part of the shop, then we moved down to the cellar where all the expensive and dusty stuff was kept. I had to be careful of my elbows, because I’d been placed next to a handful of bottles of 1973 Bollinger, which made me a little nervous. I don’t know my champagnes, but I’m guessing this would be an expensive breakage.

The evening was interesting, though there were of course the real whisky nerds, the people who know-it-all (but have no clue) – and Takes-It-Too-Seriously-Guy and Inane Questions Man were both in attendance. All that was missing was a couple of guys in the back making inappropriate jokes and giggling, so Clutch and I took it upon ourselves to fulfill that role.

We were given a sheet of paper each and the tasting began. The woman from the distillery talked us through the process of making whisky, and the ways in which the different varieties we were trying were special or interesting.

Tasting in the cellar

There was quite a young one that had been matured in wine barrels, and another that was a mix of several different years. The 100 Proof that I liked was featured at around the midway point, and the evening finished up at an 18 year old that retailed for £95. Lovely, but not my favourite.

All in all, a very good night. We stuck around afterwards for the socialising and the finishing off of the opened bottles… and had some good conversation. And missed our last train home.

Damn.

Out on the streets
By this time, of course, the gravity of our situation was tempered by the levity brought on by a succession of good drams on an empty stomach. So, since we were no longer in any hurry to get to the train station, we thought we’d explore the Stourbridge nightlife.

Out on the street, we got into a conversation, as you do, with a couple who a) seemed friendly and b) weren’t half our age like everyone else on Stourbridge High Street on a Friday night. Once it had been established that the Scot and the Kiwi were of limited threat potential, we were invited to join them at the local nightclub bar.

Lee and Nicky were, respectively, lead singer and lyricist in a next-tier-down ska band from the 80s (supported the Beat, the Specials, Selector, and so on) and a department head from the local College just down the road from me. They were great value and good company.

We entertained ourselves by talking music business, the inadvisable clothing and personal tanning decisions of some of the other punters, and (as usual) why on earth someone would move from New Zealand to Birmingham.

The night drew on and Clutch and I decided it was time to face the exorbitant cost of a cab back to South Birmingham. It was a pricey ride – but other than that, it was pretty much a perfect night out. Great company, excellent whiskies, a lot of silly joking around, a very nice addition to my collection, and limited next-morning damage.

Perfect, that is, except for leaving my phone and my wallet in the back of the cab, and having to spend the day cancelling cards, blocking my number, making frantic calls to the taxi company who claim no knowledge… and wondering how I’m going to manage in Belfast next week with no method of paying for anything or calling anybody.

Damn.