Earlier this week, I went to visit my friend Clutch at his home in the seaside village of Burntisland in Fife, Scotland.

We have a whisky blog together (called, unsurprisingly, Dubber and Clutch), we’re co-writing a book about whisky (along with a bunch of other authors), and we’d arranged to visit a couple of distilleries and whisky makers.

Our first stop was a light lunch with legendary master blender Richard ‘The Nose’ Paterson at the headquarters of Whyte & Mackay in Glasgow. After a mini spring roll or two and a few stories, he took us into his tasting room, which was not only a museum of scotch whisky, trophies and accolades through the ages, with a bewildering array of bottles of unimaginable value – it was also the source of a non-stop torrent of stories, places, dates and names. The man is a walking encyclopedia.

Clutch, Colin (our photographer friend) and I were then treated to a tasting of a very special and very rare whisky. I was halfway through my glass before I’d done the calculation that I’d already swallowed about a month’s salary.

We then popped to the Scotch Malt Whisky Society, where Colin and Clutch are members, and had a proper lunch and a dram or two with Whyte & Mackay PR guy Rob. This was, as you can see, a more substantial feed. Not a good idea to go tasting whisky on an empty stomach…

Back to Colin’s in Edinburgh for a couple more samples for the book. We sat out in his back garden, overlooking Holyrood House, toasted the Queen (who was in at the time: the flag was up) and watched the sun set over Edinburgh Castle.

In the morning there was time for a stroll around to see the sights of Burntisland, before heading out to visit the Glengoyne distillery. We had been offered a tour of the distillery and warehouse, as well as the chance to make our own blended whisky (about which, more on our whisky blog).

Also on the tour were a couple from Sao Paulo and their (astonishingly patient) young son. The father, Diego, is a business coach and he’s given me his card so when I go back to Brazil (quite soon, as it happens) we can perhaps meet up for a whisky over there.

Clutch and I spent rather longer than we had anticipated at the distillery, and so missed our bus back into Glasgow. As a result, we had to take a much later one, so the man who ran the distillery shop offered to drive us to the pub down the road where we could have a meal while we waited.

It turned out that we had a mutual acquaintance. One of the radio scholars I come into fairly regular contact with – and with whom I spent a good deal of time in New Zealand at the radio conference – was a friend of his. Small world.

Anyway – long story short, we made it back to Clutch’s quite late, and we were due to have an early start the next morning for another three-hour journey to another distillery. Only this time, it didn’t happen. Train delays, weather and weariness all got the better of us, and so we spent day three of our whisky adventure sitting around the kitchen table trying to write about all of the things we’d sampled and experienced.

The trick, I think, is more writing and less sampling. As the day went on, the productivity levels declined and before too long, it was time to catch the train back to Birmingham.

Clutch gives Donnie a ride through the streets of Burntisland

A lovely few days, we actually managed to get quite a bit of writing done, and although we walked away more or less empty-handed (neither of us actually bought a bottle of whisky), we did get to try quite a few very good drams.

And in particular, it was just nice to catch up with Clutch and his family – and spend a bit of time together for the first time since they moved from just around the corner to that rainy country up north.

Had an amazing time on the island of Jura with Clutch, who was there writing a song to raise money for the ferry, which is under threat from funding cuts.

The song’s nearly done (just some vocals, real strings and maybe a bit of guitar to go) – and you can hear the rough mix of where it’s at in the video above. The finished song will be released online in the not too distant future.

My job was to make the website, and help out as best as I can – and I’m using the project as the basis for a case study in a chapter of a book I’m writing – and as a piece of research, it’ll be an academic conference paper at the very least, if not a journal article.

But what an incredible place to spend a week – and of course, we had some very fine whisky while we were there.

Clutch and I went to the Isle of Jura over the long weekend on a bit of a adventure. All the details are over at the Dubber & Clutch blog, complete with videos and interviews, tasting notes and stories. But I thought you might be interested in some holiday snaps.

They look quite good if you ‘full screen’ them. It’s the little button with arrows on it on the bottom right that appears after you press play.

Clutch came over this afternoon for a couple of whiskies and to play musical join the dots – a game in which I play a song from my collection, then he plays another from his that is connected in some way (the rules are a bit vague). Bobbie was upstairs with the laptop watching something and generally keeping out of the whole thing.

I only had two drinks over a five hour period, and we ate rather a lot of pizza, so I was absolutely fine to drive him home afterwards, which I did.

Like a ninja
I came back inside, threw my keys on the kitchen bench, and sat down at the computer downstairs, where I browsed and emailed for about an hour. My phone buzzed with a missed call from home, and I figured it was playing up again.

A minute later, Bobbie came down the stairs and said “Oh my God – when did you get home?!” I told her I’d been here for about an hour.

“I didn’t hear you come in – I’ve been really worried. I called Clutch to ask where you were. You’d better call him back and let him know you’re okay.

No relation
Clutch is on my phone by his real name – Anthony Cowie. So I quickly typed C-O-W into my phone and hit the dial button.

ANDREW Cowie was in the bath. It was not the first time I’d called him by mistake. Always lovely to talk to him, but it wasn’t who I’d intended to dial. We chatted briefly, and he asked how my pizza had been and whether I was enjoying my couple of days of relaxation (he had clearly been checking Facebook recently).

I left him to it, and then called the other Cowie in my phone. There were sounds of High Street traffic in the background when Clutch answered.

“I’m home – have been for some time,” I said.

“I’m wandering the streets of Kings Heath looking for a smoking wreck. Glad you’re okay.”

The reason I’d dropped him home, of course, was because it’s so freaking cold out there. I didn’t want him wandering around when I could get him home safe and warm. And now he was out there in it, looking for whatever was left to be found of me. Nice one.

All points bulletin
I returned to my email, and it wasn’t long before I received a text from Clutch. His wife Collette is a nurse – and she was about to ring around all of her Admissions friends at the various Birmingham Hospitals to see if I’d been brought in.

So – apologies all around for my inadvertent stealth (and my communications failures)… but it’s nice to know that friends are looking out for me – or if they’re not aware of any potential peril, they are at least aware of my junk food intake and happy to interrupt their relaxing baths to discuss my wellbeing.

Sorry to cause worry.

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.

I had the distinct privelege of being with Clutch when he opened a 40 year-old bottle of Longmorn. He’s following this up with a trip to London to watch his fiancee run the Marathon, then his wedding in Scotland, his birthday, and a month in New Zealand on honeymoon. It’s sad to think they’ll all be such disappointments after this…

It wasn’t just the best whisky I’ve ever tried, I think it may have been the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Unbelievable.

I played a Game of Go with my friend Dan last night. He’s slightly better at it than I am, so although he kindly made a few silly mistakes that allowed me to gain some advantage around the edges, he pretty much took out the centre of the board and ran away with the game.

I tried to influence the outcome by giving him whisky, but since I had to drink it as well so that he wouldn’t suspect anything, the potential advantage was lost.

Still… we had a good time and have arranged to have another crack at it in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, is there nobody else in this town who plays Go? Say… someone that I’m slightly better than?

I had to show you this. If nothing else, this was the highlight of my trip to Edinburgh last weekend.

Of course, I met great people and had interesting conversations. Even bought records and did a lot of sightseeing around the city. But the Port Ellen was the bit I got most excited about, I have to say.

It had been recommended to me by a couple of people who knew I was into single malts – and it had been described in hushed tones as being ‘awesome’.

The distillery is long gone and the bottles are not cheap. Appreciating in value as they become less and less common. If you were inclined to buy me a present, and were thinking upwards of £85 seemed about right, then you could not do better than to go here and spend money.

In fact, I’m inclined to revisit that whisky blog I started last year. I’ve had a few people mention it to me. Maybe I’ll revive it as a group blog and get a bunch of friends together to do tastings and report back on the blog. Actually, why not stage virtual tastings? We don’t have to be in the same room when we try something…

Let me give that some thought…

I’ve started the year off with a bit of moving about — both in terms of visiting places and in terms of upping sticks and moving house.

I spent much of last week at a conference in Cardiff. I’d been there once before with Jake, but didn’t really have the same experience. In fact, when Jake and I went there, we didn’t bother staying the night because the accommodation there was pretty substandard, and there wasn’t really anything about the town that excited us, beyond visiting Torchwood.

(OMG – fellow geeks – look who pops up when you click that link!).

This time, my experience of Cardiff was entirely different. Somehow, my university colleagues and I had been booked into a rather flash hotel right in the city centre and we got to see and do things that make a city seem all that much more appealing. Had a nice time in a nice university, ate in nice restaurants and were treated to some very pleasant sights and surroundings.

I went to London with the Professor on Monday (travelling first class, due to what I can only assume was a mixup in the train fare bookings – not complaining) to meet with all the heads of the BBC Audio and Music Interactive divisions (what we used to quaintly term ‘radio’).

Back to back meetings with the heads of Radio 2 Interactive, Radio 3 Interactive, 6Music Interactive, 1XTRA Interactive, BBC Music Interactive, iPlayer and Podcasts. Some really interesting people in there who said really interesting things I’m not allowed to say anything about yet. But let’s just say I’m enjoying that particular research project immensely.

The last couple of days have been about writing articles, composing exam papers, marking assignments and having meetings with some of Birmingham’s most interesting and creative people. If I was a hack journalist, I would be predicting a technology-led cultural renaissance in this city about now. Seriously – wow. There’s some cool stuff coming to an internet near you, and it was grown here.

I’m off to the Hague for the first time on Friday to spend the weekend at my cousin Greg’s, helping him make sage choices regarding music for his wedding. Nadine will be on standby to make sure that the German relatives will be appeased and Greg and I don’t degenerate into a ‘Greatest Hits of Alternative 80s’ themed music marathon.

I’m back to Cardiff on Friday next week for the Welsh Music Foundation, again to London on the 30th to DJ at the Big Chill Bar in Shoreditch and do a spot of consultancy — and then, to continue my new mission to ‘hit at least one city I’ve never been to each month’, I’m doing a seminar for the Musicians Union in Wrexham on the 6th of February. Pretty sure that the day I agreed to go and give a presentation there was the day I first heard of it. So geographically ill-informed.

When will I get to Brighton? That’s what I want to know. I hear they have sand.

To top it all off, we’re moving house the first weekend of February. Jake needs a drum kit, and the place we’re living in isn’t set up for noisemakers. We’ve located a 3-bedroom semi-detached house in Hall Green, just a few minutes down the road, and we’ll be off there soon. We had a good look through, and I came away only really remembering one thing about it: it’s got a dishwasher!!! All signed up and looking forward to the extra space.

Of course, I’ll still be a Moseleyite in spirit…

In other news: I received that bottle of Glenlivet Nadurra that the nice people at the distillery offered when they read that I’d lost mine to the utter jobsworths at Brisbane Customs.

It’s a thing of beauty and I’m very happy.

I mentioned the other day that I’d had a drink with my friend Clutch – and that we’d discovered a Glenfiddich Toasted Oak limited edition that we quickly became quite fond of…

Well, it being payday yesterday, there was a grocery shopping expedition at Tesco (it’s convenient, all right? Where’s the Waitrose near here?), where I found a bottle of that very drink for under £25 — so it ended up coming home with me. I texted Clutch with the good news, and he replied saying he’d just had a similar bargain find: a Laphraoig for £17.

I suspect we’ll be meeting up again soon.