It has been my habit for a long that, when my body starts telling my head at around 6.00 pm, “Erh hem! About time for a snifter?”, I stop drinking for a week. This is probably just superstition, but for the first couple of days, there is this odd feeling, not unlike an awareness of a shy butler waiting to be asked to fetch a wee dram. By the end of the week, the butler has gone away, but I do look forward to a decent single malt again.
Bruichladdich Rocks is hard to beat, but also hard to find in Australia these days, at any rate in Adelaide.
I suppose it might be possible to import a case. But (a) a case of whisky seems rather a lot and (b) this smacks of desperation. Can’t I just have another whisky? No! This is the one I like. Continue reading