Batch 221

Soothing and resinous with a real sense of time. There’s also a distinct note of leather – Dunhill store, or what I imagine John Lobb’s might smell like – with a subtly dried fruitiness that veers more to the citric side. In time, this morphs into a sophisticated chocolate orange with dried tangerine peel and high cocoa solids. Things get slightly waxy now, but still with some of Bladnoch’s airy qualities which stop it becoming a Sherry bomb.

There’s more of a sense of grip here which is only to be expected. There’s also a light lavender note and initially things seem slightly hollow in the middle – that low alcohol making things a little fractured. A wetting of the lips is what’s needed, turning the whisky into more of a vapour than a liquid. Now you get the citrus, some dried berries, the light leatheriness and lastly a late autumn leaf pile.

Starts nutty and then, minutes after, fresh blackcurrants.

Opens dramatically and ends wistfully. Such is life, eh?

Who Knows Where The Time Goes?

Some apple puree with a classic Imperial American cream soda softness. Lilies are in the distance, with summer meadows and ripe pear dribbled with single cream (or coconut cream for the vegans). In time slightly aldehydic (Chanel No. 5) with white peach and waxed fruits. A slow builder and you need to be canny with the water; a drop reveals how fresh it remains, even after all this time.

A caress on the tongue with pear dominating, becoming fattier and creamier in the centre before suddenly getting spiky, more so than on the nose. This bright raciness continues all the way to the finish. In time you can discern some oxidised elements. It’s slightly firmer than expected from the nose, but not when you take into account the time spent in cask. Water makes things more floral.

After the flare, a softer resolution.

A lovely and remarkable youthful Imperial. Botox finish?

The Old Woman dances while a Skylark sings.

Slightly closed to start, but there’s some biscuity aromas before you pick up a burnt note of sealing wax, then mealie pudding and (I know this is weird) a note which reminds me of an uncooked haggis. There’s also a real sweetness behind that’s all mango and guava. It flits, as Littlemill can do, between the industrial and the soft fruits of its late years.

You get the same effect here. Slightly numb and oily to begin with, then opens to those half-obscured tropical fruits. If anything it reminds me of an Irish single pot still; oil and leather, fruits and a tight cereal-accented finish.

Nutty, then the oils return.

Classic Littlemill. You never quite know what you’ll get.

All things Return To Earth.

Big and only gently wooded, allowing Macallan’s earthiness to show along with a tiny touch of spice that moves into some baked apple. All the time there’s a lightly nutty back note with some greengage jam and citrus peel. Water adds in more dry oak, cassia and mossy log before opening into heavy florals and apricot skin. Increasingly fruity.

A softer start than anticipated – age has mellowed it. There’s low wood, allowing Macallan's oiliness and depth to show more fully above a steely core. Briefly becomes heavily fruited – peachy now – in the centre (and retronasally), but then things start to fade. You get the sense that it’s always been a quiet performer, never showy, only now getting its big chance.

Lightly nutty, but short.

A great example of a relaxed, mature Macallan.

The old Wild Rover comes in for the last time

The greenish-yellow colour shows this is a venerable whisky, long in cask. Nose it and there’s a sensation that everything has turned sepia – old books, worn leather, distant red fruits. Surprisingly, this is easier to pick out when a drop of water is added, but things remain distant.

As the nose suggests, this is fragile, offering up fragments of its life: some cedar, some raspberry, a touch of toffee, faded petals. It softens on the tongue and then it’s gone – a ghost, a memory. Lean in and you can just hear its last breath.

Slips away.

The end of a whisky. Melancholy.

A Dusted farewell.

This isn’t the only dram this week which has an oiliness, but here it’s more distinctly linseed oil. There’s also a touch of new trainers, then fresh-baked bread and lemon juice. Then you get the image of oatcakes being made on a griddle, heated over a peat fire. With water comes a scented rose element, some sweetness but more overt phenols and tarriness.

Immediate drying smoke from peat and coal, then felt, the dustiness of an old attic but with sufficient sweetness at its core. Initially it seems more straightforward here than on the nose. Water is needed to show its excellent balance: slightly dry, slightly salty, definitely smoky, but also sweet.

A return to the oatcakes as well as a brininess.

Like all of the Morrison & MacKay whiskies in this batch, this has fantastic balance.

A High Tide clears it all away.