Published in Whisky Magazine Issue 2 on 16/3/1999.

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Glenweevil an everyday story of distilling folk 2

The story so far at our fictional distillery: under the new ownership Andrew had to reapply for his own job. Ruth has informed Andrew of the discovery of several casks of pre-war whisky in an old cellar at the distillery. Earlier; a lorryload of Glenweevil was stolen. Now read on...

Andrew here. Or ‘Andy’, as our new English owners apparently prefer to call me. ‘Hi, Andy,’ said this slip of a girl, arriving from the airport with the rest of them. ‘Remember me? I’m Virginia. You’ve forgotten, haven’t you? I was a distillery guide, you can’t have forgotten me. Three years ago, when I was a student. Talking of which, didn’t we pass Ruthie on the way? She was wearing dark glasses, so I wasn’t sure if it was her. Imagine, dark glasses in this weather.’

‘She has a lot of late nights,’ I said.

‘Anyway,’ she said, putting a confidential hand on my shoulder, ‘I thought this would be a good chance to have our little chat.’

‘What is “our little chat�?’ I asked.

‘Um, you know, just a talk about your future, that sort of thing.’

‘You mean my interview. I take it this is a joke. You mean I’m to be interviewed for my own job by someone who worked here as a distillery guide three years ago?’

‘We don’t really use the word “interview� these days, Andy. It’s so, you know, formal. We’re people people.’ She suddenly went rather white. ‘Christ, who’s that?’

‘That’ll be Kevin,’ I said. ‘Ruth’s son.’ Kevin was here yesterday, as well. He is a youth of unattractive aspect. Whenever he saw me he scowled and muttered something about having thought something was ‘effing videos, not effing whisky’. I don’t know what he meant.

Roger glided over. He was wearing a tartan tie. ‘Firs.....

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By Andrew Mcvie

Section : The Last Word

Page number : 74