Whisky Magazine Issue 3
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The story so far at our fictional distillery: the theft of a lorryload of Glenweevil was closely followed by the discovery by Ruth of several casks of (allegedly) pre-war Glenweevil in an old warehouse. The distillery's new owners are thrilled with the 'Limited Release' Glenweevil. Only Kevin is unhappy. Now read on...
Andrew here. Your Company Personality of the Year. How about that? There I am in the company magazine, smiling away, with a glass of our new whisky. The caption says, ‘Andrew McVie, recently promoted to Team Leader of five distilleries ranging from the Orkneys to the Lowlands by way of the Islands, photographed with Head of Visitor Interaction Ruth Findlay and stillman Jock McNeill. Glenweevil Limited Release is proving a tremendous hit wherever it goes!'
Young Kevin seems even mopier than usual. I caught him this morning, looking rather too closely at my car radio. He said, ‘When does it effing go, then?' I requested him to define the word ‘it'. ‘Effing whisky,' he said, jerking his thumb towards the now-empty storeroom where our ‘pre-war' (ahem) whisky had been kept.
‘We bottled Glenweevil Limited Release a month ago,' I said, unable to keep a note of pride out of my voice. ‘It is, if I may say so, a rather fine dram.'
‘So it's effing gone?'
‘Safely in the shops.'
‘Old git. Safe for you maybe. My mates are after me. I'll get my effing fingers broken. How am I going to recoup our effing losses now?' He pushed me out of the way and lunged off in the direction of the visitor centre.
‘You'll find her in her new office,' I said. ‘And mind your ps and qs. She's Head of Visitor Interaction now.'
‘Effing stupid,' he said. ‘Mam! You were supposed to tell me when that effing whisky was leaving.'
Ruth, I noticed, pulled him inside and shut the do...