Tiredness is a very strange condition. It creeps up on you slowly and coerces you into frankly idiotic situations. Yesterday, I landed back in the UK after a week long tour in the US- the last couple of days of which were spent mostly without sleep in Manhattan, fuelled purely by its signature cocktail and sustained by sweet waffle.
Perhaps it's my body telling me to get some rest but last night after being awake for 30 hours or so, I absent mindedly flame-grilled a shepherds pie to an impressive potato-based inferno and polished my favourite tan brogues with Cherry Red Kiwi. Put simply, I was all over the shop...
Admitting defeat, I slumped off to bed in a sulk. Then, on my way upstairs from the corner of my bag laden eye, I thought I spotted an unusual miniature bottle on top of my cabinet. Putting it down to sleep-related hallucination I took a few more steps, but there it was again, this time calling out to me in a faint Scottish accent- "open me, y'bampot"
Now I was very curious. Where had it come from? What were its contents? and why the hell did it just call me a 'bampot'?
Grabbing a tasting glass from the cabinet (whilst simultaneously knocking a champagne flute to a shattering death on my wooden floor) I seized the little fellow.
"Now look here you- can't you see I need some sleep!" says I.
"Aye. Y've a face like a bulldog licking pish aff a nettle, but surely y'fancy a wee nip before heading to ya bed?" retorts the miniature.
"An impressively eloquent tongue sir" I continue, " but will your innards be as articulate..."
-before whipping off the small screw cap and draining the contents into my glass.
-before whipping off the small screw cap and draining the contents into my glass.
Almost instantly my cloudy, sleep deprived head is slapped into life by the aroma rising from the glass. My bed can wait another half an hour I think, before grabbing my note book and settling down on the Chesterfield with my newly acquainted, if ever-so-slightly insulting new Scottish friend....
Old Pulteney - 30 years Old - 44% vol - 5cl
Nose: A little spirity, but a fragrant waxiness follows, a slight dustiness, some delicate citrus notes and milk chocolate.
Palate: A sharp entry of Parma Violets and lemon grab your attention, followed by a hint of white pepper and then some lovely sweet chocolate-covered hazelnuts. It's a classic mix of solid whisky flavours, but quite unexpected in something 30 years old.
Finish: Some red berry notes fade into a box fresh and floral finish- light weight, but in no way underwhelming.
Overall: An impressively put together dram, but totally surprising, considering its age. I kind of expected something a little more woody and full bodied, but this stands tall in a different camp to many other aged whiskies. Perhaps we'll see older expressions in the pipeline too, if Pulteney can maintain a vibrancy such as this in its later years.
This morning, I awake to the sound of purring pussy cat, feeling moderately refreshed. It is only then I realise I hadn't made it up to bed, cozying up all night on the Chesterfield. Was my encounter with 'Old Mr Pulteney a dream?? Well, his presence was certainly a memorable one....
