Well yesterday I surprised myself. There I was strolling out my flat without a care in the world and a whistle bursting from between my lips when something very bizarre happened. As if I had no control over my legs or my autonomy I found my body dragging me towards the gym. As the portal to doom approached I started scratching and grasping the walls in desperation and to no avail, to stop my damned legs from carrying me into the depressing church of grotesque muscle gain. It is as if the treadmills, bikes and rowing machines are part of some Orwellian thought-experiment to force us out of the great outdoors and into air-conditioned torture chambers of beat-centric music and lactic acid build-up. Despite my feeble attempt to avoid poorly simulated outdoor activities I was soon handcuffed by my own hands to a pull-up bar and working up a sweat against my will. Then when I woke up this morning thinking that it was all just a bad dream, a figment of my imagination, it happened again...
I don't quite know why I went to the gym, it certainly wasn't a new year's resolution. My best guess is that my body has some automatic system in place to prevent me from killing myself through excess (the same process occasionally makes me eat fruit). Maybe the heavy alcoholic intake of December kick-started this safety system or maybe my mind wanted my body prepared for climbing Mount Olympus in April. I don't know. However I do know I needed a nice surprise to counteract my body's betrayal. So today's whisky is the Tomintoul 21 Year Old, a whisky I didn't have high hopes for and was pleasantly surprised by.
Tomintoul 21 Year Old
40% - Distillery Bottled
Nose: A weird combination of walnuts, pear drops and aniseed that works against all odds.
Palate: Lemon meringue pie laced with essence of anise.
Finish: Soft with tasty lemon drizzle cake flavours.
Overall: Intriguing nose but light and lemony from thereon in. A relatively simple whisky but so drinkable and two fingers to the bland Tomintouls of yesteryear. Slainte!
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