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On first inspection this whisky appears to be contained in some kind of a "bottle", apparently made of glass.
Not wanting to be half-arsed about writing this review, I thought I'd find out for sure, so I poured the whisky into an old tupperware container that still had the remains of last weeks mashed potato around the rim, and threw the bottle as hard as I could onto the kitchen floor.
Unfortunately it must be better quality than I thought - it rebounded back up, came within the width of a pubic hair of braining me, and then traced a looping trajectory into the lounge where it collided with my wife's King Charles Spaniel who was cleaning its balls on the sofa. Said spaniel (she calls the disagreeable little bastard Woo-woo of all things) is now at the vets with a collapsed lung and nerve damage. I told the wife it got run over.
The bottle finally shattered when it bounced through the TV, so I can confirm that it was made of glass.
I decanted the whisky slowly into a snifter, and held it up to the light.
To my eye it is the colour of 15,000 year old amber formed from the branch of an oak tree that was blown over in a mid winter hurricane in the South of France. [EDITED BY MODERATOR]
On the nose this whisky is light and fragrant, with undertones of a warm spring rain falling on freshly cut grass, [EDITED BY MODERATOR]
Upon swirling the whisky on my palette I was immediately hit by strong notes of peat, ash, and smoky burnt paper. On reflection I realised this could arguably be attributed to the fact that I have been using the snifter as an ash tray, so in the interests of writing a fair review I poured some more into a clean glass, being careful to strain the whisky through a sieve to remove the lumps of mashed potato.
This time the dram was far more satisfying - with notes of cinnamon, an open fire in a damp forest with buffalo chips for fuel, and coffee made from beans picked from the faeces of the civet cat, gathered by a 59 year old Vietnamese peasant with bad breath and acne who didn't clean the beans very well afterwards.
As the embers died down it was chewy - so chewy! and with a faint taste of copper. That was when I realised I had bitten off a piece of my own tongue while shitting my pants as the bottle rebounded back up at me earlier on.
The finish - Christmas pudding, ginger, cinnamon cloves in front of the wood burning fireplace [EDITED BY MODERATOR]