Oh amber liquid how can ye be so subtle and enticing, yet sae wicked at once? Hae you nae conscience? On this blessed day. A day when it is true and right to be Scots, a day when it is true and right to be patriotic, a day when it is true right to drink the fire of my birthright.

"The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd:
That night, a child might understand,
The Deil had business on his hand."

As the wind bellows off said window and the loft sways as in drunken stupor, we remember those brave Scots who have fought the good fight, drank the fair dram and made and be merry.

My relationship, my passion and my desire for the single malt grows with the passing years. Its weight lays heavy upon my person. As the age passaes I become an antiquarian to my tastebuds.

Smooth nectar envelops the mouth and soul, the sacred dance of the northerner, the bite and sting of first encounter paves a path for heather and honey leaving the way for fire to ignite the inner sanctum. Here's toyae Rabbie!