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The Buffalo Plains

While Juan and I were arguing about the best way to cook a horse, the horse ran away. This was serious as the horse was hitched to Juan's keg of Vintage Bladnoch Special Reserve, which was attracting the attention of a swarm of locusts. Seeing the horse galloping away, dragging the precious whisky into the desert, Juan wailed that the horse had stolen the whisky but, although the despair occasioned by loss of vintage single malt is enough to make a Highlander give up tossing the caber, we are both pleased that the locusts follow the horse and, no longer covered in a mass of insects, we can see where we are going. We also see a buffalo.

Juan says that this is a sure sign that we are in the Buffalo Plains State. To celebrate, we break open kegs of Vintage Linkwood, Strathisla, Cardhu and Clynelish Special Reserve then, reminding ourselves that we are farcically behind schedule, yelling with with excitement, and singing 'O Willie Brew'd a Peck o' Maut, ’Aikendrum’ and 'An Aberfeldy Lassie Stole my Heart and Sporran', we stagger on, tottering over the sand-strewn plains, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink’s Diary