Although we energise ourselves with Vintage Linkwood, Glen Scotia, Auchroisk, and Highland Park Private Reserve, the best we can manage is to plod slowly along. Juan claims that his motivation been destroyed by the dull, spirit-sapping, dreariness of the English winter. I point out that Scottish winters are much worse, but Juan says that it is the very fierceness of a Highland winter that makes it properly enjoyable and life enhancing, whereas the English winter is an eternally dank, grey, joyless, drudgy, sort of thing which eats into the marrow and erodes the will to live. This is true but, with a mission to accomplish, we can't allow our spirits to be lowered by the dismal weather; fortunately, our old friend, Bakulebe, is in the area, testing some of aunt Humperdink's experimental trains, and, hearing that we are fuddled and flagitiously behind schedule, he volunteers to give us a lift. This is a wonderful offer and, to celebrate, we break open barrels of Vintage Pulteney, Aberlour, Miltonduff, Clynelish, and Glendullan Private Reserve and, offering toast after toast to the coming of spring, we head down the tracks, as fast as we possibly can.
Professor Humperdink's Diary