In a breakaway move, the Dramface Colonials conspire at their water cooler, setting up their own splinter cell. Happily, it results in a virtual sipping session and collaborative review of this Baker’s 7 Bourbon.

Another cracking Ogilvie tale of whiskey folks from the South, and a little bottled-in-bond bourbon edyacashun woven in. Heaven Hill’s 7yo Kentucky Straight in the glass.

For those of us living in the wider Scotch Whisky diaspora, we often must experience Campbeltown’s mythical spirits vicariously through others. In Ogilvie’s latest, he tracks down two of the Wee Toon’s Blended Malts in this side by side comparison.

As he settles into life in Dixie, Ogilvie meets up with a formidable local gent who declares if it isn’t bourbon, it isn’t whiskey. A dinner is the prize if a mind can be changed…

Usually a gentle type, the spectre of a bad experience from Ogilvie’s past rears its head to have him reaching for the warning klaxon. Do not buy this. A rare 2/10 on Dramface.

Exposed and laid bare, Ogilvie’s dwindling bottle collection is without a home, meaning he’s able to see and explore what would otherwise have been ignored, such as this Irish sleeper.

Surprised by tales of woe and predictions of whisky doom and gloom, Ogilvie harnesses positivity in the bottle chase, and immediately steps out and snags himself a banger of a dusty ‘99 Glen Garioch

After some surprise that there might exist a sweet-but-pleasing and reasonably priced Oban, Ogilvie is once more shocked into a Diageo embargo where the prices are - once more - jacked up.

A wiser-than-her-years daughter encourages Ogie to grab some whisky swag before heading to his new, state-controlled liquor, home. It proves fruitful as he bags himself a lesser-seen Kilchoman dusty.

On the hunt in a neighbouring state for some Springbank goodness, Ogilvie decides not to buy and switches to something completely different. I wonder if you can guess why?

Glenlivet’s ubiquitous 12yo in its slightly more modern ‘Double Oak’ guise is gifted to Ogilvie as he departs for his newly relocated life. Exhaustion has him skip the bottle specs, forcing a blind sip and a surprise.

A self-administered humility check is required as Ogilvie is disappointed to receive an old standard. As he digs in to the Johnnie Walker Black, he’s reflective of the easy rise of snobbery in whisky.

In what seems to have become something of a theme, in life Ogilvie mirrors his approach to whisky by uprooting and heading off top new horizons. As he says “there’s something in the water cooler at Dramface HQ” is it this Strathmill?

Dire world events draw dark clouds over Ogilvie’s visit to England, yet he find calming solace in whisky environments; light filling the dark. He also happens upon some Springbank and a stop-and-stare Bunnahabhain from Cadenhead’s.

How often do we hear feedback about a whisky tainted by a less than stellar visitor experience? Too much, we think, too much. Ogilvie shares the tale of his visit to the Cotswolds Distillery.

Whisky is better when shared, right? Well, sometimes. Ogilvie discovers how even a modest blend, ubiquitous in the Americas, is elevated when applied to the shared joy of an occasion.

The changing of the seasons has Ogilvie recalling a trip to the magical Isle of Islay as he declares this entry-level peater one of his favourite ever, and perhaps Kilchoman’s best.

Discovering new things is one of the true delights of whisky exploration. It seems, in this Indri Indian Single Malt, Ogilvie, Earie and Wally have all found something very worthwhile.

As life throws Ogilvie challenges he adopts his “bunker mentality”. Drawing him out of it are two companions, one life-long and one much more recent. This is a feel-good whisky review.

Drawn by that comforting and familiar dumpy Balcones livery he loves, Ogilvie ends up buying something that he’d never have otherwise considered. In fact, something that can’t ever be considered whiskey.