Glasgow’s Whisky Festival 2025
But really…it’s the whole weekend, right?
Glasgow is a cold city.
It’s angular and glassy and strict. A brutal coming together of architecturally stunning history, abject misery and modern efficiency - slapped together like a grotesque sandwich.
The echoing ring of shipyard hammers bounce along the sharp tilted streets, across the brown stone tenements and gloopy black wrought-iron fences. Glasgow is under construction.
It can feel like a scary place to be, to an outsider. It’s industrial. It’s busy, bustling, complicated and fast. The perpetual din of the M8 sets a white noise foundation that’s built upon by the scrum of the centre; the cars, buses, taxis, e-bikes. For a harrowing moment I am anxious.
This is not the Misty Isle. The distance afforded on the island, to other people and to noise, is catharsis yet erodes resilience in double time. To be hemmed in by audible noise atop visual madness is an unwelcome continuation of being stateside only a few weeks ago. I was overwhelmed then, and I’m overwhelmed now. I feel myself folding inwards.
A strong arm wraps its weighty length around my shoulders and I release. I’m safe. Ainsley looks at me and smiles, and I remember that I’m surrounded by people whom I love and who love, unconditionally. We stand together, and take in the scene. A chaos of people laughing, clinking glasses, slapping backs, listening intently and striding purposefully. Some are at funny angles. Some are sitting on the floor. Some are approaching us now, with faces full of wonder.
We’re all friends here. A question repeats all day long: what’s in the glass? The glass is offered for assessment. It never gets boring because the answer holds so much potential - something new, something different. The starting pistol fired and we rushed in as a vibrating mass of flying jackets and bags, and at once several hundred unique strategies kicked into life. Now, as we stand arm in arm, we witness the fruits of the labours.
The masterblasters ran like unshackled gorillas to scoop up as much and as many examples of amber liquid they could. Fear of missing out. Soon they’d be lying prone on the floor, having misjudged their supporting hand on the way down, and surrendered themselves to the carpet.
Socialites mooched. Springbankers stood at the shop. Influencers chatted inwardly. The fresh-faced newcomers stood in awe at the sheer volume of choice that lay before them, with eyes pointing in different directions. The veterans unfurled sheets of lined paper and, with a singular nod, set off like an arrow. The EIS+F, assembled once more with a French addition (part of a larger “5 Nations” group that includes an absent Welshman), tied invisible elasticated ropes around our waists and took stock. We had our own game plan, and it began with Jackie and his spreadsheet.
A shortlist of exhibitors, chosen in diplomatic yay or nay drop-down boxes, had been crystalised and confirmed well in advance of the day. We knew where we wanted to go, and we knew how much we’d be missing out. But that was ok. Cameras were slung around necks. Jackets were stuffed unceremoniously into rucksacks, and discount vouchers were folded into pockets. We had places to be.
Life would be a bit sad if we stuck to plans, and quite quickly I found myself not approaching the tables as the others extended arms with empty glasses in hands. I hung back. I watched, smiled and smelled the now occupied glasses from arms thrust under my nose. I looked around, I fiddled with my camera and I took it in.
That’s not to say I didn’t try any whisky, and I’ll get to that. I just chose, this year, to be a passenger to the thrill of the moment. I’ve been the guy cramming left, right and centre. I’ve been the guy with ideas of discovery and found, in the end, I had little to show. This time I existed in the moment, and it paid me dividends as we wheeled around Hampden for the Glasgow Whisky Festival 2025.
My day began with a beeline to Fragrant Drops, but such was the density of the people already surrounding Rachel and George’s table, that I circled my arm in the air and Rachel waved back, knowing I’d return soon. Magnificent to see such bustle around their table: word has clearly gotten out.
To Ardnamurchan then, and their new 10yo core range, followed by the Heritage Barley Release. Both wonderful expressions after a decade of excellence: you needn’t hear more from me right now on the sublime quality of Ardnamurchan whisky. Over to Glasgow to try the new 8yo 50/50 peated expression, alongside the Aqvavitae Barfly Bottling, also 8 years old. Both fantastic. Hello to Seb - you guys are reaping the rewards of hard work, and you deserve it.
From there it was not the Loch Lomond or the Glen Scotia table, but the Michael Henry table. He saw us, he turned and reached for the things behind the stand, because he knows now that these eager pieholes are seeking strange things. And strange things he delivered - a 70/30 split of column still/pot still fiddler, and all of us were stunned into silence. As I digested it, the others went on with two other oddities that I missed. And that’s ok.
A look at the Whisky Games table, a few more drams poured for the others, and we were off again to seek out David Stirk - word had already made it around the chattering hoard that he’d brought some drams of distinction, and some wanted their books signed. Again I held back. I took some pictures. I looked around and waved to people I knew, who waved back as they thumped off to somewhere else.
A fly past the Cadenhead’s table to try a 40yo North British, which was outstanding, then a wave to Murray at Lindores as we walked with a mental note to return. Ainsley wanted to see if Francis from Daftmill had anything cheeky, so I waited for him to boomerang - my glass hanging at my chest still with the North British inside. At ease, enjoying the dram. I didn’t need to get in any scrum just to try a whisky I know will be simultaneously magnificent and out of my reach.
The next table was a return to Fragrant Drops, with a slightly less dense crowd but still a wait before the table lurkers moved along. Once in and rooted to the spot, the line-up of bottles sent a palpable wave of excitement through the EIS+F. Not only did they have the Fragrant Drops medicinal bottles, but also their Elevenses range of whiskies that aim to deliver interesting bang for buck. I’d get to them after I started slowly with a 40 year old Cambus, fully matured in an old sherry butt.
Old whisky was the theme of the show this year, with quite incredible age presented by so many tables; but Fragrant drops had sailed in, turned broadside and were now unleashing their remarkable arsenal of cannonballs at unsuspecting punters. There was no denying how impressive it was, and the appearance of an Elton John bespeckled Invergordon of 50 years maturation stunned all who tried it. An Oloroso quarter cask finished beauty distilled in 1974.
Next was a Glenlossie of 11 years maturation finished in a fresh Sauvignon Blanc barrique. Dreamboats. Then a Glenburgie of 30 years maturation in a refill ex-bourbon hogshead, with artwork drawn by Arne the Superman Artist of Ardnamurchan’s Midgie fame. Stunning whisky, beautiful artwork.
Finally it was time for the last of the Fragrant Drops bottlings - a 13yo Glen Garioch fully matured in a fresh ex-bourbon barrel. Classic Geery, but with some left field zinger notes around the buttery purple malty sweetness of the Geery character that surprised. I immediately went and bought one - my only purchase of the weekend. Luckily I made my move at the right time, for 20 minutes later the queue would be gargantuan and the Geery would be gone.
My parting whisky from Rachel was an Elevenses bottling of a 7yo whisky from a Secret Fife distillery, finished in a fresh Tequila barrel. Really interesting, really engaging and really blooming delicious. Sweet yet savoury, sharp yet rounded. Thick yet fresh. A bizzaro. What an experience FD are delivering in the full spectrum of whisky as a pursuit - the Elevenses are accessible, funky and interesting. The FD bottles offer everything from unique casks to certified incredibly old whisky, at reasonable prices.
I headed over to the Adelphi table to try the Ben Nevis, which was great, then a wee sample of a new Ardnamurchan single cask Paul Launois 10yo: two casks were disgorged - #90 which went to the VC in Glenbeg, and which I reviewed recently. The other cask, #81, was sent to France in a 40 bottle parcel. The remaining bottles remained at Glenbeg, some 130 odd. This was one of the “French” bottles, and it was, of course, magnificent.
The Grail ladies were here too, with their head hype-lady Erin. Absolutely wild to spend a few minutes in the orbit of what can only be described as nuclear levels of energy. I absolutely love it. With that, I retreated solo to the middle of the room and for the remaining 30 minutes of the session, took pictures, chatted to people and observed, without any more whisky.
This was what made my Glasgow Whisky Festival the very best time I’ve had so far - not drinking whisky. As we made our way outside, I caught up with Jim of Whiskey Novice, whom I’d missed during the session, and the sentiment was the same: this year wasn’t about cramming or digging. It was about being. There’s a lesson there, I think.
From the festival we headed, seven strong, to Rishi’s Indian Curry House for the best Biryani we’ve collectively ever tried - we all ordered variants. Ainsley had the Special Biryani - all the stuff, all at once, and he inhaled it like a giant helium balloon. Some had chicken, some had lamb, but Hamish and I repeated last year’s discovery of Paneer Biryani. If you’re ever in Glasgow and fancy a dish that will make your face glow and your heart swell, it’s this.
Typically we’d head to the Bon Accord after dinner and ensconce ourselves until late, but France were playing South Africa in the Autumn Nations, and Ainsley wanted to support his country. Looking for a bar to achieve such viewing excitement, we were disappointed at the first hurdle - no rugby in The Maverick. We ended up in a tiny wee place called Orwells, where pints of Guinness were £4 and the Rugby was available in pixellated format. Whisky was Monkey Shoulder or Jamesons - we drank it nonetheless. We watched the Boks destroy Les Coqs and Ainsley, much to our delight and enjoyment, was absolutely livid.
Back to the Bon and so many friendly faces still mooshed together in the spirit of whisky. We all got ourselves some drams. I chose a Single Cask Nation Glen Garioch 14yo and then set about catching up with everyone. What was their dram of the day? What were the plans for tomorrow? And so it went, until we decided that it was time to cut loose - Sunday and the Blind Challenge was tomorrow, and it’s become something of a focus for the weekend.
Glasgow is a warm city.
It glows with a radiant and reflective shimmer. Everywhere you look there’s interesting and unique things to see. The people of Glasgow don’t operate as other people do. There’s a moment of discovery, a working out of what your intention might be, and then once it’s decreed that you are a good one, the arms are wide and welcoming. Good luck if it’s the opposite.
I suppose it boils down to whether or not you’re here to cause trouble. A distance is maintained until you have proven your intent - to have fun, safely. Roaring, ruddy-cheeked whisky enthusiasts descending upon a venue en-masse, with whisky bottles being thrust around the room is, and probably always will be, unsettling for people looking on.
Just on account of its lowest possible ABV alone, whisky is troublesome. There’s undoubtedly a fleeting moment in anyone’s mind observing this niche activity, of exploring the Uisge Beatha for its flavour properties rather than its potent mixing abilities, that the gathered hordes of shouting people look very much like a petrol-soaked bonfire. A pause, an internal deliberation, before the proprietor strikes the match.
Their furrowed brow gently transitions to upturned wonder, amusement, outright bewilderment perhaps, as the evening of whisky enthusiasm reveals not a cataclysmic death spiral, but instead a delighted celebration, carried out with utmost respect and professionalism. It’s loud, so it is, but it’s friendship and love that booms from the faces of the people, not aggression. Love of whisky. Love of each other’s company.
Friday’s “Under-the-Table Tasting” was the klaxon that set the tone for the weekend, and what an evening it turned out to be. This is the event where six or seven brand representatives bring, for the lucky few to experience, whisky that would never make it out into the world, or whisky that is out of reach for most, or interesting oddities they’ve found in the warehouse. Unique whisky.
A line-up of Adelphi’s The Glover 2025, a mix of Ardnamurchan and Chichibu as yet unreleased, followed by a 7yo Glen Scotia single cask were the youthful exuberance laid bare. I was in dreamland. Cadenhead’s brought a 40yo Unnamed whisky, with a singular hint that it was a distillery near Tain. I guessed Glenmorangie, and what a whisky!
Thompson Bros, in the guise of wildman Simon, was in attendance to share a 27yo Glen Garioch. You’d have thought I’d have died at this point, but it wasn’t the Geery I know and love. It was sulphuric and edgy, old yet punchy. It reminded me of the Berry Bros & Rudd Glen Garioch that I thought had been corked.
An unknown sherry was used - I suggested Amontillado, as it had elements of the Cadenhead’s Warehouse Tasting bottling I reviewed last year, but was quickly told how ridiculous that idea was, and Fino sherry was probably the likely candidate. You win some, you lose some.
Next up was a triple distilled Kilkerran, lightly peated and 7 years old. The crowd went wild. I found it delicious but my thoughts were still back at Glen Scotia. The next dram shook me from my dreamworld: a 7yo Heavily Peated, Sherry matured Ardnahoe, and it was spectacular. Might be released, might not.
A 7th Glencairn sat in the middle of the sheet, from Decadent Drinks. It was announced strangely and secretly. This was a special whisky. A very special whisky. Roy stood up to announce it, not Julie Hamilton, organiser of the Glasgow Whisky Festival, chair of the Glasgow Whisky Club and Representative of Decadent Drinks. Something was afoot.
This was revealed as The Virtual Malt: a celebration of the community of likeminded folk that Roy has brought together through his Thursday night Virtual Pub sessions. A celebration of the man who stands at the helm of the ship we all call “The Barfly”. There were tears aplenty. Fingers were pointed at artwork for the bottle, handed out on printed sheets showing characters drawn by Arne Wern aka Doodle the Dram; faces of the familiar names we know from the vPub.
It was a lovely moment indeed. The whisky, an undisclosed Speyside distillery of 17 years from a first-fill sherry hogshead, was excellent. But it was the reaction to the artwork that had the room buzzing: a group of friends brought together over the digital realms of bleeping lights and pixelated audio drop outs, and into the real world.
The lovely moments continued on Sunday’s Blind Challenge, where the room is tasked with challenging themselves and others to identify whisky without knowing what it is. It’s always fun, always disarming and vitally important to dispel any possible notion of whisky connoisseurship. Those who know for absolute certainty what a whisky is, are quickly reminded that they’re human.
Last year I scored 1/10, so this year’s 7/10 was a roaring success. Our team, The Settlers, made out with 52/60 as a team, and had we listened to our team captain Andy and matched our answers, would've won with full marks. But that’s not the spirit of the game, and I was chuffed to bits to guess one of the drams was an old North British, probably the recent Thompson Brother’s 33yo. Which it was - An Edinburgh Dram.
Food was enjoyed in the front area of the rather lovely Haberdashery venue, with chats from Connal Mackenzie and Carl Crafts, who were in fine fettle, and we were back into the main hall for the part everyone loves - the bottle share. Needless to say, it was exceptionally good fun and a joy to witness people experiencing the generosity on display. I mentioned old drams being the flavour of this festival, and the Sunday event continued the theme.
Highlight for me was an 18yo Adelphi “The Glover” made up of Longmorn, Glen Garioch and the disappeared distillery Hanyu. Utterly joyous and Scott Munro should be commended for his generosity in sharing his wee 200ml sample with the room. Couple that with a ridiculous line up of unicorns brought along by the whirlwind of energy that is Seve, for a throw-of-the-dice game which included a ghostly 42yo Imperial for rolling a six. Or just asking politely. Fabulous people, and an unforgettable weekend of truly exceptional whisky.
There’s lots more to say of midnight wandering, falafel wrap seeking and a certain someone springing back from the dead faster than the Large Hadron Collider, but that’s a different story, for a different day.
Monday arrived slowly. I watched in eyes-half-shut sleepy interest as the halo around the curtains transitioned from petrol dawn, to an intense vibrant golden orange, to cool daylight blue, before reluctantly getting upright and moving. It was home time, and the sadness that enveloped me was hard to handle. It’s always over before I’m ready, and the memories of the past few days play on repeat in my mind. Yet home it had to be.
The EIS+F collided for a final time for breakfast before bidding tearful adieu and heading off into the morning sunshine. Some were destined for airports; others trains and some back into whisky for a tour of Loch Lomond. A sign in a window reading “Trump is a Jobbie” made us laugh and perked us up, setting us on our way. The highs are monumental. The lows likewise; but driving back through the misty glens and over the humpback bridge to Skye my happiness started to increase once more.
Despite the incredible fun and friendship we all enjoyed over the course of the now legendary Glasgow Whisky Festival weekend, returning to my girls and the hairy bullet, listening to the wind and seeing the stars shining gloriously in the cold night of November - it’s where I belong. It’s such a privilege to dip into whisky madness and come out the other side with space to reflect. And reflect I have.
Whisky is life. Whisky gives life and reminds us at a time no more poignant than now that, no matter where you are from, no matter what you do or what you believe, we are all one. But more than all that, we are guided and championed by one and he must be protected at all costs.
Without him we are all nothing in this world of whisky enthusiasm. He means more to some of us than family do, and we flourish inside his sphere of influence, alongside his charm and wit, his generosity and showmanship. We listen and act accordingly, knowing that a world without Roy is a world we cannot fathom. This year was the best Glasgow has ever been, and it’s because of him that we help, we turn up and we support. Long, long, long may it continue.
To Roy! See you next year?
I’ve taken over 1,500 photos during the weekend of frivolities, of which I’ve edited down to 264 at last count. If you want to have a look at these, you can head over to this wee shared drive HERE. Otherwise, carry on.
DC
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