Winter has this odd but thoroughly pleasant way of creeping up on people.
After handling an exceptionally arduous day at the front (read work), you, the suave metrosexual man of the 21st century, comes home to rest. Post all that hard work, of the many little mercies that you allow yourself, whisky ranks high. On a completely unrelated note, so do luxurious baths.
Aberlour, a small village in Moray, Scotland, is ancient. It is situated at a confluence where a wild mountain stream cascades down the slopes of Ben Rinnes and Linn falls, and runs through wooded glens to meet the Spey. Aberlour is aptly named after that stream, Lour. In Gaelic, it means “the mouth of the chattering burn”.