A FAR FROM EXPERT VIEW John Allen— Editor, The Quaich Editors note: In the piece below, the contributor was asked to write on a topic of his choice; spookily he appears to have responded to some points made so trenchantly by The Advocate here. This is pure coincidence, since he did not have sight of Turnbull’s piece. (Conspiracy theorists will reckon otherwise). A few years back, scanning my e-mail inbox for anything resembling a worthwhile communication, the word ‘whisky’ caught my eye. In hope, I clicked on the sender’s name, Hans Kneesan. It was obviously someone masquerading as a humourless German whisky fanatic to enjoy a joke at my expense. How could I tell? Because the sender referred to me as ‘an expert’. After e-mailing back to ask whether he knew a friend of mine listed by Deutsches Telecom as ‘Boomsah, Daisy’ (geddit?), I contacted the others listed as recipients of the e-mail. All chums connected with the whisky business, they hadn’t spotted it as a hoax, despite the atrocious comedy-English and the obvious inanity of the questions. Going through their e-mail records, it seemed they’d been rewarding the joker by responding politely to his enquiries for some time. Part and parcel of being recognised as an expert, is answering endless questions about archaic pieces of equipment at defunct distilleries or being asked to undertake unpaid research about an obscure 1997 Derbyshire bottling of Glen Matlock for punk rock fans. (I just made that up, so please don’t pester Joynson.) I rumbled Hans because I’m unaccustomed to being addressed as ‘an expert’ and I don’t consider myself one. OK, around 200,000 malts drinkers read my and others’ ramblings in The Quaich, the newsletter of the Friends of The Classic Malts which I’ve edited for some six years now, but that only makes me a writer on the subject. I was selected because of a skill and something of a track record in communicating complicated subjects—and encouraging a response. Writers in any sphere get labelled as ‘experts’ because of our—yes, I’m included —relative ignorance and desperate quest for inside information. At its worst, many of us go down the road marked ‘celebrity endorsement’. I’m not above choosing a wine from an off-licence shelf because a glowing review of it from a columnist I rate is displayed. However, nothing, but nothing, beats tasting the stuff for yourself. Going into Oddbins and getting them to open a bottle of 25 year old Talisker so you can make up your own mind doesn’t work. So, we use the tasting notes of those lucky enough to be sent a review bottle. Reading is never a substitute for being closer to first hand experience. When I started working on malts I decided to inform and educate—not too grand a concept in this field—as well as entertain myself in the hope of doing the same for others. I read the best books. But I have also learned from talking to the famous scribes, collectors and even anoraks. The more accomplished collectors know a lot about, well, collecting. And the anoraks? Well, quite a few punters I have met really are fascinating, but only when talking about anything other than whisky. Not surprisingly, I’ve gained most from those who offered more than opinion. The only real experts are those whose job is to make the stuff, or ensure its quality and—heaven forefend—a few of those who market and sell it. And the more they talk from experience, the better. Writers are just that. They write. Good ones do it well; the others don’t. And I find the debate about their independence rather pointless. The industry and they are interdependent, in much the same way that film directors and reviewers are. My preferred stance is far closer to the scepticism of Andrew Jefford than the Hello-style gushing of some hacks. Readers can surely discern from the article whether the author is objective, or possibly in someone’s pay. Incidentally, did I mention that the Loch Fyne blend puts all others in the shade? Footnote: What became of Hans Kneesan? After a good 18 months of mostly entertaining and sometimes irritating messages Hans passed away, aparently of a lapsed email account subscription. We, his ‘Whisky Friends’ (or ‘Freinds’ as he often put it), were informed of his demise by one of his drinking buddies, Ulrich Wassbach. Among his other mates were undoubtedly Herrs Maschtunn, Kondessor and V_rmtubb. Ulrich wondered if Hans’s ashes could be scattered in the Bay at Lagavulin during this year’s Islay Whisky Festival. Somehow, Hans was announced as the winner of a Festival quiz evening. Neither he nor his ashes were present. Ho hum.