A Stoory Bottle: Friendship and Lagavulin

In 2018 my friend Neil moved to Australia. As a last hurrah, we went on a trip to Islay, we visited a distillery, and we splashed out on a bottle. Lagavulin Jazz Festival 2017 – a limited edition, with a price tag to match. We had a dram and made a pact: the bottle stays in Scotland, only to be drunk on the rare occasions when we’re together.

Neil visited Scotland once or twice a year. We’d gather and have a dram just like we’d said. It was a set date in our calendars – using the ritual of a nice bottle of whisky to stay in touch, ending our evenings together with a “same time next year?” It was a life ring, keeping our friendship afloat.

It wouldn’t last – Neil was set up down under. He was studying for a degree, he’d made new friends, got a girlfriend. He had commitments. He was visiting less, we were chatting less. The bottle sat stoory on the shelf, and one evening I found myself staring at it.

I was worried this was our 30s, and that we’d simply grow apart without this tether. It can be easy for friendships to wither when not watered – they require maintenance and care – and I was worried I hadn’t done enough. Staring at the bottle, I had to do something. I reached out to Neil, I felt I owed him something? Reassurance that I was thinking of him outside of our annual drams? I was anxious to put myself out there, to be vulnerable, but it has to be done sometimes.

Neil was grateful to hear from me, of course he was. He let me know I should have never doubted myself, and I could always speak to him. Friendship watered – it was that easy.

And we did finish that bottle eventually: not on a special occasion, but just another Thursday evening.

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Matthew O'Donnell is a writer based in the East End of Glasgow. After cutting his teeth as a music critic, he has expanded into a broader literary world – find his writing on Substack, and as part of the Q Canvas art collective