Next stop, Islay

Next week, the Whisky Wagon heads west. The road narrows with every mile until it’s just you, the sea, and the wind that smells of peat and (probably) rain. Then the ferry — slow, steady — crossing the kind of water that makes you quiet without asking. On the other side lies Islay — 10 distilleries for 3,000 people, which tells you everything you need to know about their priorities.

The plan is simple: listen more than talk. To meet the people who know whisky as muscle memory, not marketing. The farmers who still judge a season by the weight of the barley. The distillers who don’t need tasting notes to know when the spirit is right; they hear it in the still. These are the stories Whisky Wagon was built for — the ones that make whisky human again.

We’ll film from the back of the Defender, camera gear rattling in rhythm with the roads. Each stop another conversation about patience, process, and pride that doesn’t feel rehearsed. Whisky as it really lives — in sheds that smell of smoke and hard work.

Distilled conversations

Islay has a way of stripping away the noise. The air itself asks you to slow down. You start to notice how the light hits the copper stills, how a dram changes as it warms in your hand. There’s beauty in that simplicity, in knowing whisky is really just a story told slowly enough to taste.

What I hope to bring back is connection. Whisky shouldn’t intimidate. It should invite. Every bottle should be a handshake across time — showing how someone once stood in the same wind, made the same decisions, trusted the same silence.

Next week we’ll make some of those connections. And, with a bit of luck, remind people that whisky isn’t something to perform. It’s a drink — simple, social, and best enjoyed your own way.

Grateful to everyone on the island who’s agreed to share their time and stories.