Coming up to Burns night

It won't have escaped your notice that we are in January when the only consolation is tomorrow's opportunity to slip into oblivion clutching a decent bottle of single malt and the remnants of a heart and porridge stuffed sheep intestine in celebration of an unintelligible national bard. See our window for details...

So we're off the Mediterranean and Atlantic for three wines and if you behave, a sniff of something pale, dirty and smokey from much further north.