Half a deer for 60 quid and a bottle of whisky

Over dinner last night Graham and I were talking about the Scottish character, which Graham says is generous in a way that’s often misunderstood for simple-mindedness.

As an example, he told a story about a man in his small village who asked Graham if he had a freezer and then negotiated to sell him half of a 180-pound deer he’d just shot.

“How much would ya be wantin’ for the meat?” Graham asked him.

“Let’s say a quid per pound,” answered the man.

Done, said Graham.

Then the neighbor asked Graham if he’d be butchering the deer himself and Graham told him he didn’t think so. Well, I could do it for you, I suppose, said the neighbor, for a price.

“How about a bottle of whisky?” Graham proposed.

The villager was happy with that and the next day he shows up at Graham’s with the butchered venison.

“How much do I owe you then?” Graham asked.

“Sixty quid,” says his neighbor.

“Shouldn’t it be more like 90?” Graham says.

“Well, it would have been before I butchered it,” says the villager. “But now it’s only 60. And by the way, that was a lovely bottle of whisky you gave me.”

While I’m still thinking about this story, Graham says, “Speaking of lovely bottles of whisky….” and he goes into the galley and pulls out a cask strength 25-year-old Caol Ila that must go for at least £125, if you could even buy it since only 6,000 bottles were made. He gives me a good pour. It’s as smooth and deep as the waters around us.

“God, that’s lovely, isn’t it?” I say to Graham.

He takes a sip, closes his eyes, and says, “Tastes a bit like a dead skua to me.”

That must be part of the Scottish character as well–you never know when they’re kidding.