I’ve never really been a fan of Whisky. And I think there’s a reason for this.

I had a very bad experience with it when I was about 15. I drunk far too much of it at a party in Penzance and my old man had to come and pick me up and take me home. It was messy, he had to carry me, so he put me over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and I was sick all down his back. He then put me on the back seat of his pride and joy, and again I was sick all over his leather seats.

Lovely.

Anyway, it’s all changed.

My friend Lawrence Weiner has re-introduced me to the devils brew, but this time it’s Bourbon. Less Will Carling, more Hells Angels.

During the first, and now the second lockdown, there have been less people in the studio. Which means that for the first time, in a long time, I can do whatever I want without upsetting someone or someone telling me off.

So now, every now and then, at the end of a busy day, I treat myself to a Bourbon. Or two.

It’s very nice. And very civilised.