JOURNALISM an' whisky gang thegither, as Burns nearly wrote. As a young reporter on the Evening Times I was sent one Christmas with the Chief Reporter Malcolm "Wee Nick" Nicholson to deliver a bottle of whisky to the Detective Chief Inspector at each of Glasgow's half-dozen police divisions. My role was to ensure Wee Nick's safe return as at our first stop the chief inspector, a good contact of Nick's, leaned back in his chair, opened his filing cabinet and took out his own bottle and three glasses from the bottom drawer. My squeaky protestation of "Not for me" was met with the kind of stare which made felons confess their crimes. Not for the first time I spectacularly failed in my allotted task.

Whisky in those days was a pretty straightforward affair. A bottle of Bells or Famous Grouse on the pub gantry, and a large bottle of lemonade on the pub counter for any drinker to top up their whisky for free. An Inverness reader once told us of being in his local where a customer put in the lemonade then declared after a taste that it was flat. The barmaid picked up a straw, dipped it in the drink, and blew bubbles through it.

One of my favourite whisky stories was of Glasgow shipyard worker Jimmy "The Pig" McCrindle who was stopped by his foreman and asked: "Is that whisky ah can smell on your breath McCrindle?" "It better be" The Pig replied, "or that licensed grocer on Govan Road is gettin' a doin'."

A Herald colleague once had to take a bottle of Cuban whisky into a Glasgow bar to ask drinkers if it could compete with Scotch. Once drinker took a sip, made a face, and rather wittily said it should be renamed Castro GTX.

Since then I have tried to improve my knowledge of whisky, thanks to tastings delivered by the likes of Whyte and Mackay master blender Richard Paterson, and whisky writer Charles MacLean. The thing about whisky is that with the growth of single malts, you can soon build up a knowledge of the difference between a Speyside and an Islay malt. I mean, drink red wine all your life and in a blind tasting you would still struggle to tell the difference even between a dry red and a dry white, far less which region they came from. Although, there are a few diehards who have not bought into the whole malt thing. A friend told me of writer Willie McIlvanney being over at his house and when offered a fine array of malts to choose from insisted on having a Famous Grouse, which is a blend of malt and grain whiskies. Willie either genuinely preferred it or was keen to show his solidarity with the working man who could only afford blends.

So last week I was a judge at the Oran Mor whisky awards, with the actual awards ceremony in a couple of weeks time. Oran Mor, the converted church at the top of Byres Road, is rightly lauded for its lunchtime series A Play, A Pie and A Pint, and its function room with its celestial painting by Alasdair Gray is frequently praised in guide books. But but folk sometimes forget its basic function, which is being a warm, welcoming pub where locals, tourists, media-types and Maryhill chancers convivially rub shoulders.

It was owner Colin Beattie who did his bit in making malt whiskies more attainable by starting a Malt of the Month in his Partick pub The Lismore 20 years ago - a concept now copied across the country. Simply put, as society puts pressure on people not to get blind drunk, then if you are going to drink less, then why not drink better.

A fellow judge at Oran Mor was Kenny Macdonald, whose company Baltic Business Connections, exports whisky to Lithuania, and who helps run the monthly whisky club at Oran Mor. He told me: "My grandfather was a foreman in Ballantynes, and the family came from the Outer Hebrides so there was always whisky around. It just became a real passion for me. I think whisky is phenomenal. There is always something new coming out in the market. It's the variety I like. I mean American bourbon is pretty much a one-trick pony without a massive variance in flavour, but whisky in Scotland, with its crazy array of barrels and regional variations will always surprise you.

"But there are 27 other countries making whisky. There is a massive explosion in Japanese whisky. Even Tasmania in Australia has a great product, so there is real pressure on Scotland to up its game."

Just now though Scotch is a star performer. Exports are worth almost £4bn annually, and employs 7000 people in rural communities where alternative work would prove difficult. Nine distilleries have opened in the last year two years and up to a further 40 are planned across Scotland. The UK's trade deficit would be 11% higher without whisky exports.

Meanwhile the judging at Oran Mor is not simply about swallowing the amber nectar in a oner. You have to nose it - breathe in the flavours of the whisky before you even taste it. Swirl the glass and appreciate its colour and the legs of the whisky as it drops from the sides of the glass back to the bottom. Taste it, but swirl it around your mouth to release as many of its flavours as possible. What do you taste? Is it vanilla, fruits, or even the sea. What is the after taste? Is there something still lingering on your palate? Honestly, this is hard work. Sort of.

But there are many whiskies to taste, so after each sip I regretfully pour the rest of the whisky into a bucket. Unlike my day chaperoning the Evening Times chief reporter, this was one where I could wake up the next day actually remembering where I had been the day before.