Friday night was the annual wine tasting event down at Docklands, and as I have for the last ten years odd went along with JV.
It was as these events go, pretty standard. We sampled the wine, nibbled on cheese, and speculated on what we would purchase. Last year JV was wiped out by 9pm. This year he paced himself better, though come the end of the night he was ready to tumble into a warm bed.
For whatever reason I’m a much better drinker than JV, and indeed most people, as good as the very best. By that I mean I’m relatively immune from the effects of alcohol. That’s not to say I don’t get pissed, but it takes me a lot longer, and at a blood alcohol level that leaves many people tottering I’m as steady as a die. There are people who claim to have never seen me drunk. They’re wrong, but it’s an easy mistake to make.
I was in a good mood, which made me flirtatious. There weren’t a lot to flirt with and, other than with the wine director, those energies were directed into the fascinating conversations I had with the winemakers about their craft. You go from one wine to the next and one is as simple as the day, and the next full of complexity and mystery. It’s an act of alchemy which with my scientific bent I’m endlessly curious about. Why is it so? How does it work? What’s the secret? Is it the soil? What’s the difference between picking early and later? And so on. I reckon I’d love to be a winemaker for the fascination alone.
Afterwards we went to a Turkish restaurant nearby wgere we had the usual combination of grilled meats and break, hearty stuff every bit of it. It was a bit after ten by the time I got home, just after the final siren of the footy.
I stayed up to watch the replay and hit the sack some time after midnight and slept like a log.
It was a wintry weekend best spent indoors with rain and hail and piercing winds and even snow in parts. I didn’t even get to walk Rigby, and had the heater cranked to eleven.
The brief period I made it out early Saturday morning it was sunny and blue skied. I shared a Danish and coffee with Cheeseboy and did my shopping. It had started to spit with rain by the time I got home and thereafter it was the classic weekend, reading and cooking and writing and watching the footy and thinking about women. Can’t complain.