Winning 3 prizes in the pub raffle having only bought 5 tickets after communally massacring the Christmas Carols, my speciality being the “ro-pa-pom-poms” and other such scatting between lines, choruses and verses. I loved it; Mrs T not so.
We got to chose our prizes, this seems the way, leaving the last winners with the soap, or last years unwanted raffle prizes, or some wine someone had bought back from the eastern block some 12 years ago.
The liqueur chocolates I can stomach, they go down extremely well after a Christmas dinner at the mother in laws when the real wine has run out. The soap, again is useful to cleanse yourself when all shower gels, bubble bath and shampoo has run out.
But what made me think, as I gazed on the bottle, sitting on the kitchen worktop, next to the wine glass cupboard, the label as closer inspection looking like a bastardised wine drenched version of Dante’s Inferno. A Cabernet Sauvignon from Romania, not known, in this house, for its fine wines, and 2006, a real vintage year. Why did I assume as I screwed the corkscrew into the slightly softening cork filled bottle neck, that somehow miraculously, this hitherto unknown wine producing region, would indulge me with a beautiful Chateau Lafitte.
Alas, once allowed to breathe, the metamorphosis, into world beater, into the type of wine I imagine the king of the world would drink, never happened. Truth be told, I suspect it had been left for far too long in the sun and tasted more like the Beetroot wine I made a few years ago.
I poured it down the sink, the whole bottle, and I just hope it doesn’t kill my shit eating bacteria in my Bio-digester.