Thursday, 15 August 2013

eau de plonker

It comes as no surprise, I'm sure, that I like food.  Similarly, I'm sure you've twigged that I also like wine. 

This love for food and wine is turning me into a giant ASSHOLE.

P poured a glass of red last night and offered me a slurp (I was being all 'I don't drink on weeknights' which is patently NOT TRUE but anyway, a guzzle from someone else's glass doesn't count).  I delicately inhaled over the rim of the glass, took a swig and promptly made a face. 


'A pinot, young one, plus it needs a bit more time out of the bottle'

'WELL ITS RUBBISH AND... ... ... AND... ... IT'S SO ... SO FLORAL'

'You told me to stop spending so much on wine, and I got a staff discount on this thanks to a client'


I am actually an asshole.  A WINE asshole.  That specific breed that rolls its eyes back in it's head as it savours the delights of an 88 Bordeaux out of a Riedel Bordeaux glass with it's nose.  (Ha.  I WISH I had an 88 Bordeaux and I keep breaking those fucker glasses). 

What happened to the girl with the bladder of wine in her flax kite, tap out the bottom, asking the bartender at the Bowler (RIP, a fine establishment) for just an empty glass please?  Oh, she was an asshole too, JUST A DIFFERENT KIND.

I lead a very spoilt and privileged existence.  I could go ahead and qualify the above all day (I still drink cheap plonk! I'm grateful I can afford anything from Chateau Cardboard and above in my discretionary spending! I know there are starving children! I give money to charity on the regular!) but fact of the matter is, I'm an asshole. 

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