I wasn’t quite sure what to write this week, for a couple of reasons… or maybe one reason, that being, this is the last column in this series for The Stranger. No more Wine Not Wine here, for a while at least. And so, with this in mind, I thought I might take it up to 28,000 feet and cruise along with you in the stratosphere, in a pressurized cabin, rather than getting down in the jungle specifics of this wine or that place… let’s just fuck all that for now. Let me set the stage for you… where I am, at this moment, writing this. I just put my kids to bed, and it’s been a long day. It is my day off, when I’m catching up with my non-working life, getting all the everyday things done: cooking dinner for the little ones, threatening them that I will pull their heads off if they don’t stop fighting… sorry, CPS! This is all “tongue-in-cheek,” as it were, and suffice to say, I’m tired now.
And this column has been washing around my brain all fucking day! But here I am, in front of this little screen, and I am drinking a glass of wine…
