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Here we have the Gevrey Chamberlin Vieilles Vignes 2003 a burgundy with such immense charisma and class, it should really be sporting a cravat and monocle. Instead, I draped it with these kitteh (OK, it's very hard not to feature them!) I actively avoid French wine, having had a lot of crap over the years and essentially having no idea what's good or bad. This at least has given me a very good starting point to explore further. We enjoyed it while watching 'Fantastic Four - Rise of the Silver Surfer' a mindless piece of pap which fortunately did nothing to blunt the wine's fulsome flavour. Apparently posh vineyards are now producing half-bottles of all their major brands in order to lure us into purchasing the larger amount. This is a stroke of genius and will be the downfall of us all.
B
'The ocean doesn't want me today/but I'll be back tomorrow to play.' So sang the ever jaunty Tom Waits on the uplifting happy-fest that is Bone machine. It's a line which always springs to mind when I'm by the sea. I don't like it much, the ocean. I have a deep seated fear of it, having nearly drowned twice, and like so many other things on the planet (door handles, ovens, bicycles, most inanimate objects with sharp edges) I have a nagging suspicion it's out to get me. I do like to sleep by it though. I find the rush and pull of waves on a shore immensely soporific and would love to own a house near it (just so I can keep an eye on it y'know). Children seem not to suffer from this fear, or at least they're more exhilarated by it in that roller coaster way, rather than viewing it as the cold implacable killer I know it to be. They'll learn, mark my worms.
Oh yes, as for Warres Quinta da Cavadinha 1978, this stuff is liquid sex. This is the first time I've had a genuine vintage port and thanks to the handy link above, I now realize we should have taken our time with it, rather than slopping it about from a plastic jug with joyful abandon. No matter, it was delicious, with none of that lingering ethanol quality you so often get with fortified wines. I will attempt to seek out something similar and try to hang on to it for longer than ten minutes.
B
It was clear from the headline that this was not a town to be trifled with. I thort perhaps my purchase of a sleek, matt black pair of wellies from B n' Q would allow me to blend seamlessly in with the locals, but no one appeared to be wearing them at all and I soon got the feeling I'd be joining santa in a brutal back street deflation from an irate Pickerite. We'd done the town sq. twice in the space of minutes and realized we were wasting our time and the only answer was to return to our cozy trio of cottages for more Olympic boozing.
Indonesian night passed by in an inebriated fugue. London night was ours so required a degree of sobriety, but only 0.01 of a degree. Cypriat night also featured karaoke, so no hope for abstinence there. Christmas day? Puhleeese. Murder Mystery night? You must be joking, especially when you're playing an American Indian called Lowawatha, with an alcoholic grandmother. Perhaps what made us open the wineandbeerandbrandyandwhiskyandbaileysand tequila every night was the fact that we'd all chipped in to a seemingly bottomless kitty and felt obliged to drink our share no matter how ghastly we felt. An SAS assault course one afternoon over some spongy yet sturdy terrain (laughingly described as a public walk) gave us a momentary respite from the bottle, but it was short lived.
This though, is the nature of Christmas. The time of fandamily and good cheer, of which we had in abundance. The entire operation was put together with military precision and I doff my metaphorical cap to Team Pickering (you know who you are) for their supreme organizational skills. I also extend my deep gratitude to all of House Grandage, for welcoming me to the bosom familias and giving me the most entertaining Christmas I've had in years. I hope gashed chins and fractured kneecaps have healed and that the phrase 'Tip Tip' quietly fades into distant memory, never to be mentioned again. Fat chance I fear.
B
It has been pointed out to Billsworth, that the blog of late, has had an unhealthy leaning towards all things kitteh. While undeniably cute, this doesn't make for terribly profound reading. In order to make amends, I'm kicking off the New Year with a new blog project, working title 'Stuff that gets us pissed.' As Loved One and I have been receiving a very nawtee box of superb wine every second month from the gurus at Philglas & Swiggot, we feel it only fair that we feature on these hallowed pages, the stand-out stars from each box for your predilection. Naturally we don't want this transition to serious (ahem) journalism to be too jarring, so our first featured tipple, the 2004 Rimage Syrah will be introduced by yon kitteh, who appear to have indulged a bit over the chrissie period themselves. This taste monster was enjoyed with lemon n' garlic chicken and a driving bass line, followed by sticky toffee pud and a hearty swig of Benylin Chesty Coughs.
I will be posting Chrissie related pics and a breakdown of Christmas festivities, AKA, Project Pickering, shortly.
B
Here we have the Gevrey Chamberlin Vieilles Vignes 2003 a burgundy with such immense charisma and class, it should really be sporting a cravat and monocle. Instead, I draped it with these kitteh (OK, it's very hard not to feature them!) I actively avoid French wine, having had a lot of crap over the years and essentially having no idea what's good or bad. This at least has given me a very good starting point to explore further. We enjoyed it while watching 'Fantastic Four - Rise of the Silver Surfer' a mindless piece of pap which fortunately did nothing to blunt the wine's fulsome flavour. Apparently posh vineyards are now producing half-bottles of all their major brands in order to lure us into purchasing the larger amount. This is a stroke of genius and will be the downfall of us all.
