On wine

I know that some people don’t consider South Africa’s own cultivar –Pinotage – to be “real wine”, but I have to say that I have done some rudimentary research and as far as I’m concerned it ticks enough of the boxes to be real wine, because it is:

an alcoholic drink made from fermented grape juice.

Yeah, there was one box and they got it.

It’s not my favourite red: a decent Bordeaux blend or a nice Shiraz gets top spot there. However, I have been sampling some Uitkyk (basically pronounced “Ate Cake”, for you forrenurs) Pinotage from 2015 and it’s really rather good.

In fact, I was instantly transported to picking wild blackberries up the Scholaby Road in Colby on Isle of Man with my very first mouthful.
Incredibly evocative and ever so specific.

Uitkyk also do a really good brandy, which instantly transports me away from reality from time to time, as and when required.

We are all Rupert Godfrey

In these days of constant contradiction and heightening hyperbole in the mainstream media, especially when it comes to their reporting on scientific studies, I spotted this voice of sanity shared on Twitter.

I like this approach. Why not enjoy life while you can, given that we’re all going to kick the bucket eventually?

So, go for it! Drink that wine! Especially if – like Rupert – you’re actually already dead.

School night rookie error

Last night was great fun. A few friends round for a braai, several (or more) beers and an awful lot of really good wine. There was much merriment, some really well-cooked fillet and everyone had a really good time.

But partying on a school night? Rookie error.

This morning, as perhaps you may already have imagined, was less good. Mild dehydration coupled with a distinct lack of sleep and sprinkled with a topping of new medical waste disposal guidelines and international conference calls at work.

Never party on a school night. Move either the party or the school.
Because it is plainly clear that you really can’t do both. Not at my age.

The consequences of my foolishness are several-fold:

– I’m really rather grumpy and have shouted at the new medical waste guidelines quite a lot because they are rubbish. (In my defence, they were already rubbish before last night’s shenanigans.)
– I have drunk almost all the coffee in Cape Town. And as any fule kno,  that’s a lot of coffee – mainly because of all the huge coffee plantations and associated agriculture just downstream from the Theewaterskloof Dam.
– I’m almost certainly not going to be able to stay up to watch the Magic of the FA Cup 3rd Round this evening. The Tall Accountant tells me that “Liverpool will clobber them” (“them” being Everton). I’ll just have to find out in the morning.
– It’s gone 4pm and I’ve only just remembered that I have to write a blog post today. Even though I have to write a blog post every day.
– I am tired in all eleven official national languages and I still have 3 pages of technical stuff to read, digest, cogitate and forget. Back to it.

Lesson learned.

Until next time.

Bottles

Some weeks are good weeks.
Some weeks are less good.

How was your week this week?

I’m now rating my weeks in terms of wine bottle size. It does have its drawbacks – maybe you just want to drink more to celebrate some superb news. But generally – recently – it seems to have been more about trying to forget the disaster of the previous five days and the fact that there are another five looming ominously on the horizon.

So, how was your week?
I had a complete Salmanazar.

Yes, I spotted the spelling error on “Balthazar”, as well. “Bathazar” refers to the amount of wine required to fill up an average-sized household bath. It’s considerably more than 12 litres.

But then the bubbly people had to make life difficult, didn’t they?

Yeah – be careful when buying a Jéroboam of fizz – lest you get 33.3% less liquid than you expected with your bored-ducks (I think that’s how it’s pronounced) wines.
Also, that errant decimal point before the 187 ml on the “Piccolo” line does seem to suggest that you’re literally going to get a drop of grape juice.

Don’t. Bother.

Look, this all just goes to show why simple science is the way forward. Give me a number, give me an SI unit and we’re good to go. No confusion here.

Just enough wine to forget that week that was.

Physio

I’m at the physio. But not for me, for my dad. Yes, my dad lives in Sheffield in the UK, and indeed, he is heading back there tonight via Hamsterjam and Manchester. It was while he was packing his case that he twisted his knee and now he’s rather sore. Not great when you’ve got a long haul flight this evening and a big foreign airport to rush through tomorrow morning.

So, an emergency visit here:

…to see what they can do, and probably a quick trip to the pharmacy on the way home too, I’d imagine.

It’s not a great situation, but he did do it while moving several bottles of Groot Constantia Chardonnay from the cupboard to his suitcase, and I suppose that if you’re going to damage ligaments in your left knee (which would seem to be the likely diagnosis), at least do it by jarring it while doing something worthwhile.

Full marks for that, then.