I am a fairly recent convert to the world of wine. Actually, this isn’t strictly true – I’ve always loved drinking it, and have a reputation among my friends for tearing open the 2 litre box of wine to inflate the weird silvery bag inside them and ensure the last few drops of Sainsbury’s Generic White Wine make it into our glasses. (Yes, I am all class, I know.)
It’s fair to say I haven’t always really thought about what I was drinking, though, and I often found myself going for safe options like Jacob’s Creek in the supermarket, and Pinot Grigio in the pub. At uni, we’d work out what we charmingly described as the “voms per pound” index – what could you spend the least money on while still getting pissed? Wine tended to do pretty well by the VPP calculations, and came with the added bonus of not making us looking like tramps, which was the main problem with it’s rival, cider.
It wasn’t much of a eureka moment, but as I started working and had a bit more to spend, I started to hanker for wine that came in a bottle, not a weird inflatable foil pouch hidden in a box. As I moved from the £3 to the £7 bottles, my expectations rose. I wanted wine that tasted nicer, that wasn’t vinegary or watery, or nice on the way down, but with an aftertaste of gym socks. The £7 bottles sometimes delivered this, but it was touch and go.
So I came in after a night at the pub drinking red wine which reminded me, worryingly, of an Impulse body spray I’d last worn in 1996, and booked myself onto an “introduction to wine” course online. Sober, I might have shopped around for classes that didn’t cost £300, but I was still pleased (and to be honest, a little surprised) when I saw the email confirming the booking in my inbox the next morning.
Sometimes even bad wine helps us make good decisions.
Thanks for reading -