Red, red wine.

A mollitious warmth stole through my inward parts this evening as I directed a river of red Italian wine down my throat. 

Although it was an intelligent wine, full of complexity and with a sound, geometric structure; pleasingly, it was also possessed of a playful artifice, enabling it to satisfy both poets and physicists. 

I do like being taken unawares by a good wine. I had been expecting something that, although initially cheerful, would later start to lose its appeal and fall apart, but this wine just kept revealing more surprises as layers of ripe berries and pumpkin pie were peeled off one by one till all that was left was me and the wine in all our savage beauty. It didn't even need cheese to pit its full flavours against. It was a wine that stood on its own two feet ..... and now it's gone and I'm not even peloothered, and have no intention of so being.