The hairy beast doth beckon

All the infections that the sun sucks up
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make
him
By inch-meal a disease
Caliban, from The Tempest, Act II, Scene II

Two months in absentia - and sadly all work related. Thank God for 30 June 2006!

But the hairy beast doth beckon. There's so much ill in the world right now - it's so difficult to find the good. The rhodent continues to build his dictatorship on the back of the working class, and the truly loathsome villains of the world see fit to strip schoolchildren not only of their precious breaths, but every last dignity that could have been saved, and families of their dearly loved. Media continues to sloppily report every international conflict - and the people of Queensland continue to refuse to drink water that is cleaner and healthy than anything they have access to now. I've missed most of the news over the last two months - yet when I pop my head up very little has changed. The legacy for our children is very sad indeed.

So I've decided to go somewhere different tonight, and explore a less than secret love of mine - good wine. You see, I'm almost ashamed to admit - I'm fond of wine - in a sometimes rather snobbish and pretentious manner. Not just drinking it, but the whole experience - regional variety, character, bouquet, etc. You see the only thing that stops me from being a "wine wanker" is that...........well.........I'm a swallower.......NEVER a spitter (unless it has a mouth puckering quality more stringent than a cat's bottom - but all I can say on these occasions is be warned - bad wine is destined for the floor). The inability to spit is clearly something to do with my working class upbringing - I refuse to relinquish good wine - in mouth, glass or bottle.

But I love good wine - and as I grow older I can't help but exult in the truly wonderful range that Australia produces. I remember reading a survey years ago - "Do you drink for the taste or for the effect?" Hell, I do it for both!!! I love the layering of flavours that build into one great heady bouquet, while others of such genteel and delicate quality leaves the impression of angels tripping over one's tongue. This doesn't mean that I continuously drink - indeed I simply can't - too old! And I don't actually enjoy it if I'm having it all the time - I look forward each week to my modest consumption. Wine for me is an experience, sometime a journey, and always a lifestyle - a culture and yet multicultural transcension. It can ease tensions, gently strip away barriers - and yet at the same time a bad choice of wine (only discovered as a bad choice at the most inconvenient time, in a circle of priggish pratts) can relegate one into the obscurity associated with ignorance and poor taste.

And yet in all of this a moderately average wine becomes a good wine simply because of the company it and your are keeping at the time. Some of my very best times are with good friends, a bottle of wine, dinner at one of our houses with the kids all running as a pack. I've never had a bad bottle of wine on these occasions. Nor do I ever manage to have a bad bottle of wine in front of a teetotaler!

And I have to admit that in the presence of a teetotaler and a good bottle of wine, I'm inclined towards a bit of mischief. [Now don't confuse teetotalers with reformed alcoholics the latter of which are to be supported at every opportunity, and whose zealousness although borne between gritted teeth, should be borne all the same - "there but for the grace of GOD go I" shouts the athiest!!!.]

There's a teetotaler in my extended family - and while I could wax lyrical that she is indeed the blood spot in Lady Macbeth's hand ("Out damn spot, out") - I think it far more accurate to describe her as a pernicious pimple on the arse of society. She has a range of Methodist driven "views" on drinking and sorts the world into two categories - drunks (anyone who drinks) and the right kind of people (anyone who doesn't). Naturally, I simply cannot resist these - lets call them opportunities.

So when the paragon of virtue comes to visit, its only natural that I lift my normally very moderate drinking quotient and increase the consumption - modestly (there's no point in getting sloshed and then try and claim that your not a drunk!) My best effort by far occurred a couple of Christmas ago, when her visit coincided with my mother-in-law's (MIL). Now the MIL and I have been known to enjoy a good bottle of champagne or few over the many years - and I was determined this visit would be no different - just more of it. So I went and bought a case of champagne, and proceeded to open a bottle at every meal (including a champagne breakfast on each important day). In reality with the number of people drinking, this meant A GLASS each. But since the paragon only counts the bottles and then tallies them against my name - I HAVE A DRINKING PROBLEM!

(as an aside I find all of this a little rich given that the rancid smell of burning flesh follows this woman everywhere she goes; out-martyring the great Joan of Arc herself. And martyr hood runs a second to hypochondria rating an 80 out of 70 on the Whiteley- but then what would I know - I'm the family drunk!)

I might add that I was bloody glad when she left - a week of two glasses of wine a day was more than my kidney could tolerate for an extended period - and I really did need a full month to detox (pathetic I know - but its much easier to get over one seedy night than a week of unexpected consumption). So when she visited recently, with a full load on at work I just couldn't face another punishing drinking schedule. So two glasses of wine and a glass of beer spaced throughout the seven days (including Dad's 60th Birthday) were all I could manage - STILL A DRUNK!

But now it would seem the pernicious pimple has beat me in the last round. You see while she would dish out a bit of innuendo to my face about having a drink - she was drip feeding chattering chipmunk in the background - "drinking is bad","people who drink have a problem", "wine is very, very bad". I, of course, in total ignorance to this tactic best reserved to the conniving rhodents of our society, practically burst a blood vessel when the little "paragonisms" were trotted out a few days after her exit. Chattering Chipmunk is a deeply honest child, and was therefore quite conflicted by the malicious chatter dressed up as concern for his mother. Fortunately our honesty and his own good sense have driven him to a more moderate conclusion. But this is a low act - very low indeed. It's either a brave or extremely foolish woman who would set out to tamper with the covenant of trust between my children and I - and exceptionally stupid to think I wouldn't find out.

Revenge is a dish best served cold - and since there's another year more than likely before our next visit - it will be an icy dish indeed - perfectly partnered with a room temperature glass full of wrath.