Senseless things

It’s been a difficult few weeks. My house, populated as it is these days by a pair of under-threes, has become a haven for bugs and viruses. If there’s a sniffle anywhere in London it’ll somehow work its way to my front door. The nadir came about a week ago when I took my bog-standard cold to work one day and ended my shift by vomiting into a recycling bin. The upshot of this all is that I haven’t been able to taste and smell simultaneously for weeks. Until, that is, about two days ago. I did drink a couple of wines in the mean time, and they were wasted on me, more than decent wines are usually. I even made my debut visit to The Sampler, the shop in Islington which is not so much a wine merchant as a temple to expensive wine, the first establishment I’ve ever visited where more wines cost three figures than one. Or two, probably. I tasted a few wines all the same. I couldn’t tell you much about them. I decided not to spend £80 on a tiny dribble of Petrus 82.

So, I’m back.


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