Nothing Says...

... "I ran out of time to get a PAD today" like taking another still life and experimenting with candlelight again.

... "Thank you for your help" like a gift of a nice bottle of wine.

... "I really don't know you because otherwise I'd be aware that you don't drink" like a gift of a nice bottle of wine.

... "Actually I don't drink" like the dust caked on this nice bottle of wine.

... "I have no real way of telling whether this is a nice bottle of wine or not" like a set of tastebuds which hold the opinion that most alcohol would be improved by putting it back in the horse.

It's a general principle in Western society that if you don't drink you're either a humourless wowser or a recovering alcoholic. My reason is much more straightforward. I cannot stand the taste of the stuff. (And yes, vodka has a taste. A foul one. It's a volatile liquid and gets up into your nasal cavity and... bleugh...)

If I had a buck for every time I heard "Oh but you'll really like this it's really mild/fruity/tasty blah blah blah." I'd be Gordon Gekko circa 1985.

If I had a further buck for every time I've had to spend the next hour trying to wash my palate out with water I'd be Warren Buffett circa 2012.

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