“Sod the wine, I want to suck on the writing. This man White is an instinctive writer, bloody rare to find one who actually pulls it off, as in still gets a meaning across with concision. Sharp arbitrage of speed and risk, closest thing I can think of to Cicero’s ‘motus continuum animi.’

Probably takes a drink or two to connect like that: he literally paints his senses on the page.”


DBC Pierre (Vernon God Little, Ludmila’s Broken English, Lights Out In Wonderland ... Winner: Booker prize; Whitbread prize; Bollinger Wodehouse Everyman prize; James Joyce Award from the Literary & Historical Society of University College Dublin)


.

.

.

.

06 April 2016

TWO MORE FROM THE MARS EXPERDITION


Gaywetnesslessness Tweed Hat Thoroughbred Wine Company Pty Ltd Singo Ocko Blingo Thingo Very Dry Sweet Red 2007 [or one of those years around then or now] Limited Shareholders Barrel 2014 Release

Whether it had botrytis or not, which is contentious, this must have been a great horse.  People spent millions on it.  Before it hits the glue factory you should drink this toast to the vast gap of emotion and understanding yawning between anybody with a big crooked horse book and those with an ordinary yearning for an honest punt in the hope that maybe just one of them nags eventually tells the truth, flutters them impossibly long eyelashes, bares them giant piano key teeth and goes out there on the track and fucking wins something fair and square.  It doesn’t quite smell or taste of horse, but you get the defunct post-modern Adelaide University Wine Marketing Degree reek of this academic study in the wee tulip: Twitterculture more than viticulture. When I see the cargo pant wine drongoes paste on Facebook, I actually sometimes feel like that I would accept a wine like this and funnel it in til no bubbles rise.    


Ch. Trevoir Girls Kisscurls Interaction Őhl Űber de Placé 1816 

Looking really spritely for a Trev this rooted, the ’16 CTGKIOUDP is something we could have quite easily forgotten.  Having spent decades in the laboratory, the writer can now exclusively reveal that the drinker’s reaction to this wine depends upon the composition of the drinker’s spit and the company the drinker is exposed to at the time of consumption. Just as that great consumptive warrior and scout, Col. Wllm. Light, could spit blood at will, feign major wounding and then limply ride, disshevelled but respectfully unshot, with an officer’s honour, back through the ranks of the Spanish his company had just ravaged, these dribbly lasses discard their damp cheesecloth and flat-dance the Duke of Wellington’s Full Booted Jig in aid of the Better Purchase Shoe Company.  This, the acute observer may aside, is nothing to do with Germany. But, dear reader, what better charity could one endure? Go to Sir John Wren’s St Paul’s cathedral, look the reclining Wellington in the face, and tell me: is he happy?  Give it another century.

ps: That's my photo of Elsie at the top. Never told a lie in her life. Great sense of humour.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Great Gamay news, but PTG is not an acronym. Pedantry being up your alley, though you'd like to know.
Cheers and off to Mars for the weekend. Andrew

Philip White said...

Looks like the perfect TLA to me Andrew.