It's fitting wine for the footpath tables up the top of Unley Road, where the rich dine. Woulda been good on Norwood Parade, but those tables seem to have have moved on a bit.
Come to think of it, I can also recall preachers who smelt like this. They were probably chasing Mum, too. They'd come in all perfumed and quiffed right up, KJ Bible under the arm; peppermint chewies on their breath.
It also has a disarming human fleshiness about it which reminds me of my Presbyterian Sunday school teacher when she'd lean over me to ensure my Bible was open at the right page. Jesus, I loved that chance of a glimpse down her shirt. Praise the Lord!