Every year, on or around the 25th January, we do Burns Night. I’m married to a sort-of-Scot (my father-in-law was born and brought up in Edinburgh;
Follow your dreams and never give up, goes the saying (and Cara D on Instagram). So I’m going to do exactly that and not give up wine in January.
On a shoot last week, hat at jaunty angle. This last week has been a blur of school music concerts, nativity plays (the cowboy theme totally worked, by the way), panic baking and just-about-making work deadlines.
You can’t buy happiness but you can buy wine and that’s kind of the same thing, or so the saying goes.
Pre-wine tasting egg & baconbreakfast (not incl. wine) I’ve spent the last couple of days at The Oval, but I’m not there for the cricket.
Every year, when the temperature drops, I do the jumper swap. Away go the 286 breton-stripped tops that I own (I’ve been buying them since 1988;
Hooray for half term. Sort of. As we crawl towards it, I’m half-excited, half-panicking. Excited about not having to set the alarm quite so early.
I’ve tried a lot of wine today, even by my standards. Over 250 in fact, at various supermarket wine tastings. And even though I can face nothing but a cup of hot chocolate now, I’m looking forward to sharing details on the best of them including an amazing French pair that’ll make brilliant party wines (one red, one white), the outrageously good sweetie for £5 (won’t use the c-word yet, but you know where I’m going with that one) and the orange wine from Croatia (a white wine made using ancient techniques resulting in a beautiful amber rose colour and unusual –
Guess where I went last week? No, not to market. But neither did I stay at home. Rather, I had a night away in a hotel called The Pig –
I was going to settle down to write this hours ago. But then I started reading other blogs, some SO bloody brilliant, I couldn’t stop reading them.