I was in Shoreditch last night. Drank cold brew coffee in a café and watched grown people skateboard past on the street.
Find Wine!
I’ve been dying to tell you about this: I’m writing another book. And this time, we’re back on the booze. Out next year, it’s all about how to make really good cocktails at home.
Last night, having just finished setting up for a KMWC wine tasting, a robin appeared and perched on the edge of the ice bucket.
Maybe it’s the back to school feeling in the air. More likely it’s the fact that I’ve got deadlines. Whatever: I can’t stop clearing out cupboards.
So, this time last week I’d just filed a story for the paper. It was a bit of a deviation for me because it wasn’t about wine.
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;
I do love a nativity play. I was once Angel Gabriel to my husband’s Joseph. We were five years old at the time and I remember thinking that, even if I wasn’t Mary, at least I had a speaking part.
