Vintage.

Most who know me well know that the discussion of beverage(s) is one that is pretty obvious and simple. I drink. I drink a lot. I'm what medics have described as a "naturally thirsty" person. mysteriously. After some false alarms about the excessive thirst I often experience, it seems I am nothing but a thirsty person. Thus, with somewhat hilarity and irony, I must be someone who likes all sorts of drinks, right? No! In fact, over the years it has become apparent that I only drink water and wine... oh and hot chocolate (a seasonally dependent beverage!) Yes, only water and wine as if that is some Biblically pleasing answer I claim yet it's true. Tea? Green Tea? Chai Tea? Rooibos tea? Coffee? Latte? Cappuccino? I can't bear the taste of any of them. Cold drinks? Once upon a time, Ribena used to be the drink of the day (before the 'toothkind' version was invented). This led to a rather, what turned out to be a rather unhealthy intake of pure fruit juices and smoothies. So, yes, once upon a time squash and fruit juice used be included in my extensive beverage repertoire. However, now? These days? I'm just disliking of it and the same for fruit juices. So, this leaves me with water. The purity of H2O. As exciting as filter, non-filtered, sparkling or still water varieties are, it's still a tasteless fluid. However, I do genuinely enjoy this. But, of course, I do need and enjoy something of taste which leads me to adore wine. My instant liking and rapid adoring of wine when nearing to the legal age, used to be marketed to my rather protective and legally and rule abiding father as "it must be my love for all juices from fruit, Dad." Wine then, to me, is simply delicious.

My passion for wine, its variety of natural differences in textures, body and flavours recently got very unexpectedly tested, however. I met with some friends of mine whilst on holiday abroad recently. We met in a city globally known and best described by two words - profit and capitalism, of which it absolutely pride itself on. This said, we went to a restaurant of their choice, which rather uncomfortably with my soul, was entitled by economic terminology and was located in the epicentre of international capitalist prosperity. However, we took our seats in this extremely busy restaurant with extravagant menu's gently but assertively slotted into our hands for perusing. This we leisurely did. We discussed the delicious choice of luxurious dishes and combination of courses that we could choose. I felt spoilt. Indisputably spoilt. However, little did I know what waited ahead of me just moments later. Being with friends who also have a passion for all things wine and vintage, we democratically nominated one person to have the 'responsibility' (and fun friendly pressure) for choosing the wine. He chose. It arrived. He tasted. He approved. The wine was then lusciously poured into my glass, swirling round and rising up the side of my rather large glass. I sipped and melted within. The wine was simply and utterly divine. It was undoubtedly one of the best wines I had ever tasted. The bottle was shared equally between us throughout the meal and thoroughly enjoyed by all, as was the company and meal.

Savouring the memories I knew we had all added to our memory bank of when visiting friends who live abroad, on our journey home I could not help but again, feel uncomfortable within my soul of the amount we had spent on our bill for the meal. The wine and its cost though I was unaware of, having not seen the bill. However, I later discovered that the one bottle of wine that was chosen, consumed and purchased was in excess of £200. Upon discovering this, I instantly felt ashamed and disgusted that we and I had supported by purchasing and consuming a bottle of what is effectively nothing but crushed fermented grape juice at that price. I was ashamed and privately embarrassed. To me, that was an immoral amount to spend on a single bottle of wine for essentially a few mouthfuls of an exceptional vintage wine. What subsequently proved to be a rather few difficult moments of gentle discussion about the financial and moral cost of this purchase between us, silence fell. A sadly uncomfortable silence. I contributed to the ethical conversation and dilemma carefully and thoughtfully but I simply was unable to reconcile what we had done for the sake of lack of confrontation that had revealed itself within the friendship group over what was a significant difference of opinion on the matter.

Thus, this photograph of some exquisite grapes taken in a delectable southern French market inspired by my adoration for wine and all things vintage, which was taken long before meeting my friends above in a different country on a different trip, now holds a re-defined meaning and morally parametered depth of my passion for wine.