While the earth is going to hell in a handbasket, what you are about to read may seem hideously self-indulgent, even fatuous. But then my professional life has been dedicated to frivolity, so you’ll have to bear with me.
Imagine you’re on holiday somewhere warm, glass of wine in hand, waves lapping on a nearby sandy shore, palm trees swaying overhead. A cliché of an idle idyll, perhaps, but one with a structural fault.
The problem — a word that might be putting it too strongly — is that the glass of wine will be at its best for only a few minutes. High temperatures will soon convert a refreshing drink into a tepid soup. And this applies to wines of all colours.
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