Last night I had a little party. The wine we drank, well as the name suggests, was Cape-style wine.

Wait, let me go fetch the bottle I mean the box it came in.

The carton box is now a husk we used it to give our bonfire it’s last push.

So, I won’t be able to give the true story of what this wine is but I can give you my version of the truth.

Cape Style Wine.

Here I’d like to take a moment to appreciate and comment on its container. A cardboard box lined with a sort of aluminium foil. According to science, aluminium keeps things fresh and it sure did folks.

I’m starting to believe more in science because of wine you know.

A quick PSA, all the following events took place under low-lit conditions — I didn’t do the ‘wine styled as wine’ much justice as I used an IKEA handle-less mug, which was quite narrow, so the ethanol didn’t have much space to release that lovely red wine aromas.

Additionally, my sinuses were fairly clogged up by our bonfire smoke. We were huddle closely in desperation to stay warm.

Alas, I swirled the wine, gave it look, gave a sniff and I sipped.

Her colour was a deep deep deep prune. I won’t comment here much as I might tell a lie. But what is the truth without a lie …

On the nose, she doesn’t really say much. While I did struggle to get to know her-nasally- I imagined her to be tightly clothed, lip-lined and to smell of a one-note perfume.

Shirley, I think her name’s, Shirley.

She also dances a bit stiff. There was no sensual swirl around the palate either. Her moves were a little quirky, and she delivers a means fist pump. My heads not happy with me this morning.

Shirley knew that she was no dirty dancer either. Her palate was flat and tone-deaf. I picture her face to be quite accustomed to this truth too. Staring blankly nodding “ hmm mmh”

These are the only moments I fully remember my time with Shirley. The rest is quite a blur. A small fling with a big bonfire. Quite memorable.