Stream of self-consciousness

By Bill Ralston In Life

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10th January, 2013
I’m being held prisoner at the beach. For nearly a month now, I’ve been a hostage of the heat of the sun and the unceasing roar of the surf. Sharing my captivity has been a good stock of crayfish and a phalanx of bottles of white wine lining the table on the deck overlooking the sea. It’s hell. Around here, there is a lot of nattering about wine. When is the appropriate time to open a bottle? The current consensus is that the sun and yardarm are aligned at about 1pm. Yesterday I ventured my long-held opinion that a cold pinot gris is a fine breakfast wine. “Pinot gris?” said ...

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