Blue Rinse

I was watching a Gothic vampire film the other day (late night boredom), and it got me puzzling over the dreaded red wine mouth syndrome. I have been to parties where just one glass of an innocent looking red made me look like I had just slaughtered a field of sheep with my teeth, a kind of Hammer House of Horror hor d'oeuvre.

The answer lies in the red wine pigments called anthocyanins, the Chameleon in the bottle. These chemicals turn a wine from purple to red and then brown. Younger wines have more anthocyanins which can dramatically transform modern day Hollywood style super white enamels, and even make them blue at times.

This somewhat takes the glamour out of professional wine tasting. To add insult to injury, it is recommended that you do not brush your teeth before or directly after a tasting so that your natural tooth plaque can act as an acid barrier, to slow decay. Sounds like halitosis hell, a case of 'yesterdays food' matching with wine. The zombie mouths in 'The Return of the Living Dead' would probably seem preferable in comparison.

I will stick with my casual drinking approach, but I am off to Bordeaux in July, in which case I will 'forget my toothbrush'.

Balls

I have been visiting a lot of friend's houses recently to watch England painfully progress in the football world cup finals.

I am not a football follower, in fact I have never 'supported' a team, but the world cup is different. My friends are holding great theme nights, normally with food styles from the country of the opposing team. This makes you wonder if other participating countries have 'roast beef and yorkshire pudding' nights, or more likely 'curry' nights. There are often two televisions, one analogue and one digital. For digital viewers this has the odd effect of hearing the cheers of a goal scored before seeing it, due to signal delay. Analogue television still holds the trophy for the most 'live' experience.

I am told that the ball has fewer segments than a normal league ball, creating the possibility of a lot more swerve and general eccentricity. I am amazed that the players can kick the ball at all, dancing around in their delicate lightweight slippers, with armour plating running up their shins. The contrasting styles of play are dramatic at times. One thing you can always guarantee is lots of rolling around on the ground, hugging, and the odd kiss. The last outing was the Sweden match, 2-2 being a good result for Sven. We were served up a huge pot of Swedish meatballs which helped quell the disappointment of a draw.

Lager overshadows fine wine on these occasions, leaving the European wine lake to grow even larger. The New World is not only victorious in the wine race, as it will most probably win the world cup too.

Tights and Tipples

I have just started riding a racing bike again.

It's about 16 years since I last climbed onto such a light elegant frame, but the modern racer is a very different beast. After reading Lance Armstrong's book 'Its Not About the Bike' I ended up on an over enthusiastic bike accessorize mission, temporary obsession having set in. A steep learning curve followed.

I had to start by admitting that the lycra clad cyclists, buzzing around in super fit swarms, are not really all that annoying. The large obstacle they create in the road is an emission free work of skill, determination and stamina and is not just designed to frustrate motorists.
The clip-in pedals are very tricky at first. Approaching traffic lights become harbingers of doom, a red light having the potential to leave you prostrate on the road, still shackled to your steed. The weight of the bike (and indeed you) is of course very important. Fat panniers to hold a bottle of wine and a change of clothes are out of the question. The outfit feels like you have climbed into a pair of tights where there is only just enough room for a house key and your own 'natural appendages'.

My trips usually revolve around pubs as waypoints. It is important not to get carried away with booze or else the finely balanced racer, with its swanky knife edge tyres, can find mounting the kerb irresistible. Despite the 'fetish like' oddities, the riding experience is amazing and can be very quick indeed. A future trip around some French wine regions on the bike seems very appealing, as long as there is a post tasting backup plan.

Bladdered

I was at Twickenham last weekend on a 'stag do' watching the rugby sevens. It was probably one of the most beautiful days of the year as the inclement weather had seemingly given way to glorious sunshine. This was my first experience of rugby live in a stadium, and I must say that it was very civilized and thoroughly enjoyable. The pitch seemed smaller than on the box, and the players appeared much larger. We all got stuck into an unrelenting course of beer drinking interspersed with ridiculous anthems and greasy snacks.

I started to ponder over the rugby ball shape as the belligerent bounces can easily turn a game. Apparently the form of the ball was originally dictated by the awkward dimensions of a pig's bladder, inflated by some poor person with a clay pipe while still green, smelly and malleable. The shape remains, but I suspect the mechanism has now moved on, leaving some very relieved pigs.

Wine bottles have also evolved into distinctive shapes from which a region can often be derived without even looking at the label. For example a Bordeaux is arrogant and handsome with long straight elegant sides, whereas a Burgundy is more feminine, curved and rounded at the bottom. A Rhone looks like a Burgundy but is slimmer and more athletic, a lack of modesty often resulting in a flagrant display of a coat of arms imprinted on the neck. The colour of the glass can even be a giveaway to a region, as in Germany with the tall thin functional 'Hock' bottle.

Unsurprisingly the alcohol fueled stag theme permeated through to the evening in a crazy London club that reminded me of the bar in 'St Elmo's Fire' where I endeavoured to 'bust some moves'.