Blackberry Wine (Joanne Harris)

I have just arrived home from the monthly meeting of my writer's group. We get together once a month (hence the monthly) and talk about our writing in a generally insufferable and overly self-indulgent manner. Much red wine is consumed (although the lad I shall refer to as 'H' for confidentiality reasons prefers Guinness... out of a CAN no less) and seedless green grapes are passed around. Now, I may be odd, but I don't see the point of EATING grapes when you can drink the smooshed grapes in your glass and enjoy the resulting effects. So I tend to just stick with the wine and ignore the grapes and spelt crackers (the Ken Follett aspirant is in charge of catering). This may be why I always have trouble finding the tube station at the end of the evening.

I think my other downfall is in consuming several glasses before I go to these seminars. I stress, this is necessary, not merely an indulgence. I simply cannot muster up the enthusiasm for anybody else's work unless I have already been drinking. Then I am the very picture of benevolent attention, nodding, smiling and looking horrified at the appropriate points. If I have not had these few drinks (sigh... generally a bottle) before I go I cannot take my eyes off my watch, waiting for the minutes to tick by so I can talk about my own work. And considering I don't even wear a watch this is particularly rude.

So in light of all that I am going to slightly postpone my review of Blackberry Wine by Joanne Harris. It took me three tries to log in to Blogger and that, in my opinion, means I shouldn't blog this evening.

Please applaude my efforts in this post, I have triple checked everything to make sure there are no spelling mistakes, grammatical errors or confusions of tenses, even though the better part of three bottles of a RAWTHER nice Shiraz now lap pleasantly in my stomach.