Now that we’re alone, so to speak, and there’ll be none of those devotees of the bar room gossip to overhear us I’ll make you a small confession: I have a taste for the glass of wine when the urge comes upon me, shhhhhh man for god sake quite down, I was confessing on the sly.
To be sure it’s one of O’Shaunnesy’s maxims that: what doesn’t happen in the public bar can be of no consequence to the social standing in general, but have a heart and don’t squeal so, there are those that, and I know you’ll not believe it, don’t follow those guiding principles as laid down by the great man himself. May God forgive them.
To be sure there are times when only a beer will do and that’s an end to it.
But (and I know I’m taking a liberty with the written word) for an evening with the stars in the vast blue black heavens and the crickets calling, a dogs dark from away yonder and you’re backside planted in a chair by you’re own back door, a glass of the red is a great aid and comfort to the contemplation.
I’ll grant you I’d not be seem but dead ordering a glass of the rose in the public bar nor even the lounge bar or snug but as a private citizen so to say it’s a weakness for the home and I don’t mind admitting it if you’ll keep it under you’re hat.
Now away with you I’ve a glass and the Big Dipper to consult and they’ll not wait.
Ruby&Ruch 