And if you guessed there was some sort of history to that, you'd possibly be right, but, that'll have to wait 'til a future post. However, there has been another date, another lovely girl, and—wait for it—another South African. Who had also coincidentally stood me up the week previous. Really let the side down, they did! Admittedly, getting permanent residency ought to be celebrated, so she had partied with friends, and I had happily waited.

 

We both settled down with something soft on a calm Newmarket evening. I'd passed up a free whisky tasting to be there, but the future holds plenty of whisky—even if it's not always free—and besides, what if this was 'it'?
The conversation meandered gently enough. I like it when it's easy like that, free of expectations. Turns out we both had tickets to The Pixies which was more than a bonus, it meant she not only sounded incredibly hot, but was a woman of taste! Musically speaking anyway. It turned out she hadn't actually read my dating profile at all either, and her taste in terms of alcohol was less in favour of wine. Monkey Bay merlot was mentioned, as one that wasn't too much of an affront. That didn't exactly earn points, but luckily today's wines are, almost without exception, technically sufficient and hold balance enough in the important components of acid, alcohol, sugar and tannin to be really drinkable. If we were subject to the variability that was widely prevalent in Europe until really quite recently, she along with many others probably wouldn't be wine drinkers at all. In South Africa cork is still the prevailing closure, which does cause them problems, but the birth of their wine industry lead the New World wine charge that forced northern producers to pull their bootstraps up.

 

The question remained, would her love of getting drunk, a pass time which is quite widely appreciated in NZ and SA, blossom into a passion for fine wine? An appreciation for the nuances for which Monkey Bay is not exactly renowned? Well, there was interest there at the very least. As sometimes happens when people discover I'm a bit of a wine geek, the questions flowed forth. There's no such thing as a dumb question in wine, one of my ex-flatmates once asked, “When do they put the grass in it?” while we tried a selection of six different Astrolabe savs.

 

So all in all the (sober) evening went well. I'd enjoyed helping someone make a start toward understanding the joys of wine, and she'd gladly found someone who'd be at The Pixies, and didn't have to feel like the third wheel as the two friends she was going with—now newly in a relationship—struggled to detach themselves from each other's faces whenever they were out together (um, yeah, ewwww!)
We may well meet at a lovely pub near the gig and try some local craft beer. That's the next test.