So I’m happy to sit in the Little House of Concrete and pass the time reading, writing, listening to music, drinking wine and doing some gardening on the side.
On the other hand, if Madam appears beside my right elbow inquiring whether I’d be interested in a trip to South Australia the answer is almost sure to be in the affirmative.
A cynic would point out that many of the destinations have been wine-producing areas of note and that Hughesy would hardly be likely to refuse the chance to indulge in a spot of tasting.
And the cynic would be quite right.
Once Madam has set out the basic parameters (destination, length of stay, et cetera) Hughesy does get the opportunity to do some planning of his own to fit in with his interests, but the basic thrust of the journey is largely beyond my control.
Given a basic itinerary that allowed for seven nights in South Oz, there’s no way we’d be able to go everywhere. Once we’ve narrowed the possibilities down to a couple of areas the number of places we could go will always be greater than the number of locations it’s physically possible to visit.
When wine tasting is involved experience suggests visiting any more than half a dozen wineries at well-spaced intervals through the day is likely to result in a severe case of palate burnout.
I could, of course, learn to spit, removing the inebriation factor from the equation, but the increase in the number of wineries that could be visited wouldn’t be worth the raised risk of domestic discord.
So, with seven nights at our disposal, the first decision to be made was which of Adelaide’s environs we’d be visiting this time.