The idea was simple enough -- just kick around a bit until my ride arrives -- ten minutes, no problem. I'm in people watching mode and I see this cube trucks innards of wine and gin and whisky, two burly fellows slinging cases off and into the store.
The sunken second level displayed bottles of my true love -- French wine from Margaux and Paulliac regions. For a moment I thought my eyes were playing tricks with price and vintage relationships that weren't adding up in my head.
The blaring horn of an impatient motorist was clearly intended for me, so I had to put the wrap on any more digging and I quickly scurried to the counter. Such a pleasant fellow was he and we spoke some but the leftover leg of lamb and mint jelly had overcome me, knowing my 2012 was to join us at supper.
Beautiful and memorable selections of spirits that drove the return point home harder, bottles and floors polished sparkling clean. My head was spinning from the flaggon of Kracken Rum airplane tiny double handled glass bottle banger, giant squid looking back at me.
Not anything I can put my finger upon tipped the scale from ordinary to exceptional, the spinning sensation was a direct result of just how proper, professional and polished this store is, and I was only there to watch my watch go round, escaping away from the other maniacal motorists quick and heavy hands. read more
