It's Friday. At home. Safe. Everything attended to.
I walked into my wine store, after stopping at Sahadi, where the familiar friendliness and ritual greetings are like a therapy (I have never objected, as some do, to being called sweetie, honey, my love, if it's by someone with the right kind of smile on their face) looking for some Oyster Bay Sauvignon blanc. I glanced at the section of pink wines on the right hand side of the store as usual, always remembering that once Mulderbosch, with its distinctive vertical label, could be found there. Not expecting it, really, there it was. I snatched two. Cabernet sauvignon rose. It's nice. Simple. Pink.