This is the last column from me here, for the known future at least. Which, let’s be honest, is nowhere past my first cup of coffee tomorrow morning. It’s been a blast. Or, as much of a blast as a wine column can be. I have stood on a soapbox a couple times and railed against the insidiously commercial, cynically sweet, and risibly reduced-alcohol wines that plague our shelves.
In last week’s column I asked what kind of wine content you would like to see me write about. The comment that popped up more than most was about supermarkets, that is, how to deal with a wall of wines, all staring at you from the shelf. Which to buy? How do I know I won’t end up with battery acid? Oh god, the decisions. Too. Many. Wines. Fuck it, I’ll just get that coffee-flavoured Pinotage. Well, you are not alone.