Richard can’t go five minutes without a coffee, cake or a glass of wine. He drinks far too much of the latter. He knows that, I know that
I adore him and I love him dearly, not in a romantic sense of course, too old for that nonsense and anyway I am married. I love him the way you loved someone who was married to your closest friend A friend who knew you before you dyed your hair, before you read any books of any importance, before you got an education before you did anything much really.
She knew you when you dressed like Audrey Hepburn, smoked cigarettes, wore black jeans, that was when you weren’t wearing white boots and miniskirts. She and I went on the Dover ferry to France for 3 days, we drank cheap red wine. smoked galloise cigarettes and spoke appalling French.
Her husband Richard just became part of us somehow. I can’t remember when he appeared, but he did and that was the end of us eying up boys in pointed shoes and sideburns. But that was 50 years ago but nothing much has changed. We drink better wine, and we still can sing all the words of the Beatles songs whilst cleaning up after dinner.
He drinks far too much red wine, he says it lowers his Blood pressure, he’s a doctor he should know,
“A doctor who treats himself has a fool for a patient: I say
I know that he says, you’re always saying that.
“just because your son has a vineyard and you’ve done some course at Night school you reckon, you’re a sommelier.
I know that I’ve got my reasons.
I know the reason. 7 years ago, we went through hell.
Together we sat helplessly in intensive care, you can’t drink much wine in there, after his wife my closest friend had a medical emergency on a Qantas plane, 10 minutes before landing at Sydney Airport. They were on their way to visit us. Richard and I pooled our medical resources and knowledge, we called in all the favours of every doctor or treatment we knew. We lived and breathed it together. We rarely talk about it these day but both of us know.
That’s why we drink wine
