yesterday brought a free wine tour, courtesy of my brother. normally the afternoon would've cost a well-deserved (but bloody unlikely)$95, and all it cost me was a litre of red vomit. the worst part is, i didn't even get drunk. i blame it on trying probably close to 30 varities of wine, including one made soley from fermented maple syrup (jeebus, take me now). it was blessed amazing to see the valley. the sun spied on us for a few minutes as we imbibed red wine and ate lindt chocolate on the steps of grand pré wines. our jovial guide initiated a wine essence-sniffing game which team 2BH (a reverse-namesaked homage to the 2HB pencil) lost, but won when we correctly identified the book (the clockmaker) and author (thomas chandler haliburton) where the character sam slick appeared.
upon arriving home from the ocean with 8 loose nearly rotten bananas and other various foodstuffs, we arranged a barbeque. our plan was again foiled when nobody in the city had any propane left. my brother will surely annihilate the next clerk who promises him propane and doesn't actually have any. after 8, i proceeded to vomit and suffer the worst headache of my life. i kicked my feet together, groaned and held my head until i fell asleep having written two lines on the first page of my 54th journal and having been too miserable to take the black pills that keep me alive. the moral of the story is, i probably can't drink anymore. every time i do, i either can't get drunk, or i puke anyway. but if i do drink wine this summer, and i surely will, my picks will likely be saint famille's rosé and l'acadie blanc or Gasperau Vineyards' maple wine(yikes) or domaine de grand pré's "whatever i had with lunch".
*first french accent i've ever bothered to find out how to type. hooray!
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