Wine Is Turncoat First Friend And Then An Enemy

Wine, a beloved companion to many, has been a source of joy and celebration for centuries. From social gatherings to romantic dinners, wine has played a central role in human culture. However, as we delve deeper into the complexities of this intoxicating elixir, we begin to unravel a fascinating duality - wine's ability to be both a trusted friend and an insidious foe.

At first glance, wine seems like the perfect companion. Its allure begins with the popping of a cork, releasing a symphony of scents that evoke the senses. The rich aroma of red berries, the delicate notes of oak, and the floral undertones create an intoxicating olfactory experience. Every sip is a journey that transports us to the vineyards where the grapes were nurtured and the wine was lovingly crafted.

As we indulge in the velvety texture and complex flavors dancing on our tongues, we feel a sense of euphoria wash over us. The robust tannins, the balanced acidity, and the subtle sweetness intertwine to create a harmonious orchestra that leaves us craving for more. In this moment, wine becomes our loyal confidant, providing solace from the stresses of life and fostering a sense of camaraderie with our fellow wine enthusiasts.

The Miser: "Wine is a turncoat; first a friend and then an enemy"

by Andrew Stotz (Kindle Edition)

5 out of 5

Language	:	English
File size	:	137 KB
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However, as the night wears on and the glasses keep pouring, the line between friend and foe starts to blur. Wine, with its seductive nature, can lure us into a false sense of security. It whispers sweet nothings in our ear, coaxing us to drink without caution. Before we know it, our trusted friend has betrayed us, leaving us vulnerable and regretful.

The consequences of this betrayal can be far-reaching. We wake up to pounding headaches, groggy minds, and remorseful hearts. Our once cherished companion has now turned into an enemy, exacting its revenge for our unwavering devotion. The red stains on our lips serve as a reminder of the intoxicating dance we engaged in the night before, leaving us with a bitter taste in our mouths.

But like any tumultuous relationship, we find ourselves forgiving and forgetting. Wine has a magnetic pull that draws us back time and time again. Its allure is too strong to resist. The exhilaration, the warmth that courses through our veins, and the temporary escape from reality are all too enticing to ignore. And so, we embark on another journey, hoping that this time, the line between friend and foe will remain crystal clear.

So, how do we navigate this complex relationship with wine? How do we balance the joys it brings with the dangers it presents? The key lies in moderation and mindfulness. By savoring each sip, appreciating the craftsmanship, and being aware of the consequences, we can find harmony with this tempestuous companion.

For centuries, poets, writers, and artists have grappled with the enigmatic nature of wine. It has been celebrated for its ability to unlock creativity, stimulate intellectual discourse, and elevate the human experience. But it has also been condemned for its propensity to drown sorrows, cloud judgments, and hinder progress.

Ultimately, the choice lies with us. We must approach wine with respect, understanding its allure and acknowledging its potential dangers. By doing so, we can embrace the duality of wine - the friend and the foe - and find ourselves in a balanced, nuanced relationship.

So raise your glass, toast to this complicated elixir, and embark on a journey of both pleasure and caution. Wine is the turncoat that can bring us joy and sorrow in equal measure, reminding us of our own complexities and the delicate dance we all navigate through life.

The Miser: "Wine is a turncoat; first a friend and then an enemy"

by Andrew Stotz (Kindle Edition)

5 out of 5

Language	:	English
File size	:	137 KB
Text-to-Speech	:	Enabled
Screen Reader	:	Supported
Enhanced typesetting	:	Enabled
Word Wise	:	Enabled
Print length	:	138 pages

FREE

Henry Fielding was born at Sharpham Park, near Glastonbury, in Somerset on April 22nd 1707. His early years were spent on his parents’ farm in Dorset before being educated at Eton.

An early romance ended disastrously and with it his removal to London and the beginnings of a glittering literary career; he published his first play, at age 21, in 1728.

He was prolific, sometimes writing six plays a year, but he did like to poke fun at the authorities. His plays were thought to be the final straw for the authorities in their attempts to bring in a new law. In 1737 The Theatrical Licensing Act was passed. At a stroke political satire was almost impossible. Fielding was rendered mute. Any playwright who was viewed with suspicion by the Government now found an audience difficult to find and therefore Theatre owners now toed the Government line.

Fielding was practical with the circumstances and ironically stopped writing to once again take up his career in the practice of law and became a barrister after studying at Middle Temple. By this time he had married Charlotte Craddock, his first wife, and they would go on to have five children. Charlotte died in 1744 but was immortalised as the heroine in both Tom Jones and Amelia.

Fielding was put out by the success of Samuel Richardson's Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded. His reaction was to spur him into writing a novel. In 1741 his first novel was published; the successful Shamela, an anonymous parody of Richardson's novel.

Undoubtedly the masterpiece of Fielding’s career was the novel Tom Jones, published in 1749. It is a wonderfully and carefully constructed picaresque novel following the convoluted and hilarious tale of how a foundling came into a fortune.

Fielding was a consistent anti-Jacobite and a keen supporter of the Church of England. This led to him now being richly rewarded with the position of London's Chief Magistrate. Fielding continued to write and his career both literary and professional continued to climb.

In 1749 he joined with his younger half-brother John, to help found what was the nascent forerunner to a London police force, the Bow Street Runners. Fielding's ardent commitment to the cause of justice in the 1750s unfortunately coincided with a rapid deterioration in his health. Such was his decline that in the summer of 1754 he travelled, with Mary and his daughter, to Portugal in search of a cure. Gout, asthma, dropsy and other afflictions forced him to use crutches. His health continued to fail alarmingly.

Henry Fielding died in Lisbon two months later on October 8th, 1754.