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Bringing in Spring

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For those of you that missed me and wondered if I was still alive, I am.  For those of you that never even noticed there had been a slight hiatus between blog posts, I’m upset and a little bit offended 🙂
Life has been rolling along nicely since we last spoke.  A cheeky weekend in Singapore lifted the spirits at the end of August where I took souvenir shopping to new heights and brought home something to spruce up the apartment.  And who can resist a visit to the beautiful Raffles hotel, to the Long Bar for a famous (at least amongst tourists) Singapore Sling cocktail!
View from dinner in Singapore
September brought in Spring, and how I was needing it.  Maybe my blood is thinning with living in Australia, or perhaps I’m just becoming soft, but this year I even had to resort to buying a heater for home.  I was in grave danger of dying from hypothermia so the extra dollars added to my electricity bill was a small price to pay to live to see another summer. 
As the heater got put away, out came the thongs.  Yes English readers, I mean flip flops.  Or jandals if anybody from across the Tasman is reading. 
And the first thing you do when bringing out your feet from hibernation?  Why, you have a pedicure of course!  Don’t you?  To protect my very macho image, I must add a disclaimer to this, saying that it wasn’t actually my idea.  I think it was suggested more in jest, but in the spirit of trying everything once, there I was, one Saturday afternoon, sat in my chair getting pampered. And I must confess, it was a very pleasant experience.  At least once I had convinced them that no, actually my toe nails do NOT need painting.  I am now wondering whether I need a manicure, for my over worked hands.  Thoughts anybody?
The start of October allowed my to show off my newly pedicured toes, as we bade farewell to a couple of friends who are leaving Australia for a while to travel the world (lucky buggers).  We descended into Longueville, for my second shot at barefoot bowling.  For the uninitiated, this is crown green bowls.  MInus your shoes.  Plus lots of alcohol.  
When the idea is first pitched to you it is not something you immediately think you would enjoy.  However, I think everybody was pleasantly surprised by how much fun it was (which could have been the amount of beer they drank).  What is interesting to see is how competitive people get.  We ended up having inter-european challenges, where we smashed the Germans :-), and poms v the rest of world, where results were a little more mixed.  
I had thought I may have found my sport for when I retire.  However, if you had seen me trying to roll out of bed the following morning, and subsequently rolling on to the floor, you may disagree.  I think I need to find a less strenuous sport for these ageing bones. 
Just look at that technique
All in, a fantastic day, that somehow finished in the Crows Nest Hotel.  Those of you that know, or who have frequented the Crows Nest Hotel, will have an idea of how the night went.  But as they saying goes, “what happens in the Crowle, stays in the Crowie”. 
What else has been happening since my last post?  We have had a long bank holiday weekend.  But whereas in the UK everybody runs to spend the day in the pub, here they run to spend the day by the water.  Me?  I like to combine the two, and with a night staying over in the city, a leisurely Monday was spent walking around Sydney, with stops by the water for cold refreshments (for this, read beer).  
Over the same weekend, the South Sydney Rabbitohs broke a 40+ year drought by winning the rugby league grand final.  Powered on by our very own Burgess brothers from Yorkshire.  I’m sure the South’s co-owner, Russell Crowe is a very happy man.  
Also, the real sport has started again, football, and finally Utd now have some points on the board and the jokes on social media seemed to have died down, or at least are now being redirected to the hapless Brendan Rodgers.  Talking of hapless, a visit was paid to watch Sydney FC this weekend.  Or in reality, to see David Villa make his A-League debut on his 10 game stint down under before heading to play for New York City.  And he made an immediate impact.  Scoring with a touch of class not seen since Alesandro del Piero sadly left these shores. 
Since we last spoke I have also obtained my full riders licence, which means, rather scarily, I could now go and purchase a large, fast, and powerful motorbike and be let loose on the streets.  Thankfully, I am still in love with my scooter, and that will remain my mode of transport for the time being.  But now having a full licence, I am able to give “backers”.  Funnily enough, nobody seems very keen to jump on the back!  Once I buy that second helmet, there will be no excuses J
That about wraps up the last month and bit of my life.  Summer, and the holiday season is just around the corner, so keep reading to find out what the Yorkshire Expat gets up to next. 
Until the next time

Melbourne, Open

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There is a certain satisfaction in finally doing something that you have wanted for many years.  All through that sultry antipodean summer in 1995, mesmerised by the bright blue courts, and the luminous furry yellow ball darting from one side to the other.  Thousands of heads first looking one way, then in miraculous synchronicity, switching to the other.  All appearing to say “no” with a shake of the head in a seemingly interminable slow motion.
Pete Sampras reigning supreme, as he would again in 1997.  When players are so omnipotent, we think they will hold their crown for ever.  But then another generation come through, and we see the likes of Agassi (4 time winner), and then Federer (4 time winner), and now the machine that is Novak Djokovic, going into the tournament holding a record of 5 Australian Open titles, and exiting it claiming his sixth, in straight sets against Andy Murray.  Djok’s 11th grand slam title.
Rod Laver arena, ahead of the battles to come
Some 21 years on from that hostel in Glenelg, Adelaide, I find myself at the famed Rod Laver arena in Melbourne, first for the women’s, then one of the men’s semi finals.  Finally, I am here.  No more talking about what I would like to do.  No more saying “one day”.  One day has a nasty habit of becoming “never”, so when I saw Jetstar’s “take a mate” flight deal, effectively buy one, get one free, as soon as you could say “hidden charges”, I had booked return flights with the “budget” airline. 
Melbourne is a city I had been too a few times before, and greatly enjoyed.  Most of our short trip there would be consumed by the tennis, but we also planned to make the most of the free time we had.  Garnering recommendations from Melbourne “ex pats” we knew, we strategically shaped our agenda around brunch spots, top coffee shops (when we could find them hidden down alleys), and some of the best small bars Melbourne had to offer.
One of Melbourne’s finest
Having not been for a few years how would it compare to home, here in Sydney?  Well, that could depend on who you ask!
For people not from this neck of the woods you may not be aware that there is a certain rivalry between Melbourne and Sydney.  Bordering on animosity.  I’m not sure where it started, or even how real the actual rivalry is.  Some they there is a rivalry between Adelaide and Melbourne, although nobody in Melbourne has ever heard of this rivalry, nor cares what anybody in small town Adelaide has to say.
Sydneysiders claim to live in the best place in Australia (maybe the world, some of them espouse), and Melburnians (from the cultural capital of Australia) beg to differ.   Esteemed journalists such as Mosman based Peter FitzSimons even waded into the debate in his weekly column in the Sydney Morning Herald.   Somewhat disparagingly I would say, to our friends in the state of Victoria. 
Sydney is seen as a place to kick back with a cold stubbie, and enjoy the beach life, in your wife beater (vest) and thongs (flip flops).  Melbourne sneer at even considering something so uncouth.  Melbourne dines out, quite literally, on it’s foodie scene and sublime coffee culture.  Not forgetting that the small bar revolution currently hitting Sydney in fact started in Melbourne some years ago. 
Lock out laws are currently in the news (for NSW and now Queensland), a subject that deserves a blog all on its own, but it is yet another example quoted by bar flies in Melbourne of the superior approach to creating, and maintaining a world class, 24 hour city.  And I would agree.  Whole heartedly.  There is more than one way to create a more harmonious society, and imposing curfews, and ridiculous laws around the sale of alcohol are not the most effective way.
In the whole of NSW, about 3 and a quarter times the size of the U.K., you can no longer buy a bottle of wine after 10pm.  It is deemed too dangerous, and reduces the risk of you going out after your 7 course degustation dinner, and bottle of Sancerre, and clobbering somebody in the street.  Apparently.  And woebetide you would like a Macallan 15yr old single malt past 12am.  Waaay too dangerous.  This contravenes the “responsible service of alcohol laws”, and can only be bought by you if served with a mixer.  I shit you not.  This is the nanny state that Sydney is, no, has become.
Melbourne tried such draconian measures a few years back.  And 3 months later, against massive public revolt, they were repealed.  The result?   Melbourne, and it’s nightlife, continues to go from strength to strength.
But I digress.  This blog is not the place for politics.
How did Melbourne compare to Sydney?  Very favourably in my opinion.  It feels like a “real” city compared to Sydney.  A city with logical layout, grid like, as seen in places like New York City.  I often got the eerie feeling of a flashback to previous city breaks, all over the world.  Sydney is based around so much water, the glorious Harbour, and amazing beaches, that it feels more like a holiday location than a city.  This obviously isn’t a bad thing.  Just very different to most major cities.
The vibrant Degraves St
The small bar scene is booming, even if it looks as though you only now need the corner of an old car park, some wooden pallets to sit on, and some large old soup containers to hold the DJ’s decks, and you have a bar that can legitimately sell $20 cocktails.  Coffee has, and I feel always will be, one of Melbourne’s everlasting loves.  A love that I share.  And you don’t have to look too hard for damn good coffee. 
Together with a progressive approach to city transport, with a tram system in place for years that Sydney can only hope to replicate the success of, which also includes a heavy emphasis on catering to cycling as a bone fide way of commuting, Melbourne has much to offer, and much to proud of.
Nothing beats rattling around the city on the free tram
I now have one eye on the Jetstar website, so I can once again revel in the wondrous laneway culture made famous by the capital of Victoria.

Party like it is 1994

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One of the pleasures in living in such a beautiful city, is being able to showcase it to visiting friends and family.  Seeing the city through the eyes of a tourist brings to life how amazing it is.  How picturesque it is.  As sometimes you can take it all a little for granted.


I had the opportunity to do this again this month, albeit one of my visitors has indeed previously lived briefly in the Harbour City.

He had last visited Australia 16 years ago, but it was our original backpacking trip, many lifetimes ago, that we mostly reminisced on, having a great time catching up, visiting haunts old and new.
I don’t think we have changed a bit!
The last time we roamed these streets together was back in 1994.  When we arrived as fresh faced 23 year olds, landing at the Youth Hostel in Glebe as our first port of call.  Little did we know just how much that first stop on the grand tour would eventually go on to shape parts of our life. That we were very green behind the ears in terms of travelling would be an understatement.  

Indeed, before embarking on our 12 month backpacking trip down under, I had only previously left the UK for as long as 1 week.  And only twice.  Formative trips to Ibiza, and Tunisia, were my maiden overseas journeys from England.  And these were on 1 year passports, that were made of cardboard.  Who is old enough to remember these?

And there we were, transitioning from colleagues at “the Halifax”, into friends who were planning (a term used in a VERY loose sense), to jet off down under, with nothing more than an over stuffed backpack, and a sleeping bag appended that looked more like a tog 32 quilt.  Something I soon dispensed of in a St Vincent’s charity bin.

Steve had packed his so full that he couldn’t even carry his on day one, his dad having to traipse through Manchester airport with a 65 litre Eurohike pack on his diminutive frame.

Fast forward 22 years, and on a wet Friday afternoon, I logged off for the week, packed away the laptop, and I made my way around the corner to Kent Street for our first drinks together in Sydney in many a long year. For the Down Under leg of the “annual boy’s reunion tour”.  Albeit without two key members.  Fear not chaps, we drank your share too.

Any of you that know me well will know that I love a spreadsheet.  Be that judging burgers, tracking my spending, or making sure I am in the right place, on the right day when I visit the UK.  Laugh as you might, the spreadsheet is an indispensable tool in my armoury.  One that people soon see the benefit of, and then request their own, tailored version.  Steve’s spreadsheet was under my aegis, baselined via a Skype call, and subject to change control.

Now, whether a daily breakfast of white toast, and a cup of tea, made in his hotel room, was in my version of the spreadsheet is debatable.  Once I had reiterated that Sydney, and Australia as a whole, is famed for the brunch offerings, he did finally venture out.

Then again, if the only eggs you will eat are of the fried variety, you don’t need to venture too far to satisfy your cravings. An insatiable desire for pineapple, on everything, proved a little more difficult to accommodate.

I used to, in fact I still do, to be honest, give my old mate some stick about his reluctance to part with any unnecessary cash. However, he gives me enough ammunition.  He may not like actually buying a newspaper, rather he treats WHSmiths as his own personal library. But as they say, look after the pennies, and the pounds will look after themselves. And how else would he be able to act like the late Pablo Escobar, and roll around on his bed full of notes.



Line of the trip following a farewell dinner in Mosman…

“What is the fastest and easiest way to get back to the city?“

“A taxi.”

“What is the second fastest?“

I’m gonna miss you mate.  We had fun. Safe trip back to the UK, and, subject to you securing gainful employment, I’m looking forward to taking the Annual Lads reunion to Spain next year.  This time with a full complement.  ÂˇAdios amigo!

For me, it is time to repurpose the spreadsheet, and start afresh, so that our visitors at Xmas, get the full benefit.  

I need to start by checking those brunch options.

Aussie, Aussie, Aussie…oi, oi oi

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My dad wrote a porno.  I didn’t think I would ever write those words.  Well you wouldn’t would you? If your dad hailed from the northern extremities of Scotland.  All the way from Buckie, on the Moray Firth coast.  And yet this is how I start the blog.  Why, you may wonder?
Well, this month, a friend of mine put me onto the podcast of the very same name.  And I can’t tell you how deranged I have looked since, hysterically laughing out loud on the commute home from a staid day in the office.  This is when you can justifiably use the acronym “lol” when instant messaging your mates about it.  
It is not the “erotic” content of the book.  It is so far removed from erotic to be laughable.  Literally.  It is more “50 Shades of an old perv’s mind”, than the Christian Grey variety.  The podcast takes the form of the author’s son reading a chapter, whilst getting critiqued (read, taking the piss) by a couple of his friends.  If you like typical British humour, of the “saucy seaside postcard” variety.  Download a few episodes.   Just don’t blame me if the men in white coats come to cart you off the bus, due to your inability to stop inanely giggling in public places.
Talking of “50 Shades”, and old pervs, it has been quite a month since we bade farewell to my old mate Steve.  I’m glad to hear he is able to stave off poverty for a while longer, now that he has again found himself gainful employment.  Your retirement plans will need to go on the back burner for now squire.  But on the plus side, you will be able to treat yourself to a more sumptuous breakfast than sliced toast and tea.
And for me?  I have given notice to end my experiment with employment as a permanent member of staff.  It seems it did not sit well with me.  All the internal politics, and associated brouhaha.  And so, I will imminently be returning to the contract (freelance) market.  Something that I am very excited at the prospect of.
I will be taking up a 6 month contract, back into IT project management with one of the smaller banks here in Australia.  I will be starting at the outset of a 2 year programme, so hopefully, I will get my head down, make an impression, and I will have work beyond the initial 6 months.  If not, there are plenty of items on the travel bucket list, just screaming out to be attended to.
The other significant news this month is that I have now completed, and had approved, my application for Australian citizenship.  Along with the reams of bureaucratic paperwork all these things demand, it also entailed sitting a citizenship test, which was passed in quicker time than it took me to just tell you about it.  Twenty questions, multiple choice, with just a few wriggly ones in there.  I now know what a wattle is.  And the colours of the Torres Strait Islanders flag. This knowledge alone should hold me in good stead for the future.
All that remains now is the formality of an official ceremony, which is likely to be some time early in the new year.  This is the final step before I can get my Aussie passport.  I will no doubt devote more time on my whole road to citizenship, since arriving in 2012, in a future post.
A jacaranda in full bloom
Since we last spoke, spring has well and truly sprung.  The clocks have changed.  The trees have started blossoming.  My beloved jacaranda trees are once again in full bloom.  And walking through the Botanic Gardens early one Sunday morning recently, you couldn’t escape the unmistakeable aroma of eucalyptus.  Without doubt the one smell that I immediately associate with my new home.
And with the spring, comes the warmer months, and thoughts of summer, and xmas.  After being on the road in Australia for last two December 25, this year I will be celebrating my birthday at home, with friends and family.  Having been warned that my guests enjoy a tipple or two, I can no longer close the cupboard doors for wine and beer bottles. Keep this to yourself, but I have had to resort to hiding the good stuff. Anybody know where I can buy Fosters in Sydney?

For the day itself, Xmas, I live in hope that Sydney smiles down on me.  The two years that I have spent at home since arriving in 2012 have been dampened by the ubiquitous Sydney rainfall.  Grand plans of champagne and picnic on the beach, sporting ridiculous xmas hats,  were washed away. This year I am hoping all will be different.  The weather.  I’m not sure about the hats.

Ubud, Bali
But before then, we have a holiday to Bali.  In November.  This trip will be to Ubud, a place I have not visited in over 16 years.  I am sure the once quaint little town, quietly hidden away amongst the rice paddy fields, in the centre of Bali, has changed immeasurably.  In some part as a result of Elizabeth Gilbert’s memoir, “Eat, Pray, Love”, which resulted in half of America descending on Ubud, in the same way that Rome, and all the ashrams in India benefitted (suffered?).  
If I can find time to put down my piña colada, and book(s), I will dedicate my next blog post to the trip.

Until then, adios amigos.

We laughed, we cried, we hugged

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However long you are away from family and friends, by the time you have had the first sip of your coffee (French press, not instant.  Mum is a fast learner), or a couple of swigs of that first real pint of Timothy Taylor’s (do any other ex-pats miss real British ale?), it is as though you only saw them yesterday.  Is that the same with everybody?


In fairness, I had only been gone just shy of 2 years, but it is the longest I had been gone from the UK since landing in Australia back in August 2012.  I had somehow found myself going back each year, a pattern that stopped last year when it was decided a “proper” holiday was needed.  


Let me explain that.  Not that going to the UK isn’t a holiday.  But it is not the most relaxing holiday.  To fit everybody in, and give yourself chance to see everybody, the time spent needs managing with military precision.  Which is achieved to great effect by my now fabled spreadsheets.  I may be a project manager by trade, and this comes in handy when scheduling my days overseas.  Needless to say, each trip has been more successful as result.  In my opinion.



So after a hiatus last year, spent on the west coast of USA and Canada, it was time to visit England again.  Time to dust off the spreadsheet, and get planning. I have some catching up to do. Little nephews and nieces grow up fast, I’m finding.


Landing at Manchester, under blue skies, on a mild June lunchtime, we were only a short 40 minute drive over the Pennines, into Yorkshire.  No matter how many times I do it I always feel a glow of pride when passing the border with Lancashire, and see the white rose of Yorkshire marking entry to one of the most beautiful places on earth.  I have a passport now that proclaims I am Australian.  But first and foremost, I am, and always will be, a Yorkshireman.


According to the spreadsheet, we had 13 nights in England, to see and do everything we had missed out on the preceding 2 years.  The clock was ticking.  No time for jet lag on the first day, as the top priority was to get a good Indian curry, something that is inordinately difficult in Sydney.  Yes, we have curry houses, but can they do a good curry?  The jury is still out.  And on the same night, there was a football World Cup qualifier on.  England versus the auld enemy, Scotland.  Football at a normal time.  Imagine that!  Until you have spent 4 seasons bleary eyed from watching football at all hours from midnight, through to 4am, you won’t really appreciate how this feels.


And that folks was day 1.  Done.  Just like that.  Only 12 nights left.  And now do you see the need for a spreadsheet?  You see my predicament?  Not only do we have lots to do, every day, and every evening, but we have to navigate it after traversing multiple time zones.  My eyes tell me it is 10pm.  My head tells me it is sometime after 6am.  On the FOLLOWING day.  Good luck getting any sleep.


And this is how it is, going overseas (do some people say “abroad”?) from Australia to Europe.  But those 12 nights, they will soon be 11.  Then 10.  And so on.  Time to crack on and see what is next in the spreadsheet.


Last time I was in the UK, back in 2015, I was treat to the BBQ of all BBQs.  I mentioned it in a blog at the time.  The belly busting portions of food, and a quiche that would win first prize in any quiche contest.  If such a thing existed.  So, when promised a BBQ this time around, albeit with a different chef, I jumped at the chance.  I drooled at the thought of everything that would be going on the BBQ.  Cooking off the snags, and replacing them on the large, sizzling, hot grill with steaks.  Throwing on some corn, and making room for some chicken.  And then…



I had heard it was a small BBQ.  I didn’t realise it was a BBQ for a hobbit.  One hobbit.  One very small hobbit, even by hobbit standards.  Good lord, “this could be a very long night”, I thought.  I definitely had not had my expectations set.  I think plying me with extremely large Aperol Spritzes was a deflection tactic.  I have never seen a magnum of prosecco disappear so fast.  


And yet, we had a bloody fantastic evening.  In no small part to the food that miraculously appeared from the kitchen, and wasn’t reliant on the behemoth that was our BBQ.  We had a veritable Spanish feast, eating drinking, laughing into the small hours.  This is why we travel 24 hours across the world.  Priceless moments.


Did someone say tapas?
Talking of priceless moments, I also found myself doing something, twice, that I wasn’t sure would ever be on one of my spreadsheets. The school run.  Yes, you read that right.  Uncle Fran did the school run.  It was insisted upon.  No mummy, you can stay at home.  Just me and uncle Fran today.  So there I was, slightly dusty after another fantastic family catch up, slightly cold having to go out in the morning drizzle without a coat (I was on holiday!  Who packs a coat for their holidays?), and saying hello to Mr Varley, the lollipop man.  Wonders never cease.

There have been a number of traditions created through my visits home, and my waistline fought valiantly to get through them all whilst back. The obligatory breakfast at Wetherspoons, which I somehow managed to do on three occasions, fish and chips (if I had to have a last supper, this would be it), the aforementioned curry, mouth watering sausage butties to start the day (pork please, if I see another chicken sausage!), and at least one “all hands” family meal. We ticked that one off on day 2, with seventeen of us having a raucous lunch, and a not insignificant amount of drinks. Thank you sis for all your hard work in organising, and managing to keep it from mum so I could surprise her on the day. Cue tears. I think maybe even mum cried too.

La familia
Blink, and the time was nearly up. We had visited Yorkshire, explored all the nightlife that West Vale has to offer, walked in the Dales, played golf at Lytham-St-Annes (and forgot my “safety first” mantra by neglecting to apply sunscreen), BBQd in Poulton Le Flyde, had fish and chips at Harry Ramsden’s in Blackpool, lunched in gorgeous West Sussex, swam at the historic Spread Eagle hotel (and then had one of their famous “full english” breakfasts), strolled the pier, and The Lanes, before having dinner in Brighton, and lots in between. The weather had been kind to us, which it always seems to be. Maybe we bring a slice of Sydney back with us each time.

Thankfully I now had a couple of days relaxing in the beautiful city of Palma, on the (almost) annual boy’s trip. These occasions are renowned for slowing down, enjoying the culture of a place, taking in a few museums, a little tipple in the evening, then early nights. This trip would be no different. After that, I would fly to Milan, meet my better half, and 3 weeks exploring Italy would commence.

It is times like this I tell myself how lucky and blessed we are.

Ciao, until next time.

The Wonderful World of Wine

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If you have been reading along with me for some time, you may have noticed I like a glass of wine. Well, I like a few glasses. Sometimes the whole bottle. And if you read my posts on the wine regions of New Zealand, the wineries of the Hunter Valley, or how I spent my days in Margaret River, you will know that I learn about wine through wine tasting.

Sparkling wines of the Hunter Valley
Sparkling wines in the Hunter Valley

But, like me, have you ever been intimidated when handed a wine list in a restaurant?  Page after page of wines of every conceivable grape, from every conceivable region.  Where do you start? Some restaurants employ a sommelier, which often makes the situation worse. How to not sound ignorant. Or hint that you don’t know what you like, and want. How to pick a wine under the steely gaze of the “expert”? Go for the second most expensive option? Then you have fallen into the most common trap set by restaurants. Knowing that you will probably avoid the most expensive wine on their list, they will stick the wine they want to sell the most of as the next most expensive. You feel like you have got a better deal. The restaurant has sold the wine they originally wanted to sell. Confusing isn’t it?

The wine list of Gemelli estate in the Hunter Valley
Where to start…

For me, this confusion felt very similar when I first started visiting cellar doors.  Walk through the large, old, brown wooden doors, into a cool space, greeted with a smile, and a “how can I help you?”.  A sense of panic grips you as you are faced with racks and racks of expensive looking wine. You feel like you are in the wrong place.  You are not ready for this. You are not experienced enough. You feel inadequate.

Well, you are wrong.  You just want to try some new wines.  Have some fun. Learn a little more about the wonderful world of wine. Maybe even buy a bottle to go with tonight’s BBQ.  Or you need a good bottle to take to the BYO restaurant (bring your own, a very popular concept here in Australia) you have dinner reservations for at 8.30pm.  But which wines should you try? Do you have to try them in order? Do you swirl your glass around? (apparently yes, with everything expect sparkling wines).  And should you smell the wine, or drink it? (it turns out that it is both).

Chandon Estate in the Yarra Valley, Melbourne.
The House of Chandon, Yarra Valley, Melbourne

What are the big open receptacles on the counter for? Well, these are for spitting out the wine, not drinking wine out of.  Don’t copy Paul Giamatti in the hilarious film “Sideways”, where a couple of mates spend a weekend in the hills near Napa Valley drinking Merlot, amongst others.

Paul Giamatti in Sideways, wine tasting.
Taking wine tasting a little too far – “Sideways”

You may have seen those well versed in wine tasting do a little swirl of the stuff in their mouths.  Making a little inhale of air as they do it. It is harder than it looks, and takes some practice. If you don’t want to choke on your Cabernet, I wouldn’t suggest you try it for the first time at the cellar door.

Wine tasting can be daunting if you try and follow any rules.  My advice is, don’t. Relax. Look at the tasting list, which will be order from the lighter wines, bubbles and white, through the reds, and often onto the dessert wines, and port style drinks.  Often called “stickies” in Australia. And decide what you want to try. If you are not driving, and preferably you won’t be, having availed yourself of an organised tour, I would suggest you try a bit of everything.  Work through the list, top to bottom. Don’t be shy. And don’t be afraid. It is what most people do. This allows you to really test your palette, and work out what wines you like.

Wine tasting in the Swan Valley, Perth, Western Australia.
Enjoying a bottle in the Swan Valley, Perth

Like a lot of things, wine tasting is subject to personal preference and taste.  One man’s sensational Semillon, will be another woman’s bitter Barolo. We all like different flavour profiles, and trying lots of different wines will allow you to find yours.  Wine has hundreds of flavour profiles, but don’t let this daunt you. All you need to know is which ones taste nice in your mouth, and after you have swallowed. Which leaves a good “finish”?  And which will you empty in to the spittoon?

Go on, get tasting. Dive into the wonderful world of wine, and leave me a comment below on what wines you prefer. I am always on the lookout for a new drop, or a new region to try.

Salud!