Dan dragged me out of the wine tasting and pulled me down the street. He slammed through the hallway, past the mountain of luggage, and rushed straight into the kitchen where Simon was cooking.

Now, they're settled on the sofa, talking football, and I might as well not be here.

Shame, we had some great wines lined up at the tasting.

I didn't like wine before I went to Spain. Now I'd rather have a glass of wine than an alcopop. Wine is better for me. I don't like thinking in terms of what's healthy - it's a sign I'm getting old. Or maturing. Or boring.

Thanks to our speedy exit from the wine tasting, I still don't know the difference between a merlot, a pinot noir and a cabernet sauvignon.