Dandelion wine has an odd taste - one that I fluctuate between enjoying and not. It is herby, and if it was a tea I expect it would be drunk by middle-aged women wearing long purple skirts and lots of beads. An acquired taste, I think - and not one I drink frequently enough to acquire.
I now can't remember why we did not finish this on Saturday night, but Saturday was an unremarkable day where I read the Guardian and did little else. We eschewed a glass on Monday, after travelling to Skipton to hear Schubert's String Quintet played in a church crypt, in favour of a kir assembled from Cassis and cooking wine. Instead, we had our final glass early on Tuesday evening in a successful attempt to prevent me from going to Rubbish Summer Orchestra.