Most of this bottle was drunk in twilight. Having returned from WYSO on a balmy summer evening, Claire and I sat in the garden, drinking blackcurrant wine. Gradually the blackbirds' song ceased, replace by a bat fluttering past. We talked late into the night, probably irritating our neighbours, sipping sweet, smooth blackcurrant wine. It was a lovely hour, and little was left in the bottle by the time we went to bed. Scandalous for a Wednesday night.