I LOVE sweet wines. I drink buckets of them. They are my vinous Achilles heel. I see one and I’ll buy it; I buy one and I’ll drink it. I just can’t help myself.
The cobwebbed cupboard under the stairs (aka The Cellar) is crammed with half-bottles of sweet treats. It drives poor Mrs Ray mad. She doesn’t see the point. Once she’s had her evening gin and subsequent Sauvignon Blanc, she might toy with a little Pinot Noir but will happily end things there unless she spies a passing
