Whine of the Week: Couply Couples

Infatuated with your boyfriend/girlfriend and hate wine? Don’t read on

charlie dowell whine Wine

This week’s whine took place at an old school friend’s 21st in The Pint Shop.

The hired room upstairs swelled with pork belly, smoked salmon, creamed chicken with wholesome sides of conversation.

The wine, Rosso del Palazzone, was mature and complex, suitable for the occasion. Its violet, almost lavender flavour and soupy texture was as warming as a fire in a country pub. Constructed from the sangiovese grapes grown on the slopes surrounding the hilltop town of Montalcino, it is a cheaper, but no less fine version of Brunello di Montalcino.

Well structured and intricate, a positive royal wedding dress.

Well structured and intricate, a positive royal wedding dress.

The flavour took me back to my wanderings to the town just after I had finished A levels. The hot Italian sun and the optimism of an eighteen year old were brought back to this, a party for one of my oldest friends.

Rating: 4 star

Nostalgia factor: 9

As I sat  mulling over the ambiance, I thought the cuddly feeling brought on by this blood of Bacchus, must be what it feels like to be one half of those deeply annoying couply couples.

We all know the sort: constant photos together on instaface, kissing, holding hands or just filling up the whole frame with their faces.

I know you are infatuated with each other and that about thirty seconds after sending a snapchat of you two kissing in bed, you’ll go and have disappointing sex, but I don’t care.

I wouldn’t care if we were close friends, or if you were my sister and a gorilla, or David Beckham and Rebecca Loos. I wouldn’t care if there was a photo of you two in Paris, or Cambodia, or a cute little café behind two mugs filled mostly with cream. I don’t care.

A single man, a jealous rant.

A single man, a jealous rant.

Yes you two may be so dosed up on oxytocin, or dopamine or whatever neurotransmitter scientists think is responsible for love, but please keep it to yourselves. I don’t want to be reminded how helplessly single I am.

To put you couples in my shoes consider this. I quite like my balls: they are a part of me, we go everywhere together and have a lot of fun. Sometimes we have our differences, we all know that scratch that won’t go away, but for better or for worse I know I will love them and that we will always be together.

Imagine these, but hairy and attached to my body

Imagine these, but hairy and attached to my body.

Do I put pictures of my balls on facebook?

No (apart from that one time I wore loose boxers to the squash team photo).

This is how it should be for couply couples. I know you are great together, but I get disgusted when I see the evidence.

Next time you think of taking that snapchat, imagine my balls, then don’t take the picture and go back to staring into each other’s eyes, or pretending you really enjoy watching The Notebook together or some shit like that. Anything, but clogging my social media with sclerotic plaques of clichéd love.

Anyway, another sip of that Rosso ought to get over my anger and deep seated jealousy.