Fireside 1: Wine
Hello, do come in! It's rather cold for autumn and the air is a tad chilly. Here, let me take your coat. There! Now, let's pull up a chair, closer to the fire. Funny that, I was half-expecting you; and that goblet of red wine on the coffee table is yours. It's my neighbour's vintage – a cheeky tread-your-own. Personally, I never touch the stuff. It's real firewater! I tell you, if anything will get you along to AA, that shit will.
I'm just kidding! I know you haven't a drinking problem. There's nothing wrong with bending the elbow. My neighbour did, often! We buried him yesterday under his one and only grapevine. It was his liver, you know. It gave out – just couldn't take another drop of that foul moonshine. Actually, it's more like sour vinegar.
Poor Giovanni! The autopsy showed that his sweaty feet picked up something or other just before he stepped into the plastic bucket and began stomping the fly-blown grapes. If you sniff the goblet you'll see it was probably cat poo on his foot. Yes, that does explain stench.
You've got to leave? But you haven't touched a drop. Oh, you've just remembered you left the steam kettle on the burning stove? Yes, you'd better go home right away – you don't want the joint to burn down! Thanks for dropping in – no, it doesn't matter that it was unannounced. Yes, goodbye to you, too. Drive carefully, now! Bye!
Wish these buggers wouldn't come by when I'm down to my last bottle. Ah, superb! Straight from France and matured lovingly. I must tell Giovanni to compliment his wine club. Ah, just superb!