For I have been to Ludlow fair, and left my necktie God knows where

[desperance]

Actually, I have been to the back of the cupboard under the stairs: for yes, working on the novel is that grim this morning, that I would sooner grovel on hands and knees and grope in shadow. The shadows are metaphorical, for it's very well-lit in there; disturbingly so. I can read the small print.

I have found a couple of bottles of beer, five or six years past their best-by date. I don't know how much or how far or how fast bottled beer goes off; I am willing to make that experiment. But I have also found a bottle of home-made fruit wine, dated 1987. That's, um, twenty-one this year. It's legal! I can drink it!

I'm really, really not sure that I want to.

Should I discard it unopened? Open it just to see, to sniff, and then discard it promptly? Open it and drink it if it's drinkable? You decide...