Corkscrew

Evi came over yesterday armed with a bottle of wine and a three pack of Johnny Depp DVDs. But the wine was not screwtop, and I don't have a corkscrew, as it turns out. I was reminded of the first dinner Mum and I hosted after dad left, when Kate came over and we looked at the wine then, and ended up taking it to the next door neighbour's house for male help. This time, Evi put a wooden spoon handle on the cork and pushed, while I held the bottle. Red wine sprayed everywhere, including into my eyes, which stung like buggery but we laughed and laughed while mopping at the whitewashed redspeckled walls. I've put a waiter's friend on my shopping list. But we sat on the balcony drinking red wine from champagne flutes (red wine glasses also on shopping list) and talked and smoked and cried a little bit and it was good. Really really good. Letting go is hurting like a bastard but I'm hanging in there.