Wine Club: wines of the southern Rhône that are darn tasty (and stunning value)

Mrs Ray and I are barely speaking. When she accompanied me to my appointment with the vaccinator yesterday, she loudly declared that when it comes to needles I’m something of a fainter and that she had stay and hold my hand.

This is utter tosh of course, unless you count that time my dentist thought it would be funny to mutter ‘Is it safe?’ from the film Marathon Man whilst waving a massive seven-gauge syringe in my face and I collapsed in a heap.

‘We’ve got a fainter!’ yelled the security guard yesterday and the shout went down the line until the head nurse was called and I was ushered into a private room complete with bed, vaccinator and a 20st rugby player called Kevin, there to catch me when I fell.

The little turn I had was pure coincidence, I’m sure — it was awfully hot — and I was mightily grateful for the large glass of hearty Rasteau I had the minute I got home.