Surprisingly, I'm not much of a Sunday luncher. My wife, her mother, grandmother and god-mother get together to talk about the week's hatched, matched and dispatched over a slab of something roasted. I'm usually in the pub, at the races or not quite on the footpath that I intended to.

So Sunday sustenance for me is usually late in the afternoon, often comprises of sliced pig and is always accompanied by beer. Today it was smoked gammon, splinter-thin fries to poke into runny yolks and a couple of decent British bottles. Marble Tawny 3 had grass and hay glossed over pineapples on a biscuity base; Fyne Avalanche was all soft and citric and floral and just... wow!

As the last of the Avalanche left my lips, it started to rain. And so I needed no excuse to not mow the lawn. And open another beer instead. Hard knock life, eh?