Ireland the restaurants were allowed to reopen earlier this week and last night, for the first time in months and months, I think the last time was in November, I dined out at a proper real restaurant. I had quite forgotten the delights and pleasures of dining out, of being attended by pleasant waiting staff, of the wine list, of the menu, the candles.
The waiters and waitresses were dressed in their best long white starched aprons, neat black waistcoats, true they were wearing masks, and also visors of the type I used to wear when I was a soldier on the streets of Belfast, but they were as delighted as we were to be back in action.
When the wine waitress asked if I wished to taste the wine, well, I became quite emotional, or perhaps it was nostalgia, for I’d not been asked that question for sooooo long.
My eyes moistened and I took up the glass, by the foot rather than the stem or the bowl, for the warmth of my hands might affect the experience; I raised the glass to the light and gave it a nostalgic swirl or two and took a deep sniff of the aromas and, as we connoisseurs say, the bouquets released by the swirl; a touch of vanilla I thought, with notes of gooseberry; I swirled it again and lifted it at a slight tilt over the candlelight, just to see the flames dancing as they used to do. I took a sip, let it flow across my palate: put my head back to savour and appreciate the moment. I smiled at Patricia and turned to the waitress
“Perfect,” I said. “just perfect.”
“That was the water sir,” she said, “would you like to taste the wine now?”
Broadsides - A collection of bits and pieces 
More practice required John. At least six bottles I would think!