03 October 2010

The past is a foreign country...

The foreigners in my block live in a past country; they use their storage cellar as a wine cellar.  Seriously.  I was just taking the duvet cover out of the machine, trusting it would have cleaned off the cat vomit.  I knew there was someone else down in the cellar as the lift had whirred and the lights were on.  The demin blue cotton flopped out of the machine umbilically as a man behind me said "Tag," and walked out with one bottle of red wine in his hand. 
There is a wine bottle prison in my cellar and I'm wondering, wondering.  I wonder some more about someone who could incarcerate their wine below stairs like that, mine is always to hand, there are ten bottles less than 2m away as I type away at the kitchen table.  What must it be like to treat wine as such a special thing, a treat, where a journey with a special key is needed to retrieve the treasure?   Of course I wondered if some of the keys in the block were duplicates and if I could find my way in there?
I know then that I am the criminal foreigner.
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