Thus far I have avoided infection from the beasts of the air and the beasts of the field and I feel a minor celebration is in order. I rest my worn quill (my prodigious digits) and crack open a bottle of Pinot Grigio, pouring it down my gullet like a starved cormorant - no Sideways reference intended.

Having no wish to carnify my apportionment of wit and wisdom, however slight that may be, I have begun to exercise not my sickly corpus but something all together more important - my judgement. It is my intention to regale the weary surfer with delectable titbits on myriad subjects, including politics, culture, sex, drugs and sofas. I hope no one gets injured in the process.

I shall do my best to be succinct for, as my granny was fond of saying, non multa, sed multum – not quantity but quality. She was a Latin scholar who occasionally lapsed into drunkenness. I am, on the other hand, a scholar of drink who occasionally lapses into Latin. Nota bene.