Drinking port in Porto

Well, I'm in Quevedo and shitfaced; Noriko has wandered off and I am alone, no complaints. I'm old and I need to piss, I blame it on multiple kidney examinations where it has absolutely nothing to to do with getting old and passing your prime.

Previously, I had been in Quinta do Noval, Taylor's and now Quevedo, this is embarrassing, only three wineries and in a poor condition. I will have to eventually head back to the hotel room, no doubt, she is waiting in ambush for me with all types of questions, yet I have no concerns just now.

Yet, I don't care, piano keys are being banged in random inteludes, some actually sounding in time, others, well, bad luck. The woman in the slinky back dress is pretty good, the fat one taking over the signing is so so.

I have a 2000 vintage port in my bag, another seven years and the contents will be exposed to air again. My nephew will hopefully appreciate the effort required to bring a 2000 vintage from Porto to a second generation Australian with a Portuguese bloodline. If I get this home without breaking it, this will be a mighty effort.

First I need to stumble home.