I also did not venture very far into but got a good laugh out of the stop-the-presses piece on wine without end. That has been the bane of my drinking existence for almost as long as I’ve been drinking better than Mateus. I get the shivers just thinking about it, and I have had it everywhere in the world. My suspicions about the care with which it is treated were confirmed one memorable day when we were walking past a cafe in Rome near the Piazza Navona and saw a tanker pulled up with hose extended into the cellar. The whole idea of vintners slaving over planting, weeding, harvesting, pressing and blending only to have wine pumped into a glass is unsettling. Gentlemen, start your gyros.