Fermentation

Today was spent in fermentation,
Both metaphorically and literally.
The old year is drawing in,
Like my tightening post Christmas waistband,
My mind is slowly,
Pickling the plans and ideas for the new one.
I ruminate,
And cut up red slaw for sauerkraut.
The past and recent hurts are mouldering.
I discard them like the dregs of the Merlot,
I have just siphoned into bottles.
Gulps of wine swallowed in the process,
Leave me verbose,
And slightly adled.
I sing carols expressively,
Two days late,
(no visuals required)
And I make yoghurt.
The dramas of the festive season curdle in my guts.
While sour dough bubbles neath its plastic sheath.

Racking the Currant Wine

My currant wine has stopped,
Bubble, plop, bubbling.
It is now plop .......,
An hour  or so later .........,
Plop!
So time to decant into bottles,
And rack.
I think that means you lay the bottles on a rack?
But it's irrelevant.
So I check the specific gravity.
Have a little quaff.
Mmmmm, but sweet.
Tastes very alcoholic.
Get out the siphoning hose.
Suck, suck, mouthful of ambrosia,
Swallow, suck, put end in the jug.
No pressure just an old man's dribble.
Another try,
Another mouthful.
I can't take much more of this boozy cordial.
Finally find the trick.
Suck with the hose up.
Then drop it down to the low jug.
A gush.
Thank goodness,
I was getting a headache.
Thirty bottles and the merlot grapes aren't even ripe yet.
There's still the cider to press.
And I can't say,
We actually drink very much.