From a recently resurrected album: The Pavarotti-like figure, 'tis (or 'twas) I; the place, Sarlat in the Perigord, in southwestern France; the year, 1989; the month, July; my fellow drinker, Pete Battley, an excellent fellow from London, who was staying, as was I, in the half-ruined farmhouse rented by our mutual chum Dave Mackie. (Cheers, gents.) It was a wine-tasting tour on a budget. Glorious weather for the 200th anniversary of the Revolution. In the garden of the world.