Red red wine

This morning I woke up with the sound of the Neil Diamond's song that gives its name to this blog entry. I don't mean that I heard it on the radio or anything like that; not even the UB40 version that was so popular about 20 years ago with its excellent toasting sections.

Red wine is a substance I have come to appreciate greatly over the past few years since I was told over and over by my dear friend Antoine Camilleri that (in moderation) this ancient beverage is good for the body. Apparently our hearts enjoy some antioxidant or other than controls free radicals. So red wine, olive oil and unsalted peanuts (in moderation) have become a staple part of my diet, especially since about 2000 when I was diagnosed with borderline hypertension which eventually led to the discovery of my having WPW syndrome this past summer.

Last night I tried an Italian wine: Terra Viva. I was never a big fan of Italian wines. Most of the red ones I've tried are too robust for my taste. I'm now wondering whether it is this actually the Sangiovese in the Terra Viva that has driven me to write what I've written here today. In vino veritas, I suppose.

England is not exactly a great place to find good red wines; especially in Scarborough. There are imports from all over the world, of course, but I find the selection less invigorating than what I had become accustomed to in New York. Still, I've managed to find a nice French Bordeaux as well as an interesting blend of Cabernet and Merlot from Chile. I originally became a great fan of wines from Chile back in New York, where the selection was mindblowing.

My father, who knows a thing or two about wines from his many years working in bars and hotels, tells me that there's a nice selection in Malta too now. So on my next visit I want to see if this could be the first thing that I'll chalk down as better in Malta than it is in Scarborough. I hope this doesn't become a problem. It shouldn't!

Now I hear the bells of St Mary's Church across the street from my bedroom, but when I look out the window I see that the actual church bells are not tolling.

November Rain

I must say that I'm surprised at how relatively mild the weather has been so far this season on the North Yorkshire coast. Someone told me that it will get rougher but at the same time Scarborough tends to have less wintry weather than most inland places around this area of England, simply because it's by the sea.

I've been waiting for a powerful north-eastern storm to hit us. A classic Maltese-style grigal, like the one that supposedly brought St. Paul's shipwreck to Malta. Those things are spectacularly terrifying and always remind me how fragile everything really is. And this brings me to something I wrote on this blog a few days ago. I'm referring to the thoughts of impermanence that have saturated my mind over the past several weeks.

My friend Joe Meilak from GozoWeather.com asked me whether this meant that I was thinking of leaving Scarborough to return to New York. Well, that's hardly what I had in mind...even though I miss Christine and Dina very much.

Thoughts about impermanence always come to me at this time of the year. Some years are more intense than others. It hasn't been this intense for the last couple of years. These thoughts and feelings come from two things mainly. One relates to my childhood associations with November as a month in which we remembered the dead. The other comes from the work I do with Mario Axiaq at about this time every year on writing obituaries about Maltese personalities who passed away during the year. (More on that in a few weeks time.)

Don't think for a second that I've submerged myself in morbid thoughts. Death is an essential part of life. It's one of those things that make life even more precious than we say it is as a matter of fact. My thoughts on impermanence are also very much informed by my understanding of the important place this idea has in Buddhist belief systems.

Nothing lasts forever. That simple thought can alter the shape, colour, smell, size, texture, and all other dimensions of anything I come across these days.