Marvellous Mark Cavendish

Cavendish took another stage yesterday - hurrah! I'm low on English wines, but had one bottle of red that I'd picked up at the vineyard gate on my travels around the country. It was from a winery I'd been to before and I'd enjoyed good wine.

We cracked it open, we poured, we prepared it toast 'Cannonball Cavendish'. An odour filled our noses. It was odd. It was unpleasant. It wasn't cardboard, it wasn't barnyard. It was identified by the wine-curious teens as hot dog. Not the roadside snack but an actual dog that was hot. Not just any dog. It smelled like Patsy the Jack Russell after she'd been running around on a hot day.

I tried a taste. I've never eaten dog, so I can't tell you how it compared, but it tasted nast. Some fruit was there but so was a barrel-load of acid and a little creosote. I'll keep the producer quiet to protect their blushes. You'll have to settle for the photo of Cavendish winning a stage of the tour of Britain again. I'm not bored of it yet!