Regional White Wine of Drama

As if we are not already long on histrionics. As if heat, tiredness, limoncello hangovers and youth hormones are not already a potent mix. However, if a proper Greek tragedy is to be played out, then the Regional White Wine of Drama will be an essential ingredient. There will be no matricide as, feisty and sneaky though they may be, I could still easily beat them in a fight, should it come to that. Patricide is similarly thus ruled out. At 38 degrees, no one has the energy for the rending of garments, although tossing of said items liberally across the floor and all available surfaces can still engender weeping and wailing on my part, despite the temperature.

Dashing oneself into the sea from a high rock would require a wearisome climb to a sun-baked peak in the heat of the day with biting insects, and snakes lying malevolently across the path like a curse. It becomes easy to understand the Greek lust for explorations and sea battles: the sailing into the breezy blue, the winds a cool caress and the hot stones moving away along the horizon.

So in the heat, we stay put. Resting, reading, and preparing ourselves for the evening’s battles with liberal imbibing of the Regional White Wine of Drama.