Port to Stern (a fortified explanation of Insanity)

I once read that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome. I tend to have a short attention span so I re-read a couple more times before I took in the meaning.

Many years later, at approximately 9:12pm AEST (if memory serves me correctly), I poured myself a nightcap of port. This infuriated my wife to no ends ('cept her wit's end) as I’d completely destroyed the nightcap that her grandmother had knitted for her – she has never been much of a fan of my mucking around with homonyms.

Still thirsty, I went on to pour myself an aged port in a port sipper before retiring to the lounge. I placed the generously filled port sipper safely on the edge of the coffee table and concentrated on relaxing TO THE MAX!!!! - aided by my fluffy dressing gown and ugg boots.

Upon reaching full relax-mode, I realised I had to get up to empty my full bladder (to the toilet, preferably). In doing so, my playboy-esque dressing gown swung open in slow motion and collected my port sipper, sending my Brown Brothers Muscat into the air for a moment before coming to rest all over the cream carpet.

"F#@k it!", I thought. And then I said “F#@k it!”. For I had indeed.

Now unrelaxed and perturbed, I went through the all too familiar process of cleaning the Muscat from the carpet.

Once I had worked the carpet enough so that it smelt like a concoction of bleach, vinegar and aged grapes, and had turned a lighter shade of pink I decided to re-relax. Just do it.

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At 9:37pm AEST, I poured myself another nightcap of port. This infuriated my wife to no ends as I’d completely destroyed the other nightcap that her grandmother had knitted for her in case the first one was accidentally damaged – she seems to be even less a fan of homonyms than 25 minutes ago.

Thirst unquenched, I went on to pour myself a port in a clean port sipper before retiring to the lounge. I placed the generously filled port sipper safely on the edge of the coffee table and concentrated on relaxing TO THE MAX!!!! - aided by my fluffy dressing gown and ugg boots.

Now re-resuming full relax-mode, I realised I had to get up to empty my as-yet-unemptied fuller bladder (to the toilet, as is still the preferred place of emptying). In doing so, my playboy-esque dressing gown swung open in slow motion and collected my port sipper, sending my Brown Brothers Muscat MkII into the air for a moment before coming to rest all over the lighter shade of pink & cream carpet.

"F@#k it!" I thought. And then I said “Fu@#k it!”. For I had indeed, yet again.

Unrelaxed and perturbed I went through the familiar process of cleaning the Muscat from the pre-and-post-stained carpet.

I will save myself the time of cutting and pasting again (though, looking back – move mouse; right click and move mouse; CTRL C; move mouse; right click; CTRL V – would have been a lot simpler and quicker for all than typing this explanation. Ain’t hindsight a bitch) and ask you to read the couple of paragraphs above once more, before coming back to the following wrap up.

…and that my friends is insanity personified. I'll drink to that!

(This has been another True Story, brought to you from the life and times of Ronnie Peace. All details in the story are accurate to the best of your knowledge. Unless you are our Landlord, in which case this has been a work of fiction (and a poor one at that) based on no truth whatsoever, and don't look under the ridiculously oversized rug in the lounge room. And dining room. And bedroom. And walk-in-wardrobe)