Saturday 10th November, 2012
This is the wineglass that will only accept red wine. When you try to pour white into it, you always just miss; and it always ends up on the tablecloth, no matter how hard you try.

This is the wineglass in which red wine was served to Tycho Brahe just before he died, four hundred and more years ago. The astronomer's body was exhumed just a few years ago to try to find out how he died, but still nobody is quite sure. Rumours of extramarital intrigue.

This is the wineglass which ended up in a rubbish dump, dug up a few hundred years later, intact and shining, in a back garden where there were no worms. Things grew better in the garden after it was removed; it was washed, and put away.

This is the wineglass which makes its way through a succession of new couples' drink cabinets; it always shines, and is always someone's favourite. Afterwards, it moves on; it is thrown away, or given to a charity shop; and it repeats again.

This is the wineglass which turns everything poured into it into some kind of poison, slow-acting or fast-acting as it wishes. It leaves behind it a trail of grieving, arrests and the lonely. It decides what happens; and there is no reason for what it chooses.

This is the wineglass that will only accept red wine.

posted by Rob Mitchelmore, 22:38 (anchor)