You might think that wine and comedy make obvious bedfellows. But certainly in the case of wine writing, this is very rarely the case. A few valiant (or foolish?) souls have tried, but the results have mostly been risible rather than side-splitting. Thank goodness for Peter Stafford-Bow, who is currently the only author I know who's really made this combination not just sing, but positively cavort naked around the room.
Let's get one point out of the way immediately. That name? It's a pseudonym - a nom de plume, if you will. Whilst I'm sworn to secrecy, I can confirm that I'm one of only a few thousand people on the planet who know this man's true identity. I've even met him in person. I would just add that even those with a bird's eye view of the industry will struggle to unmask him. No, he is not Banksy, or Robert del Naja.
Screwed
When Stafford-Bow's first novel Corkscrew appeared in 2018, I lapped it up eagerly. Outrageously baudy and ridiculously improbable, it was a huge amount of…
