It’s the cutting of the foil that begins the process,
Sharp edges best avoided.
The anticipation of what’s to come.
Unpicking and untwisting the wire,
Until all that’s left to do is turn.
Do you turn the bottle or the cork?
You turn the bottle.
And with a mighty pop or a subdued psshhh
(Depending on how competent you are)
There’s a whiff of fizzy breath
And perhaps a small cascade of bubbles.
We began our Sparkling Sundays in March last year.
When we were told to stay at home.
Which we did.
And it was just us,
Just two of us.
It was something to look forward to.
And now we find ourselves here again.
Third time round.
So Sparkling Sundays have been reinstated.
Glasses are polished,
Nuts and olives are decanted into small bowls
And we toast the day that’s in it.
The Sparkling Sunday.
Words: Maryanne Singleton