Why my friends love me as their token crazy friend

Excerpt from an email sent to my two great friends D and R, in London and Qatar, respectively:

"As for me, you'd be interested to know, I am currently eating some fresh Pugelise bread with fresh Irish butter and topenade and olive oil and vinegar (all different little sandwiches, if that makes any difference), in an attempt to swallow down some disappointing South Australian 2000 Jacob's Creek Cabernet Sauvignon (Reserve) that you might remember me purchasing (I'd be impressed if you do) during our last (and only) visit to that little ol' continent.

Apparently, this wine -and all the others I bought there- did not, as possibly promised (or at least implied), "age gracefully" in my "cellar". In truth, as far as the internet can tell me, they did not age well in anyone's cellars, (even those people who have real cellars and whose homes don't rise to temperatures high enough to melt candles -true!- during the summer). And besides that, I may have kept them past reasonable drinking age.

But what the hell do I know? I was taught by my well-meaning parents to know what a good wine tastes like, but would have never made the effort to learn how to purchase wisely or remember what wines my closet-um "cellar"- contains and monitor them for ideal drinking age. So today, I force myself to drink down this wine, damn it, that I put so much hope (and -thank god they were Australian-dollars) into. ....Though I have to admit the wine is getting a bit better as it "breathes" (hmm...thought I would never say that about anyone/thing breathing Sacramento air.) And I wait the polite hour when I can go over to a friends' house to start celebrating the New Year (and finally stop this exhausting effort I have been making at procrastinating a paper I meant to write today)."