This one’s dripping in green olive, black olive tapenade, all spearmint and chocolate bursts, yet somewhat floury, mostly tomato and cheesy mac overtones. A powerful biscuity bundle in here, more Lake Monger than Perry Lakes - the nose getting riper, redder, shouting harder as it goes along. The more you sip. And sip. And swish. The sips are getting bigger now, me and Bob Malone, sipping. Not really sipping now, more a swill, bigger mouthfuls until this fat-lady sings. Hmmm. Its blackberry yoghurt, a mango slice – the colour of bike accident bruise. Unable to translate my truncated palate here, but feels warmer, hotter, blazing, a three-day Pilbara sunburn. Oaky, tree-like, dirty, riper and softer, flatter, muddier, a raspberry cloud of open bitumen, a pea-gravel throaty binge in my gob, ruder than expected, the Spanish, Irish, Mt Barker, Swan Valley, Margret River noise – possibly a Kununnara profile - just a little broad yet without the blackest billy-tea tannins to tighten the British finish. And this one’s rounder, more circular, a sphere, global, yeah, almost planetary in dimension. Slightly san-serif in texture, wattlebirdy, rosemary and bush plum variations. Tahoma, Verdana, Calibri… Ahh.. Next. Brown, yeah brown this one - almost Wandoo-Karri in big, firm, solid acid and a filthy back end which just gives and gives with blatant generosity. Although now it’s all redcurrant juicinessness on the nose, almost lipstick on your collar pink. There’s a grassy nostril in this one. A nasty connection to pindan – a rubric of silky silk thesaurusy skin wetter though with Sheoak bark or something, like like… I’m done.