Wine is drunk a lot. But what else can we do with the contents of Bachus’s juice bottle? Does wine have to be confined to the glass and stew? Does wine have a life outside sipping and slurping? Surely this most miraculous of beverages has other uses. It does friends, it does. And these uses have got me out of a few scrapes in my lifetime let me tell you about a few.

On one of my travels, I once found myself in the presence of a herd of hippies. I think that is the correct collective noun for hippies, although I have heard people use, “a stink”, and “a tab”, but I prefer a herd. So there I was on the outskirts of a small French town with this herd of dread-locked, red-eyed, dirty feet, and one-goddamn-love hippies in front of me. It was a scary moment as I was wearing a white t-shirt with the words “Kill Polar Bears, Drink Oil” emblazoned across the front. Now despite the fact I was wearing this in an ironic capacity, previous encounters with these hemp-chewing, whale-adoring layabouts had taught me they were as comfortable with irony as they were with rare steaks.

I should have walked right past, not even looked in their direction. But the smell of sweet marijuana drifted out of their commune and pulled me in like a smoky, wafting Looney Tune cartoon finger. I feared that my t-shirt would not only kill the chances of scoring a section, but also get me lynched and hung from a tree with old dreadlocks.

Then an idea struck me. Taking from my backpack the half bottle of village wine I still had, I stripped off and started to tie up my shirt. Pouring the wine all over the shirt I cunningly tie-dyed it. As tie-dye is basically hippy-camo,  I could enter into their encampment and score the necessary reefer before carrying on my way with only the hitch-hiking lice to concern me.

There are less dramatic tales of wine saving my ass. I remember cooking dinner for a beautiful lady once. I had promised her this crazy ass pie, dumpling and cookie dinner. Don’t ask. But essentially the meal consisted of much pastry.

I happily slugged back the wine and dealt with the flour, eggs, mixers and the like. Then it struck me cold, like a fresh herring to the face, I had no rolling pin. A man with that much pastry and no rolling pin is a situation that would shatter the cockles of anyone’s heart. I looked around the meagre apartment I was living in and realised I lived with many square, rectangular and triangular objects, none sufficiently round enough to roll anything.  But then as I desperately downed the rementents of the Tassenberg surrounded by piles of unrolled dough and pastry, I realised wine again would come to the rescue. If not the juice, the bottle. It made a perfect rolling pin, and in praise to Bacchus I have used one ever since.

Just as wine stains it also takes away stains. Seriously, if you spill red wine, chuck on some white wine and a bunch of salt. It works really well.

But be careful. I once came back home from some sucky catering job I was performing in London to keep me off the streets, and decided to open a few of the bottles myself and a friend had purloined from the function. We sat on his house-mate’s – a fastidious blonde woman who loved all things white except her men – bright, white, couch. After the first bottle we were getting a little rowdy and my friend, with a wide and vehement gesticulation, knocked over one of the just opened bottles. Red wine gushed onto the clean couch. We both stared for a second, stunned at what we had done. This woman loved her couch more, we thought, than her stream of variously toned gentleman that popped in and out of the apartment.

Then action returned to us. We leapt up off the couch and started shouting at each other;

“Towels!”
“Salt!”
“Wine!”
“White Wine. Quick fetch the white wine before it soaks in!” I shouted at him, almost slapping him as he was beginning to lose it.

He turned, grabbed a bottle, and upended it onto the couch.

Horror of horrors. It was another bottle of red wine.

This was too much and we burst into hysterical laughter, and finished what was left of the wines. There was little else we could do at that point. It all ended with us just flipping the cushion over, and moving out of the apartment.

Wine is also great for the skin. Seriously, no need to pay for expensive toner, just leave a box of wine in the bathroom. It also makes for a good start to the day. The acid in wine helps smooth and refine the skin. Wine is also used to soften and brighten the skin in spa facials. In fact, I have heard of wine baths, and as your intrepid wine reporter I pledge to find out if there is any truth to this. Stay tuned.

Not only is wine good for cleaning the skin, but also for cleaning grease stains. Look I haven’t tried this one, but I reckon it would be great for fixie riding hipsters trying to get grease off their skinnies. I mean, Vanish is so last year.

Wine will turn into vinegar. So any use you have for vinegar can conceivably be repeated with wine. Cleaning windows, glasses, etc. But my favourite is a tip for those of you who like to buy flowers. Add a few teaspoons of Chenin Blanc to the fresh water the flowers you are in and before long the flowers will be singing Achy Breaky Heart before vomiting pollen everywhere. Or, more likely, they will stay fresh for longer.

Wine, what a miraculous beverage. You can drink it, clean with it, dye with it, keep flowers with it. It’s a Super Drink. Do you have any uses for wine apart from drinking? Suggest some below and the best, or most imaginative will get a couple bottles of wine.