No one ever says that about soup, that it's bad for anyone. Ergo, wine is not soup.

I'm pretty sure that's because sheep are fluffy. If chips were fluffy, it would be a completely different tale.

[He takes an aggressive bite of biscuit to punctuate his point and flails his hand toward the window, talking with his mouth full.]

The other day.

[After he washes that down with more tea, refills, and begins doctoring, he elaborates.]

I think I invaded their nursery quite without meaning to. You know how I am when I'm strolling.

[Could fall down a manhole and take half an hour to realize he's in the dark.]