Reading is not a race

You find yourself in a fine and very expensive restaurant that boasts a brace of Michelin stars. It is a special occasion. A VERY special occasion. Your partner or spouse orders a 1982 bottle of Chateau Lafite-Rothschild (currently listed online for a £38,000 per bottle).

With due reverence, the sommelier displays the label to your partner. He uncorks the bottle with a level of care the wine so richly deserves, before pouring a soupcon into the glass.

This is a once in a lifetime moment. Your partner inhales deeply, savouring the alluring nose of one of the finest wines in human history. When he is satisfied, he puts the glass to his lips and takes the merest sip. His (or her) eyes close as the flavour explodes on their tongue. They swallow, almost reluctantly, as they try in vain to cling on to that aroma and that taste for just a little longer. It is everything they had hoped it would be and more; so much more. In an instant, the eye-watering price tag seems entirely justified.

The world’s finest grapes grown in the world’s finest soil and tended by the world’s finest wine producers; all condensed into that single, rich mouthful.

Your partner cannot wait for you to share in the luxury and signals for the sommelier to pour some of that elixir into your glass. Both of them have anticipation and expectation writ across their faces.