In one of my most enduring memories of childhood, I can see my little brother sneaking up to a glass of Guinness on Christmas Day and taking a furtive sip. He turned to reveal a cream moustache – and a nauseated grimace.
This Christmas, I saw that same look of horror when my seven-year-old daughter asked me if she could have a taste of fizzy wine. I said yes – but only a tiny drop. She tried it and promptly made a disgusted face that said, do adults actually drink this? I admit I was pleased: by satisfying her curiosity and denting alcohol’s glamour, I hoped I’d done a good thing.
Margaret McCartney
Clive Cookson
Andrew Jack