So here I am, in Fhronss (as the Fhrensch call it), sitting at a computer, one hour away from Paris, in a home that defies description. Is it a country home, a manoir, an estate perhaps? A mansion?

Anyhow, it is the place to drink copious amounts of Vouvray, Bordeaux and Gronh Cru (as the Fhrensch call it) with every meal. So every morning breaks its dawn, and I search through the haze for a new turn of phrase to describe my state. And Iain Gately may have just helped me out.

Besotted — Etymologically, That Is: A sober reflection on the American lexicon of inebriation


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