UPDATE: I have solved my problem. Many thanks to all who offered to help! wondered if one of you, my valued readers, might be able to help me out with a problem. The editor has revealed the full horror of our financial malposition and in order to avoid getting evicted I need to sell my very few remaining bottles of vastly valuable wine. Unsurprisingly, there is a time issue here. This sort of thing really throws a bucket of napalm on the oft-fiercely flaming coals of my anxiety.
The cumbering issue with this that seriously entrammels my cash-generating wheeze is that the vast majority of my wine, including the few bottles I want to sell, are in my cellar in Morey-Saint-Denis. Not a convenient location for one with no car, who is vivifyingly terrified of travelling alone and lacks even two thrupenny bits to rub together. This is why I am asking for assistance.
If anyone is driving through Burgundy in the near future and could pick up one magnum and three or four bottles of wine from my chum who lends us the cellar, my happiness would undoubtedly move me to conferment behaviour.
I realise this is not really the time of year to be driving to Burgundy (it isn’t? Nonsense! It’s good to be in Burgundy at any time.), but I have a remarkably large audience for my organ so it’s possible there may be someone who can help me out. It’s not a lot of wine to transport and, assuming I can sell the ineffably brilliant bottles quickly, it would lift us comfortably out of our current exigency. It would also reduce my tension levels from “a steam-powered dentists’ drill, a set of rusty pliers plastered with blood and spit and all anaesthetics suddenly being banned in preference to hammers” to a far more reasonable “glass of Burgundy in the company of friends followed by a restful sleep with my teddy bear”. What a noble thing that would be to do.
Thank you for reading. Contact me if you think you can help. I’m going to see if I can Superglue my gnawed fingernails back together.
-  Scored according to the Davy Strange Anxiety points scale (that everyone knows from a parasitic academic course hardly anyone has attended and even fewer people should do) in which one chocolate bar equals zero. I dictate people should only pursue the correct aesthetic ideal when it comes to anxiety; I’m the consumers’ friend by telling them what is acceptable to get nervous about so they don’t have to engage any critical faculties themselves. ↩