The WC and the OP

'Twas the Friday before the World Cup final and all were atwitter. Eventual doom had not yet cast it's mournful glower upon the Dutch, who, having just vaulted into the final, were ecstatic, which our background is supposed to illustrate, failing miserably. Okay, maybe not so miserably. Not with a new found friend cast our WB! way.

Nonetheless, folks, the stir then was palpable. If WB!'s scribbler had any excuse these last weeks, it was, "World Cup, man!" Every night. For weeks. It was glorious.


So there we were, all jittery, even if feigning disinterest, and out popped a sampling of the savoury soul of Ol' Pulteney 12, as a munificent a potable creature as ever to have been imbibed on a marvelous earth that can render such bounty upon us. And what a fantastic bottle! Ready made Captain's lamp, just plug 'n play.

So, what with our blasted attempt to convey the party scene midst-stadt, here is what it was supposed to show WB! readers: