...In vino veritas...

Yes, there is truth in wine. Two glassfulls to be exact. The muse waxes poetic, and the sex is hot hot hot!
Four glassfulls? The muse packs up and heads for sunny climes in disgust and the next morning you wonder how the hell you invented that position, because no matter how you pretzel yourself there is NO way you can get THAT to go THERE!
Ah, yes. An almost roaring fire, a nice drop of vino, a laptop and a house to herself. What more could a budding author want? Some sense it would seem to stop at the third glass. At least I packed it in when I couldn't tell if a g was a p or a q!