(A guest post from Mr Daniel, another appreciator of fine wine in all its forms)

We all think we’re rational people, but let’s face it: any wine collector is a hardened gambler. All of us are bathed in the neon light of our wine fridge doors, ready to pull the lever; or studiously examining the form guide that looks a lot like a stocktake list; or perhaps throwing caution to the wind and reaching blindly into the stack as we bet it all on red once again.

Sometimes it’s a good bet. It’s the big paydays that carry us through to the next roll of the dice, the next gently levered cork and validate that this isn’t just a fluke – it’s an investment damnit.

It was in this frame of mind that on a warm summer Sunday evening I drew a card from the top shelf. The shelf where all the slightly (or sometimes grossly) larger than normal bottles have to go. The shelf that breaks from what I assume is the normal strictly regimented age progression. I won’t fight with you about whether the older bottles toward the top or down the bottom – this isn’t codified etiquette like making tea or hanging the toilet roll – you do you. But the weird and bloated ones, the sparkling wines and the fancy bell-shaped boutique jobs, they occupy the very top rack. It’s just a physical necessity.